With enough effort to fell an elephant, Rosemund let the Queen's remarks drop from her mind. After all, she doubted that the Queen herself even remembered; she was probably so constantly making jabs at people that it was hard to keep track of them all. Thankfully, some other servants had stepped in and gutted the other turkeys. Even though not all of the servants knew each other or got along, the kitchen was a kind of place of truce; the heat from the stoves was enough to make anyone faint and everybody knew that. Therefore, to prevent drama or trouble (or at least keep it at a minimum), the slaves and servants employed limited teamwork here, letting the most exhausted among themselves sit down and fan themselves for two minutes at most, and covering for them if anyone came to check on them.

Rosemund tried her best to avoid the responsibility of going out and serving food, but alas, her turn came and she had no excuse prepared. Fearing that she would come out and sock her Queen in the jaw, she borrowed a fellow servant (her nephew's!) hat to cover her hair–– she couldn't help being self-conscious–– and headed out into the dining hall. As much as she feared the snottiness of all the royals rubbing off on her, it was at least cooler than in the kitchen, and with efficiency she went from table to table to set out heaping, heavy plates of food. Each one set at a table meant less weight on her arms, and in that way she was able to keep a positive mind.

She deposited the tray with the turkey and several other extravagant dishes with a flourish at the table of the Queen and her son. She didn't look at him, but she didn't feel completely hateful of him: he had, after all, said sorry, and that was more than what most of these sickeningly- and undeservingly- rich folks had done for Rosemund. She didn't look at the Queen either, mostly for fear, but she managed to speak. "Your adoringly-prepared dinner, Your Beloved Majesty," she said with an exaggerated and dramatic tone. Hey, she'd been worn a little short, and the Queen was probably a bit too dumb to detect any satire at all.

In any case, she had returned to the kitchen before the Queen could respond, and was piling smaller dishes onto her arms to go offer the small treats to impatient royalty.

The dining hall was soon bustling with activity of servants bringing out food, guests helping themselves to the constant stream of dishes, and the roar of chatter among them. Queen Andreeas and Prince Aire sat at the main table with nobility from other important kingdoms surrounding them. Duchess Ashlin sat to Aire's right while his mother sat to his left. The Queen had almost immediately drowned herself in as much alcohol as she could get her hands on, until one servant had even advised her against taking another glass and had gotten promptly smacked in the face.

The Duchess herself was becoming quite past tipsy, whereas Aire had only consumed two and a half glasses of wine. His own alcohol tolerance surprised him, but he still nonetheless began to feel the effects. Duchess Ashlin and his mother were talking and laughing loudly with each other, until the Queen suddenly turned her attention to Aire and began speaking to him with very slurred words.

"Your father was a whore, Ellie," she said, drawing a confused and surprised expression from Aire. His mother had not gotten this drunk since before the passing of the king. "A lying, cheating, ugly whore. Oh, don't look at me like that. Most of the female servant's bastard children are probably his."

Aire hissed at his mother to lower her voice while she took another sip from her wine glass. His face was turning red with fury at his mother's apathetic revealing of this information to anyone who could hear. Of course he knew that, but why was that important now?

"Don't hush me," the Queen scoffed. "I am your mother. I am the Queen." A short, loud laugh erupted from her lips, causing the Duchess beside him to cackle almost maniacally. Yes, the Duchess and his mother were the only ones to become absolutely wasted at these gatherings. Everyone else seemed to possess at least the slightest form of civility.

"I've had sex with your father," the Duchess said matter-of-factly, tilting her glass toward him with a raised eyebrow before winking and draining the last bit of wine. "I've always wondered if his, hmm, size would be passed down to you. Used to try to make guesses when your mother and I watched you in the bath when you were young."

"Please," Aire begged, voice hoarse. "No more. Mother, control your friend, I beg of you."

"Control my friend?" Andreeas scoffed with a mirthless laugh. "You're not the king yet, boy. Count your blessings."

Aire groaned and put his head in his hands, not caring that it was improper to have his elbows propped upon the table. The ginger servant arrived at their table, and he tried to look at her with pleading eyes, but she did not cast her gaze upon him even for a second. The spite in her tone was very evident, and did not go unnoticed by the queen.

"Such a wretch, that Rosemund," the Queen sneered, gazing over at the Duchess. Aire's ears tuned in, taking in the fact that he now knew the servant's name. "That's the slave my son was scolding earlier in the kitchen. Her hair is a disaster. I mean, really, she might be the most insignificant person on the planet, but she could at least try to act like she's worth something. No matter how untrue that is."

The Queen and Duchess both began to laugh, and the servant had just barely walked away from their table. This was the worst gathering Aire had ever witnessed - ever since the passing of his father, his mother had become more and more cynical and overall evil.

"Your Maje-Majesties," came a timid voice. Aire looked up to see the servant who'd been previously slapped in the face by the Queen.

"What is it, slave?" Andreeas barked.

"It is time for the Prince's speech, your Majesty."

"Already?" Andreeas inquired, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Alright, thank you, Joseph. Gather the slaves and ring the bell."

"Yes, your Majesty," Joseph bowed politely and scurried back off to the kitchen to fetch the rest of the help.

Within the next half hour, the dining hall was filled with people of all social statuses, though mostly royalty. Aire stood at the head of the room upon a small platform, all eyes turned toward him. He scanned the crowd as he clutched the parchment in his shaking hands and locked eyes with Rosemund for a brief second before looking away. Smiling faces greeted him, nods of approval and encouragement from various family friends. He took a long, inhaling breath.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "As you are aware, I am the single child born to our Queen and late King, may he rest in peace."

This comment drew sympathetic nods and murmurs from the crowd. Another bell was rung for silence, almost making Aire cringe.

"However, the time has come for me to take the place as ruler of this kingdom. As such, I am compelled to tell you how happy and thrilled I am to be inheriting this position. I assure each and every one of you, be you come from another kingdom or whether you consider this land your home, that security and happiness are both going to be my first priority when concerning the people."

Approving and excited murmurs erupted from the crowd, and again the bell for silence was rung.

"I thank each and every one of you for attending this dinner tonight, and I thank you for the support. I looked forward to working in closeness with all of you. Food is still being handed out, and later tonight music will be playing in the ballroom. I shall be sitting on what will soon be my very own throne in case any of you wish to visit with me. The help included," he added pointedly, though it wasn't written in his speech. His mother looked at him like he'd grown three heads.

"Again," he finished. "Thank you."

As he stepped down from the platform and folded the parchment, the audience began to clap, though he wasn't sure what for. He hadn't said much to be applauded, just stating the fact that he'd soon be taking over the kingdom. Quietly, he slipped back into his seat at the dining table while the others re-seated themselves as well.

It would be a long night.

Rosemund heard laughing as she walked away from the table, and she wondered how easy it would be to get away with it if she put arsenic in the next round of wine. Quickly she stopped herself from thinking this, for although it wasn't meant seriously, she had no intention to let herself become bitter enough to truly consider something so heinous. Instead, she made a point of planning when her next brawl would be. Not tonight, for she would be up too late tending to this needy lot, but tomorrow night for certain! First round she'd pretend the bastard was Aire, second the Queen, and she wouldn't get drunk beforehand so she would probably win. The thought brought a savage smile to her face.

Her nephew tapped her shoulder, trying to hold in laughter. "The Queen is so wasted," he giggled. "She just called the King a whore and then she and the Duchess started perving on the Prince––"

Rosemund, who'd thankfully just emptied her last plate, covered his mouth and then hers. It was true. She didn't want either of them to get caught laughing and killed. Even if their lives depended on it, though, it was hard. She almost wished she'd been close enough to hear it. Luckily they both stopped when the heir came to the platform to speak. Rosemund had heard these little speeches in the past and they were rarely worth listening to, but for some reason this one piqued her interest.

And then it disappointed her. She covered her mouth and yawned after briefly meeting Aire's eyes, and then moved with her nephew back to the kitchen to fetch more food for the diners. By now, it was about time for desert, and so she brought out a plate of eclairs and strawberries. Again she came to the Queen's table, mostly to memorize her face to better picture it in place of her next opponent.

The night had barely progressed, and already Aire was exhausted. He sunk into the chair, trying to relax until it was time for everyone to migrate to the ballroom. Rosemund had come back to their table with a tray of desserts, but this time Aire didn't even looked up at her out of defeat. If she got even the least bit of satisfaction out of that, he figured that would be okay. Things were only going to go downhill from here, and it didn't matter much anymore. Or, God, was that the alcohol talking in his brain? He didn't know. As Rosemund spread the trays of desserts over the table, he grabbed his wine glass and took a large gulp.

"Looks like your son has taken to drinking," the Duchess giggled to the Queen. This made Aire want to smash the glass over the Duchess' head, and for fear that he would, he quickly rose and made his way to the ballroom where guests were already starting to arrive while others stuck around the dining hall for desserts.

He immediately made his way to the throne and sat upon the horribly uncomfortable piece of furniture. So far, nobody had made their way to visit with him, and he was just fine with that. He propped an elbow upon the armrest, and then propped his head upon his hand.

Aire looked pretty rough, especially for a prince, thought Rosemund. She actually felt a little guilty for her snark toward him as she made her way away from the table. Now that was some rare emotion. She was slightly disgusted with herself, especially later when she made her way toward the throne–– what was she doing and what if someone saw her? But no one else seemed to be bothered with Aire's offer to visit him after the speech, and so she carefully approached. After all, the help were allowed. Right? Perhaps only nominally. Perhaps this was a mistake.

"Your Highness," she greeted with a curtsy, although a bit of an awkward one. Now that she was here, she didn't really know what to say to him. She thought fast. Again. "I have curiosities as to what your policies will be once the throne is yours." She kept her head bowed; she'd been defiant enough today and she had a nervous feeling that it had put her on thin ice. That, of course, was probably just being in the presence of the Queen. It always made her a little afraid.

The empty wine glass that Aire had been drinking out of still rested in the hand that was not supporting his head. When the servant Rosemund approached, he straightened his posture and clutched the glass tighter in his fingers. Her head was bowed the entire time she spoke, and it was almost as if she were afraid. That was a thought to think, he couldn't help but muse. Rosemund, the entire day, had shown no mercy or fear until the Queen came along and decided to insult her appearance. A smirk played at Aire's lips; his hold on the glass loosened. Maybe this was something he could use to his advantage.

When he spoke, he was a bit appalled at his own, slurred speech. He said, "Ah, the policies," and then paused for a moment to grab his mental bearings. With drooping eyelids, he looked down at the servant from his soon to be throne. "I have been over them with my adviser, preparing. First of all, I'm going to propose, or rather enact, a lowering of taxes. For everyone, including the help." This time, a more genuine smile slipped through his expression.

"And involving the help, which I'm sure you are more concerned about than anything, your meals will be very much upgraded. No more peasant food - after all, if you work in this castle, I can almost consider you royalty."

Ah yes, he was very pleased with himself. How generous and caring of the lowly slaves he was being!

"Higher pay!" he said then, voice rising and drawing the attention of a few by-standing servants. "What do you all get paid now? I think it is, two silver pieces a day. That's the equivalent of a single loaf of bread in a week's worth of work!"

By now, his mind had tried to remind him that these were, indeed, not the policies he was going to be enacting. However, the drunken part of him simply did not care. The filter on his mouth was gone. And then he sunk down on the throne, much like he had in his dining chair, and inhaled slowly. Deeply. Controlled breathing.

"I don't know, Rosemund," he said, voice lowered once again with no thought at all to the fact that he'd used the servant's name so casually. "You'll have to speak to me about such formal matters when I'm more sober. Why don't you tell me what you'd like to have changed in the castle, hm? Or in the kingdom. Maybe just in your life alone, it doesn't matter to me. Go on. Tell me."

"Oh. Um..." She hadn't realized how drunk the heir had gotten until now, when her eye came to rest on the empty wine glass. Yep, this was something to be regretted. But she couldn't just walk away now, for it would not only be a risk to her job and possibly her life, but it might be seen as rude. What would she like changed? She'd always thought about it, and she had plenty of ideas, but no one had ever really asked Rosemund. Not about the whole kingdom, let alone her whole life. Plus, she had some thoughts that might not be appreciated by someone in such power as Aire was in.

The hesitance was clear as she tried to come up with a response. What could she say that would be truthful, but wouldn't be interpreted as threatening?

"Aha," she said. "More health care, I suppose."

Prince Aire gazed down at Rosemund with one arrogantly cocked eyebrow and a devilishly amused smirk. These quickly vanished when the servant spoke, instead his expression replaced with one of pondering thought. He carefully sat the glass upon the arm of the throne, cupping his elbow with one hand and raising a finger to his chin with the other. For a moment, the prince seemed as though he was deep in thought. Then, he spoke.

"I see," he said. "A thought like that...that is to say, health care - it never really occurred to me that you all needed it. I supposed that's because I've been raised to feel that servants weren't really people at all." At those words being spoken from his own mouth, Aire bowed his head in shame before quickly undoing the act so as not to be seen by another noble figure.

"Well, I'll see what I can arrange," he continued, having felt a bit less outrageous in his ambitions. "The truth is, not much is going to change - but I meant what I said in that ridiculous speech, no matter how short and apathetic it was. The security and the happiness of my people are going to be first priority. That includes servants! I mean...there may not be much I can change once I am crowned, but the longer one reigns, the more power he has."

Aire wanted to reach out to the servant, though this desire was mostly due to the fact that he was under the influence. He wanted to brush his hand against her cheek, to embrace her and whisk her back to his quarters. Oh, hell, what was he thinking again? His face had turned red and he was staring! Quickly, he turned away.

"Is there anything else you want to discuss?" he asked, voice taking a slightly odd tone.

Rosemund stopped being surprised. She was pretty numb at this point to being told "I'll see what I can do" in some way, shape or form, and then waiting for a while to see if they could do anything, and weeks later coming to the fairly-stable conclusion that she'd either been forgotten or disregarded (despite whoever it was claiming they cared, of course they cared!). The last time she'd spoken with anyone about changing policies was, what... Eight years ago? Her mother had let her, mostly she suspected now so that she could feel like she'd tried. And indeed her twelve-year-old self had felt proud.

Finally, she noticed that Aire was looking at her a little funny. This was strange as usually she picked up on non-verbal cues before processing people's words, and she was starting to wish she hadn't seen at all. She'd had this look once or twice before. It tended to come from people who would fire her if she failed to acknowledge them. Needless to say, it made her nervous, although glad that they were in public. At least for the moment.

"Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?" the prince asked, presenting an ideal opportunity to change the subject.

And Rosemund, of course, did a horrible job at it. "Another drink, sir?" she offered. She mentally punched herself in the gut. Idiot.

"No," Aire responded, figuring that he'd do best without anymore alcohol in his system when other guests started to visit him, "No, that'll be all. You can go now, if you wish."

Dahiti must be looking out for me, thought Rosemund, intensely relieved that the heir had declined more alcohol. In fact, she wondered now, how much had he drank? He was more intoxicated than she'd been during last night's brawl, that was for sure, and it made her concerned as to whether he could make it to his quarters. (This concern was, of course, immediately followed by disgust.) If anything was sure, he probably needed to sleep it off.

"If I may make sure that you return to your quarters safely, Your Highness."

I could have walked away. Idiot.

Aire's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her concern. He put a finger to his chin and thought for a moment. He hadn't been visited by anyone else yet, and surely people would miss him.

"I don't know," he said. "I was supposed to visit with others. I don't feel all that well, though."

He looked at her and then decided that she was probably on to the right idea. "Alright," he said, rising from the throne.

Rosemund stepped aside to give plenty of room in case the prince fell upon getting off the throne. (Which was to her just a very fancy chair.) While she knew, of course, where his quarters were, she thought it more appropriate that he should lead the way and she should tag along in case he had a case of the drunken headspinning.

So with a small curtsy she gestured for Aire to go ahead of her. "I shall be right behind you, Your Highness."

Upon stepping down from the small platform which the throne sat, Aire was surprised to find that his balance had barely been affected through the numerous glasses of wine he'd consumed. When he rose, he did feel a bit dizzy, stumbled a bit, but otherwise was fine. The servant watched him with careful, almost concerned eyes. Or either that was just his mind playing tricks on him. Aire had not gotten drunk before, and while he was far from his mother's state of being completely stoned, he was still more than tipsy.

It was with slow, careful steps that Aire led himself out of the ballroom with Rosemund following behind. Every minute or so, he'd look back to make sure she was still there - and to make sure that she wasn't plotting any tricks. The servant seemed to have a kind heart, but the way she was so easily able to deceive, Aire felt he couldn't rightly trust her. As they exited the ballroom, strangers' and guests' eyes followed them, murmuring in confusion. The prince held up a hand and nodded at them in silent assurance that everything was fine.

The thought of crawling back into his large, luxurious bed was so appealing that Aire almost wanted to run. But he didn't. Eventually, he'd slowed his pace enough so that he and the servant were walking side-by-side. It was awkward. It was silent.

Rosemund made no attempt to acknowledge the presence or attention of the onlookers as the two of them exited the ballroom. She was made nervous by the guests, yes, but for now she'd gained a little of her confidence back. She showed more than she had, walking with her chin up, her gaze ahead, meeting Aire's occasional glances with only a straight face that said, Yes, I'm still here–– no "Your Majesty" included.

When they were away from the eyes of strangers, she relaxed a little, which came as a surprise even to herself. She didn't break the silence between them, for she had the feeling that conversation would be even more awkward than silence. She'd certainly ruined a perfectly good, silent moment before by talking, and so she did not, at least not for now.

As they approached the prince's quarters, Rosemund slowed her pace. Not going past his door, she sternly reminded herself. Who knew what would happen? She came to a stop outside his door and waited in silence. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was still early enough in the evening to go out on a short horseback walk in the woods. Just to calm her nerves.

As they approached Aire's quarters, the prince could very rightly tell that Rosemund was nervous. He almost laughed, thinking about how she could possibly think that he'd forwardly invite her into his bedroom. Had he before? He couldn't remember - but he didn't think so. He turned to her with a polite smile and said, "Thank you."

Then, he entered his bedroom and shut the door behind him without hesitation.

She was free.

Free!

Not really, of course; she'd have to come back tomorrow and shovel cow manure, but for the night she was free! No drunk hands ripping at her already-tattered clothes, no liquor-stinking breath poisoning her nostrils, no Queen–– that was, if she could successfully avoid her, which Rosemund was confident of–– and she could let out the disgusting stress of being in such a stuffy place out.

She did this, naturally, by going out and taking a horse. Once she was far enough out into the forest that no one could hear her, she let out a furious scream. It felt incredible.

An hour more of riding and Rosemund went back to the castle, where she quietly slipped into the servants quarters (her shoulders sagged with relief that no one was awake) and went to sleep.