Maid for Him

Beneath the starry sky that night, Amber and her mother, Miriam, sat side by side on a wooden bench outside their small cottage. The air was cool, the night still, and behind them on the front porch stood a weathered sculpture of a handsome man—Amber's late father, immortalized in stone.Amber's patched dress shimmered faintly under the moonlight, its humble fabric glowing as though kissed by stardust. Crickets chirped in the grass around them, a natural lullaby weaving through the silence.Miriam's face was soft and kind, but the years of hardship were etched in its lines. With affection, she brushed Amber's hair gently from her face, both women smiling through misty eyes."Amber, my star," Miriam said, her voice quiet but firm. "We don't want to part, but my body's too weary now. A little work and I fall ill. If you don't go, we'll starve."Amber clung to her mother tightly, her arms wrapping around her like she might vanish. "Mother, don't worry. I'll go," she whispered, her voice t

It was expected that no one would believe her, reasoned Amber, seated over a dinner of pancakes and tea with Isis and Rhea. She had already confided in Rhea about the mermaid she'd seen-and as expected, Rhea had laughed. It was expected, yes, but it still hurt.That disbelief made her silently vow never to speak of it again-at least, not to anyone but her mother. Even if Miriam didn't believe her either, she would never mock or call her crazy like Rhea had.Amber didn't realize she had been picking at her food instead of eating. Her eyes remained glued to the plate, unaware of the way Isis and Rhea watched her, noting her detachment."Mother, you might want to hear Amber's stupid story," Rhea said suddenly, her gaze fixed on Isis."What story?" Isis asked, turning to her daughter.Amber blinked, surprised they were talking about her like she wasn't even there. Then Rhea turned to look at her directly, and Amber didn't like the sneer on her face."Why don't you tell her about your tranc

Amber was sleeping soundly, still wrapped in the euphoria of her brief break from housemaid duties. Her rest was deep, her body slack, unaware that trouble was already brewing.Meanwhile, in the dining room, Isis and Rhea entered, both yawning as they made their way toward the table. Their drowsy expressions quickly morphed into surprise when they found the table empty—no usual steaming cups of coffee waiting.“Mother, no coffee?” Rhea whined.“This is why I keep my maids close,” Isis fumed. “Just a few days off, and she’s already grown lazy.”“Mother, please do something,” Rhea groaned, stomping over to a chair. She flopped down and folded her arms, her mood instantly soured.At that moment, Amber rushed into the dining room, still in her nightdress, hair tousled and eyes wide from panic. The realization had hit her like a brick—she’d broken the cardinal rule: the morning coffee.“I’m so sorry, I woke up late!” she blurted, out of breath and desperate. “I’ll get your cups of coffee ri

Somewhere beyond Amber’s sight, the living portrait of her wildest imaginings—a man so strikingly handsome that even ordinary clothes seemed tailored by magic—rowed his canoe with urgency, ignoring the chill of the rain that had soaked him to the skin. He had heard the sound of weeping—soft, sorrowful—and for reasons he couldn’t explain, it unsettled him.“Who’s that?” he muttered aloud, straining his ears. The voice floated to him through the mist and rain, carried on the wind. It seemed to be coming from ahead. Without hesitation, he paddled forward, slicing through the water with firm strokes until he came into view of a familiar house—a large one that belonged to Isis.There, at the riverbank, stood a girl, weeping.By now, the rain had softened to a drizzle, the sky weeping in whispers as Amber looked up, startled by the sound of someone approaching.She rose quickly, fear pricking her chest—but sorrow dulled it. What did it matter anymore? Let it be death, she thought grimly.

Barely moments after the meeting ended, the search for Amber and Arnold began. It was led by the King’s men, who took to the riverside that bordered the village, their faces set with grim determination.Canoes dotted the shimmering water as the searchers paddled out in every direction, their voices echoing across the surface. “Amber!” they called. “Prince Arnold!” But there was no reply—only the haunting silence of the river.They scoured the surrounding thickets, brushed aside vines, and peered under shrubs. Still, no sign. By sundown, when the river was at its lowest ebb, the canoes formed a scattered constellation over the water. Long poles jabbed into the riverbed as the searchers dredged for any trace, their hearts sinking with every sweep. By then, the hope of finding them alive had all but faded.Their cries—“Amber!” “Prince!”—were now met only by distant echoes, swallowed by the woods and water. As dusk settled, the chorus of birds gave way to the chirring of crickets. With hea