Maid for Him

"Kneel."

The word hit her like a wave - deep, firm, and impossible to ignore.

She stood in the center of an ornate hall, breath catching as the prince, at first backing her, turned to face her, his presence commanding the air itself to still.

She didn't move, her breath caught in her throat.

Her knees almost gave out, not from fear, but from the sheer beauty of him. He was beautiful and intriguing all at once-mesmerizing amber-gold eyes that flickered like firelight, a jaw set with the weight of command. He held a crown in his hand-gold, grand, shaped with classic elegance, the surface, premium perfection.

He stepped closer.

"I said kneel, Amber."

His eyes held hers, unreadable yet drawn to her in a way that made her chest tighten.

Amber slowly sank to her knees, the hem of her simple dress brushing the cold ornate marble. Her heart raced - not in fear, but in awe, in wonder. He intrigued her.

"You are mine," he said, circling her. "I take hold of you. I lay claim, not only to possess but to protect. And now..."

He stopped before her. Her breath trembled. He knelt with her now, eye to eye, lifting the crown just above her brow.

"Rise not as a maid," he murmured, "but as the one made for me."

The crown touched her hair - light as a kiss.

Then everything dissolved into light-

And she awoke.

The crown vanished. The prince faded. And her dream scattered like smoke against the ceiling of her small, plain room.

The scent of river and lavender drifted in through the shutters, the sun already rising. She sat up, heart racing, dress rumpled from sleep.

No silk. No marble. No crown. No prince.

Just Amber.

Just the start of a new life.

---

A broad smile spread across Amber's face as the smaller, plain cottages faded behind her, gradually giving way to grander homes that lined the riverbank like jewels catching the sun. The kingdom of Upland stretched beneath a brilliant cerulean sky, as vibrant and lively as the patchwork dress she wore - a humble yet colorful creation that hugged her slender frame.

Youth gave her strength and hope as she rowed steadily onward. She drifted past towering trees and swaying grasses, the gentle quack of ducks skimming the water, riders on horseback following the winding riverbank, and birds soaring freely above. Each stroke brought her closer to her destination, until at last, it emerged before her eyes.

There it stood: a one-story stone cottage, sturdy and proud, gazing out over the shimmering river. A wooden dock jutted from the shore, its edge inviting and warm under the midday sun. Around the house, a stout wooden fence wrapped protectively, posts spaced evenly, guarding a garden tangled with climbing vines and wildflowers dancing in the breeze. The scene was peaceful, almost like a secret treasure.

Amber's heart lifted as she aimed her canoe toward the dock, slowing to a gentle glide. Rising gracefully, she eased the canoe alongside the weathered wood with barely a splash. Carefully, she slipped her paddle under the seats, then reached for the rope tied to the stern. Securing it firmly to a dock post, she stepped out in her sun-faded sandals, the warmth of the wooden planks comforting beneath her feet.

Without hesitation, Amber strolled forward, pushing open the gate to the yard and pausing a moment to take in the neat expanse before her. The lawn was immaculate, framed by soft lavender blooms that marked a clear path leading to the porch steps and the sturdy front door beyond.

A flutter of awe stirred in her chest. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sweet scent of flowers and river air, then exhaled slowly, steadying her nerves before knocking. Her first tap echoed faintly; a second, firmer knock yielded the same silence.

Stepping back, Amber spotted a brass pull-cord doorbell. Chiding herself for missing it, she reached up and tugged sharply. The bell let out a harsh, grating chime that made her flinch and cover her ears.

Moments passed. Still no answer.

Just as she reached to ring it again, the door squeaked open, a sliver of space revealing a sharp-featured woman around thirty, her expression tight with frustration. She peered out, eyes narrowing as they settled on Amber's hopeful smile.

"Hello," Amber said warmly, "I'm Amber. I'm here to start as the new help."

"A child?" the woman muttered, scanning her from head to toe.

Amber hesitated - unsure if the question demanded a reply or was simply a grumble to herself.

"A girl," she answered softly.

The woman's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Smart mouth," she sneered. "Too bad that'll be humbled here."

Amber frowned, puzzled by the bitterness, but said nothing more. The woman stepped aside and opened the door wide. Amber noticed a packed box standing just inside, an unspoken farewell to the role about to be passed on.

"I'm Cressida," the woman said flatly, "ex-maid as of today."

Amber blinked. "Wait, you lived here?"

Cressida shrugged. "The job demands it."

Amber's chest tightened at the thought. She'd never been apart from her mother before - the very idea unsettled her deeply.

"I can't leave my mother," Amber said quietly.

Cressida's face remained unreadable. "Not my problem."

Without another word, Cressida grabbed her box and headed toward the door, leaving Amber alone inside. The house swallowed her up with its grandeur - elegant sofas draped with ornate curtains, walls adorned with portraits of faraway castles and sprawling estates.

Amber's eyes lingered on one portrait in particular - a regal figure standing tall before a grand palace, framed in rich gold. The prince.

She wasn't surprised to see him there. In Upland, folks often put up pictures of their favorite royal on their walls. Some had the full family. Here, it was clear who the favorite was.

Even in stillness, his gaze held power. Those amber-gold eyes...

Her breath hitched.

Don't be silly, she chided herself. He's a prince. And you're only seventeen. The prince was around twenty-two. She knew because some of his birthdays were Upland events.

Still, she couldn't deny the strange twist in her stomach - the flicker of something she didn't dare name. She turned away from the painting, cheeks warm, willing her heart to behave.

She should not be dreaming about him. She was a maid. He was a prince. So why was her gaze returning to his portrait. Her heart skipped a beat.

She managed to tear her gaze away and noticed a staircase leading to closed doors above. The house felt grand but strangely unwelcoming, like a beautiful mask hiding something colder beneath.

Cressida watched Amber with arms folded, a look of pity flickering in her eyes. Amber smiled softly, unsure what to make of it.

"It's a beautiful house," she said, voice filled with awe.

Cressida gave a dry, knowing smile. "Not all that glitters is gold. Here's a tip: if you can live here..."

Amber leaned closer, intrigued.

"...you can live anywhere."

Their whispered moment was cut short by a deliberate clearing of a throat, sharp and commanding. Both women turned toward the sound from the top of the stairs.

Isis appeared - elegant, poised, and all authority. A woman in her fifties whose reputation filled Upland like a shadow. Widow of the former Judge, and second only to the king in wealth, her smirk was ice wrapped in silk.

"You shouldn't teach my prospective maid to gossip," Isis said coolly, fixing a sharp gaze on Cressida.

Cressida gave Amber a final, pitiful look. "Be strong," she murmured, then faced Isis. "I'm leaving."

"Goodbye," Isis said coldly.

As Cressida gathered her box and departed, Amber remained, swallowed by confusion until Isis's voice softened from above.

"You down there, honey?"

Amber looked up, meeting Isis's practiced smile. She returned it with a polite nod.

"I'm Amber," she said.

"Sweet Amber," Isis cooed. "Would you please shut the door behind that thing? Thank you."

Amber's smile faltered. The insult stung, but she obeyed, shutting the door before turning back to find Isis descending, her expression all business now.

Good, Amber thought. She needed to be clear - she wouldn't live here without seeing her mother.

"Let's talk," Isis began. "Are you hardworking? Able to clean, wash, and live here?"

"Yes, but..." Amber hesitated. "I cannot leave my mother."

Isis stopped, approaching steadily.

"What peasant wouldn't want to live here?" she challenged. "Is your mother ill? Disabled? Dying?"

"No. I just want to visit her. I'll miss her."

Isis's voice dripped with mock pity. "How touching."

Unease coiled in Amber's stomach as Isis turned back toward the stairs.

"Come back when you're grown up," she said over her shoulder, final and cold.

Amber's heart sank. She had hoped for this job - for the chance to help her mother - but now, it felt out of reach.

"No, wait," Amber pleaded, desperation bleeding into her words. "We need the money."

Isis paused mid-step, turning to face her on the second stair.

"Good girl," she said softly.

"As long as I can visit on weekends," Amber said firmly, her voice unwavering.

"Saturdays and Sundays only," Isis declared. "Take it or leave it."

"That means you'll be my guardian?" Amber asked quietly.

"Exactly," Isis confirmed. Then she climbed the stairs, leaving Amber alone to wrestle with the weight of the choice.

This was unexpected. The house was beautiful, but the thought of being away from her mother nearly crushed her spirit. Weekend visits offered some comfort, but the unknown stretched before her like a cold, empty river.