A Fond Farewell

Not all ladies are as they seem... Writer's cramp entry for 1/30/14

“More ale wench!” He grumbles as his hand slides down my backside, ending in a pinch that straightens me with its forcefulness. Half the tray of ham I held spilt onto him and the table. It doesn’t make a real difference, as he already has as much ham or turkey juices dribbling down his vest, arms, and hairy chest. I don’t see his backhand until a moment before it impacts my cheek. “Be more careful!” he shouts. “So hard to find good slaves these days.”

The dignitaries at his table chuckle along with his majesty as I pull myself up. “Apologies, your majesty. I’ll return shortly with your ale sire.” Adjusting my dress, I make my way back into the kitchens. It’s a frumpy little thing, probably once blue, but now covered in brown spots of varying degrees of darkness. It’s nothing like the dresses the few ladies in attendance wear. Theirs are all fine silks or velvets in an array of colors, and ALL are bordered with lace. I much prefer my dresses with the lace borders. Though I could never get this close to his majesty in my finery, not without notice being taken of me.

Grabbing several large steins, three in each hand, I descend the steps toward the buttery and the bottlery, and nod at the butler attending the casks of wine. His puffy, blackened eyes take note only of the silver choke collar around my neck, denoting me as a slave, before turning back to the wine. The gold bands along his silver collar denote him as a slave of position within his majesty’s estate sparkled in the torchlight as he bent back down.

Moving back to the casks along the side filled with ale, it only takes me a moment to locate the one with the four red marks along the rim. All of them are pre-tapped, taste tested by either servants or soldiers before any ever reaches his majesty’s lips. Leaning over the steins, I make sure to position my neck above the flow of ale. Pressing the false key latch on my collar, a green liquid drips out the keyhole to mix with the ale, adding a slightly darker hue, and a little extra head to the drink.

There’s a creak behind me, and I whirl to face one of the soldiers, encased in the chainmail of his majesty’s royal guard. “What do you think you’re doing there lassssssie?”

“Sir,” I can’t keep the crack out of my voice, have I come so close only to be discovered? My heart is beating faster than a war march, but I soldier on. “Retrieving ale, for his majesty King Graddocck.”

“Well lassssssie,” he says, spewing alcoholic fumes, and a slight whistle, through the gaps of several missing teeth. “What do you think you’re doing only filling up five sssteinssss? Sssssurely a lass like you can carry ssssix!”

I look down at the steins before the cask, counting three filled and three waiting, and as I look back at up his hand clouts the side of my head. His blow didn’t hurt as much as it could have, as he has to steady his feet after it, but it does throw me to the floor. “Learn to count!” He growls as one of his meaty fists grabs one of the steins I’d just filled. He shuffles away, and I can’t help but grin, despite the pain it causes.

I quickly finish filling the remaining steins, and hurry them to his majesty’s table. His majesty’s leather and goat fur vest is even more soaked in ham juices, and as he roars in laughter at one of his less than funny jokes, I even spot a chunk of turkey between his neck and his jeweled golden collar. All of the dignitaries politely chuckle, while the visiting Prince Liam of Powellister pulls at the leather and rubies of his own collar. Our eyes met as I set one of the steins before him, though he showed not a shred of recognition. I’m not usually one to off my employer along with the mark, though I know what happens to those that take jobs that are this high profile from the Powellisters. I won’t share my master’s fate.

I retreat from his majesty’s table before any more hands find their way across my backside, and enter a closet that I had earlier occupied. The corpse of my current dress’ former occupant was still there, along with my former dress. Best I could I handled the stiffening slave into her ale spotted rags, then hastily put on my own purple silk finery. Among this crowd, few would think anything of a slave girl deposited in a closet, especially one wearing a bronze collar. Releasing the latch, I detached the outer shell of my silver collar to reveal my true collar beneath, a gorgeous blue silk with lace, with a leather inner lining and amethysts studded around the length.

After fitting the pieces of silver into the wig I had worn in, I affixed that to my head, and exited the closet. When I reentered the main dining hall, I latched my arm onto the closest passing lord. “Sir Colbe, I’ve seem to come down with the most dreadful headache. Would you mind terribly seeing me from the hall, and helping me to my carriage?”

“Surely, for such a beautiful damsel as yourself. I could use a spot of fresh air anyways. Apologies,” he said, face flushing as he escorted me, “but I can’t seem to recall your name.”

“Duchess Alexandra, of Vallerre. We met at the Powellister gala last moon.” I’d been there, though not as a duchess.

“Oh, of course. I had entirely too much fun at that extravaganza.”

“Thank you. Please, if you can, give my regrets to his majesty for departing so early, and a fond farewell.” A final farewell, for King Graddocck of Gravore, and his esteemed guests, won’t live to see midnight.