The Royal Command

Ch 4

It was a new week, a new day, and a new morning.

You blink open your somnolence eyes, roaming freely onto the pristine high ceiling of white and gold. "Milady," the same repetitive voice spoke tenderly while the collection of knocks were followed after. "Wake up, milady." You didn't want to, though— especially when the sun was already annoying enough. But there was nothing you could do but to rise onto your feet forcefully. You push aside the white translucent sheer curtain that the craftsman had attached to the sides of your master bed, and eventually, you responded to the maid's reminders with a brief: "Just a minute."

Lazily, you walked your way to the door, latching your fingers onto the gold-plated handle, and opened the sumptuous doors to reveal a maid that you've grown accustomed to since a child. "Portia!" You slightly exclaimed as you tenderly hug her slim body. "So you're back..."

She inhaled your familiar lavender scent while she caressed your back. She had noticed the rapid growth of hair you've experienced and quickly concluded that you must have been eating well lately. "I've missed you, your highness."

"I've missed you too, but is it indispensable to wake me up this early?"

A playful chuck passed through her chapped lips before she lets go of the hug to witness your morning exterior. "My apologies. It was the young masters' order."

It was an instinct of yours to worry when your brothers had personally called for your presence— so, you plastered on a scowl of confusion around your sleepy face. "Wait, what's wrong?" The cold tips of your slender fingers brushed another as though it could broom your worry.

"I'm not so sure myself. However, it doesn't seem urgent to me."

However, the anxious feeling remained as you fought your will not to overthink the situation before you halted the fidgeting of fingers to inhale a deep breath. "Alright, I'll come down now."

"Are you not going to change, miss?"

You didn't care— why would you, anyway? You were at home. What is there to be embarrassed about, especially when people you trust surrounded you. So, you let out a laugh as you maintain a smile, "Too lazy." S ubsequently, wielding your house slippers that she had provided before following her down the carpet stairs, walking towards the majestic entrance of your outdoor garden that you'd hardly use aside from you and Carla's private tea parties.

"An umbrella, milady?" A butler spoke from behind just as Portia and you nearly set foot onto the sunny weather. You avert your lightweight head onto his bowing stance. The man had slight gray along the strands of his hair, a mustache that managed to hide his cupid's bow, appropriate attire for his profession, and of course, an umbrella of embedded diamonds on its handle and classical drawings on its flap.

A smile possessed your agape lips, indicating the pleasantries that he had shown to which he quickly noticed. A step came, and then another, and so on until he was only less than a meter away from you. He gestured forward the clasped umbrella to Portia, who had stood near, and gently reached it to her enshrouded grasps. "Enjoy your morning walk, milady. It's not every day that you wake up early." He playfully teases as a grin plastered along his wrinkled face and raises the hairs of his mustache to the ends of his narrow nose. You reciprocate the kindness through a genuine smile, afterward parting ways towards the summery garden.

However, just before the beams of light attack your skin, Portia opens the umbrella widely— setting it above, just enough for it to shade the two of you from the blistering heat. "Quite too hot for the beginning of spring," You said amidst the tropical-temperated air. "Isn't it that last year it rained like a madman?"

She giggled softly, though making sure not to lose focus of her concurrent task. "Hmm...well, life is never consistent, miss." You passed the first block of flourishing bougainvillea, roses, and other eye-catching flowers— life was surrounding you, and your ears were blessed by the blissful sounds of the boisterous water stream that originated from the large fountain ahead, while not too graced with the faint chatters and footsteps of the tending servants.