Woolgathering

Bold Mary

I Mary June Larkin, a humble serving girl, had always been instructed not to look up, never to meet his eyes. I was to be unobtrusive at all times, like part of the furniture here. Two nights ago I defied my training, I was unsure why, but I met his eyes. Eyes of the coldest blue, perhaps they could have been warm before his lady's regrettable passing. However, I knew what they all said about him, he was Lo'gosh the Wolf, a gladiator, a hard man who didn't compromise. I was, I confess captivated, and he too looked back at me. He didn't smile, nor did he draw attention to the fact, that I a simple servant, held his gaze for long moments as I poured his wine.

Anne, my fellow serving maid, had noticed though, and she chatted me incessantly about it afterward in the scullery, telling me how improper it was. Warning me not to be so inappropriate again in the King's presence, or she would have to inform the housekeeper.

I didn't want to lose my job, to be penniless in the streets of Stormwind, or even worse, to be forced to sell my young body at the Lion's Pride Inn, like many a fallen woman must resort to. I had a roof over my head, and steady employment, even if the days were long, and the pay was meager. I was determined that snitching Anne would not see me the next time our eyes met.

As a castle servant to the King, I had little time to myself. I woke at dawn, and worked hard all day at my duties under the direction of the housekeeper, often late into the night, especially if the King or the young Prince was entertaining.

Then I would don my wool nightgown, climb into my narrow straw-filled bed, and imagine him. My fingers would stray down below, or pinch my raised nipples to distraction. I would bite my lower lip, as I imagined him there, a resolute bull of a man standing over me, in all his Royal grandeur. My fingers would seek my warm slippery wetness, as I imagined him before me, breaking down the walls to my citadel of innocence.

So it was with shock and surprise that I discovered a note pushed beneath my door the next morning. The cream paper was heavy, and it was sealed with a wax seal, the King's lion head seal. My fingers trembled, and my heart raced. A missive from the King to me, plain Mary a simple serving maid? This must be a ruse to trick me.

I cursed Anne, but I was intrigued.

"Meet me," it said, in beautiful cursive. "In my chambers tonight. The guards will admit you."

Was it really from him, or was it a trick? How can I know unless I accept...

I was at his grand door in the dark, I was in fact sweating under my gray homespun wool cape. The heavy garment was still too warm for this time of year, especially whilst taking exercise, but it kept me dry, for it had rained all day.

The lion-headed door knocker made a great booming sound, his royal guards clad in their blue and argent uniforms stared ahead unseeing. I guess he had written the note after all.

I stood in the ensuing vacuum of quiet waiting, listening. Butterflies in my stomach, and a hard ball of tension in the back of my throat. Only silence and dark to greet me, nervous breaths. Oh let him be here. My eyes scanned beneath the heavy wooden door, for any trace of light. Nothing, just the darkness and quietude.

I knocked again, this time more earnestly using both hands. I stood close to the door pressing my ear to the wood, I still could detect no movement from within. I almost fell inward as the door opened unexpectedly, the interior of this stately castle hall black as a bear's sanctuary.

It was him, his Majesty, he was barefoot, topless, magnificent. His right shoulder was bound in bandages, from a recent injury in the tiltyard, and his right arm in a sling. His deep chocolate hair was loose, cascading in abundance over his broad shoulders, its full length well down his back to his waist.