A Peasant and A Princess

Chapter One: Fire

I was bored. So, so bored. I couldn't sleep for the fourth time this week, due to my excessive consumption of coffee every evening. I glanced at the clock for what seemed like the millionth time. Three a.m. Four hours until Jane comes to my room with tea, to find me very much awake. I would probably fall asleep sometime after breakfast, wake up before dinner, and then require caffeine to keep myself awake for dinner, leading to the same vicious cycle I was currently trapped in.

I sat in my bed, listening to the soft, rhythmic ticking of the clock. And as I slowly began to drift off to sleep, someone began to scream bloody murder in the corridor.

"Fire! Fire!" I jumped out of bed and, wrapping a shawl around my shoulders, I ran into the hallway. Sure enough, Jonathan, one of our footmen, was in the hallway with a sand bucket, running into my sister's room down the hall. Mark was running down the hallway as well, knocking on doors, telling everyone to get out. I assumed that it was him I heard screaming. I looked the other way to see that Jane was running up the servant's staircase, and seemed relieved to see me standing there in confusion. She quickly ushered me down the stairs, as I tried to work out what had happened. Thinking of Jonathan running into Louisa's room, I figured the fire was the worst there.

"Is Louisa okay?" I asked. As much as the supposed beauty annoyed me, I would hate for anything to happen to her.

"Yes, Your Highness. She suffered a few minor burns, but the doctor claims that it's nothing serious." She replied timidly.

Once we were outside the palace, I noticed just how brisk the evening air was. The palace guards had swiftly taken over the job of putting out the fire, and had sent the male servants outside with us. I pulled my shawl around my shoulders a little tighter and observed the front garden. A small crowd had gathered at the palace gates of servants and guards about to go home for the night as well as peasants who had smelled the smoke and came to investigate. I walked towards the crowd, finding the mob of the working class in their cheap coats thrown over their bedclothes somewhat fascinating, like the tiger in the menagerie. They couldn't have looked more different than us in frilly nightgowns and satin pajamas, silk robes and cashmere shawls. Their ratty cotton pants and shirts, covered by thin scratchy looking coats seemed almost as alien to me.

I was suddenly distracted from the crowd by the voice of a girl, about my age, waving a coat in my face (or at least as close as she could get to it, considering the gate) and shouting, 'Your Highness!'

I looked at her to see that she appeared poorer than the rest of them. The tattered coat she wore seemed to be made for a small child and then patched many times over. She had no shoes or hat. The tips of her ears were pink from the cold of the night, and her dark hair was flying about in the wind.

"You look cold, Your Highness," she shouted. Somehow, I could hear her voice over the rest of the crowd, like a melody line ringing above the rest the choir.

I stared at her in confusion. Of course I was cold. Did I look cold? A princess should never appear to be cold, as that would betray some sort of human weakness. However, to freeze to death would appear much worse than to accept a coat. As I weighed my options as to what I should say, the girl handed me the jacket in her hand through the bars and smiled.

"I'm sure they'll bring you a nicer one in a second, Your Highness, but for now I thought you might like this." She smiled a little with her statement, as if she was a little proud of herself, but trying not to be arrogant. I gave her a friendly smile in return.

"Thank you for your kindness. Might you give me your name so that you may be repaid swiftly?" I said, reverting to the mechanical politeness that had been ingrained into me. The girl bit her lip for a second, as if questioning whether or not to give her name.

"Huntson, Your Highness. Mallory Anne Huntson." She breathed with a smile.

I pushed my shawl up to my neck as a scarf and slipped the coat over my shoulders. It didn't feel as itchy as I had expected it to be. Perhaps it was just the cold, but the rough wool lining felt awfully comfortable. My stiff arms seemed to unthaw a little. I looked back at the gate to look at the girl, but she had already disappeared into the crowd. Mallory Anne Huntson. I should be sure to find her tomorrow.

Thanks for reading the first chapter of this story! Sorry it was soo short. I'll post a longer one soon.