Dancing on Glass

The Mystery Maid

Jazz let out a large, lazy yawn as he followed Prince Andrew through the front doors of the palace, the others from their company dispersing as they walked into the grand entrance hall that was lit by the sunset light streaming down from the domed glass ceiling high above.

"So, she's the one, huh?"

"I don't know what you mean," Jazz countered instantly, handing his gloves over to the servants, passing them The Prince's cape as he went.

"Uh huuuuh, so you mean to say you just go running around with any servant girl who takes your fancy? Clearly she's a girl of loose morals."

"Andy!" Jazz snarled, glaring holes in the back of his head and stomping after him as he walked off laughing.

"Oh relax, I'm teasing, she seems charming," Andy threw back over his shoulder, grinning at Jazz's furious pout. "I assume she'll be attending the ball? She'll clean up nicely, I'm sure. "

"Why did you think you knew her? Is that just one of your lines?" Jazz suddenly asked.

Andy looked back at him as Jazz fell into step with him. Looking ahead he thought about it for a moment, pursing his lips.

"It's not one of my 'lines'," he said, "And I resent that you'd say that about me. It was a genuine question, she reminded me of someone."

"Who?"

"Not the faintest idea."

Jazz frowned at him. "Your memory of appalling for someone who's set to rule a country."

"And your attitude is appalling for someone of your rank. Besides, when I say 'reminds me', I'm not talking of someone I met recently. I would know her if I had seen her recently. Not that I can think of a situation where I would meet a servant."

Jazz fell quiet for a time as they made their way into The Crown Prince's chambers and he shrugged out of his riding clothes, changing into comfortable court clothes.

Once changed, Andy glanced across the room to where Jazz had sunk into a chair by the window, his lips pressed to his knuckles as he clearly lost himself in his own thoughts.

"Alright," Andy said, walking over, setting a hand on the back of the chair, sliding his other hand into his pocket and looking down at the top of Jazz's dark head. "What is it? What's on your mind?"

"Do you really think she's a servant?"

"Your maid friend?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jazz nodded without looking around.

Andy pursed his lips, looking out of the window, thinking about it for a moment, bringing back the image of the young lady by the lake.

She had been striking.

The light casting her eyes on fire, making her flawless skin gleam, the locks of her hair flaring with different colours as she had dropped into a perfect curtsy and spoke to him in a clear, well-spoken tone with excellent diction and accent closer to the people of court then the servants.

"No," he said simply, "She's not what I would expect of a servant."

"Exactly," Jazz said, standing up so suddenly he almost slammed his head into Andy's chin. The Prince stepped back however as Jazz went past, snatching up a waistcoat and spinning back to him. "She's not a servant! Everything about her is contradictory! She dressed like a scullery maid and speaks like a lady – and I told you not to wear that awful purple waistcoat, stop listening to any of Binky's fashion advice, he dresses like a peacock."