Reining Red

Chapter Three

Quick authors note~

Hello just me again :) hope you're enjoying my story so far, and don't hesitate to comment and share you're opinion towards my story, ways I can improve and predictions of what is going to happen, I love to hear what you think!!

From

Freya xxx

***

Timothy spend much more time with Amelia whilst she worked over the years. He would roll up his sleeves and help her wash until the Chef caught him.

"I don't know why she's angry," he'd complain, "I'm doing her a favour, if anything."

Amelia gave a small laugh. "She's afraid she'll have to start paying you, too."

Timothy grunted and dried his hands on a small, grubby towel. "Maybe I don't want to get paid. Maybe I. Don't. Care."

Amelia stopped washing and turned to face him. Timothy was rarely angry, and was terrible to be around when he was. Now sixteen, he was starting to reach that age when he was short tempered and opinionated. The two of them were old enough to start seeing the wrong in the world, and henceforth, appreciate the goodness, which they saw in one another, but neither admitted.

Amelia opened her mouth to speak words of comfort to her friend, when the Chef's heavy footsteps drowned out her voice.

"Girl!" She announced, "boy! Get out of here, boy!" Timothy nodded politely to the two women, and strolled out of the laundry room. "Girl! One waitress has had a break out of boils! Apparently she's allergic to pepper! How stupid! What a joke! What a fool! How silly! I can't believe it! You! You must replace her! You're not as ugly as the other workers! Take her job! You're still young! Go take a shower! You stink! Look fit for royalty!"

Amelia held back her surprise and delight. Six years, six years she had been working in what she presumed a dead-end job, seeing no way out and no alternative. Her dream of being queen had extinguished five years ago, but now that flame reignited. Now, after watching those maids who wore pristine dresses and little black shoes, she could become one of them, and whilst it was not any where near becoming queen, she would be in the presence of royalty, clean and well dressed.

She nodded politely and refrained from showing her affection. The Chef marched off and ordered some poor soul to fetch Amelia a frock and a pair of black shoes. She looked down at the pile of washing that the chute had recently thrown up, and was glad that she would be appointed to a proper bed, not a pile of a posh man's laundry.

Amelia was soon ordered to take a shower; a treat that she received once a week would now become part of her daily routine. She hurried into her new uniform, as it was almost time for the royal's dinner, and met the Chef in the kitchen.

"Here!" Announced the Chef, "take this, this, this and this!" Four plates stacked with delicious starters were handed to Amelia, who balanced the china precariously on her skinny arms. She smiled to the Chef without a word and made her way up the stairs, trying to support four dishes of peppered salmon on a bed of rocket.

Amelia reached the polished, wooden door at the top of the stair case. It dawned on her that this would be her first time inside the palace, not in its grubby, underground kitchen. She held her breath and pushed the door open with her hip.

Bright lights hit her eyes. Every wall, the floors and ceiling were white, reflecting the light from the golden candelabras placed at intervals along the walls. Amelia tottered down the corridor in her new shoes, trying to stay professional, but at the same time awestruck by the absolute wealth of the place. Her shoes stopped clicking, as they found the soft recess of thick carpet. Although she was alone, she stood straight and proud, as if the eyes of the portraits that lined the corridor watched her every move. Chatter was sounding from behind a double set of white doors, and before Amelia could push them open, two well dressed, (rather gorgeous, Amelia blushed) butlers swept the grand doors open for her. She nodded politely before entering.

A long, marble table stood grandly in the centre of the room. A giant chandelier hovered over the finely dressed diners, who sat in plush, straight backed chairs. A golden bowl sat in the middle of the table, over flowing with fruit, fat with ripeness. The four diners continued to talk as Amelia delivered their meals, and a string band played their elegant tune in the corner. The duchess wore a shapeless, white gown that fell to the ground, embellished with golden details. On her left was the duke, her tanned husband from the west, who's skin seemed even bronzer in a pressed, white suit. They did not acknowledge her as she laid down their starters, but their guests were different.

Amelia was astounded, but was stern not to show it. Never having been outside of the city, she was surprised to see the duchess' foreign guests. Notably older than the rulers of the white kingdom, those of the red had wrinkled skin and greying hair. Despite their age, the red king and queen were grand; unlike the duchess', the queen's gown was not simple; Amelia thought that she had ripped down a black and red tapestry and wrapped it around herself. The many pictures seemed to tell a story, only Amelia did not linger to read. The king sat highly in his chair and he and his wife both nodded respectfully at Amelia when she present their meals.

"The princess should be making her way here in two to four weeks," said the old queen, her voice soft and sounding short of breath.

"With our journey being such a havoc," the king interjected smoothly, "we thought it best to wait a while before sending for her."

"Why did she not travel with her mother and father?" The duchess asked, her question laced with something disapproving.

The king and queen shifted uncomfortably in their seats. "She sees us as old," murmured the queen, "poor company for such a long trip."

The duchess cleared her throat with a sip of golden champagne whilst her husband sat stationary by her side. "Whilst her first point is not wrong-" the king and queen looked shamefully into their laps. "Her second, however, is. I find the pair of you a delight, and am joyful to be sharing my evening meal with you."

Amelia left the room, finished with serving, and the butlers gently closed the doors behind her.

Back out in the corridor, Amelia released a large sigh. What wealth and riches these people indulged in! She felt overpowered by it all, and had to lean against a wall back in the corridor, short of breath, soaking it all in.

"If only..." She wished. She did not know entirely what she wished for, for she felt lucky enough to have spent several seconds in the presence of royalty, but something within her ached for more.

Amelia eyed the door back to the kitchens. How could she return there now? After seeing all this, how could she stand such dark and terrible conditions? I must be brave, she told herself. With a deep breath, she stepped back into darkness.

***

That night, several hours after everyone had dined on peppered broth and were tucked into their beds, Amelia wrapped a cloak around her night gown and scaled the stair case. Her pale fingers clasped around the brass door knob, and she turned it quietly. When it didn't give, she tried again, more violent, this time. The door was locked. She sat on the top step, angered that people were born into such riches, upset that she wasn't, and scared of a life doomed to this dank, cellar kitchen.