Reining Red

Chapter Six

Blood oozed from Timothy's finger. He had been concentrating so hard on not hurting himself, his hand was freckled with pin pricks. An old rag on the arm of his chair was splattered with crimson blood, so he hastily wiped his hand clean and began to sew again, the needle shaking dangerously between his fingers. He couldn't focus and he knew why, no matter how much he tried not to think of her, it was because Amelia was asleep in his bedroom.

He was forgetting how to forget her, to forget her skin on his, her scent, the way she had turned up at his door as soon as she had heard the news.

She did want to do it. Well, she did, but she felt the timing was inappropriate, so they didn't, but she let him hold her tight in his arms, just for that night.

His father had died four hours before Amelia arrived, and Timothy, now awake, had finished mourning.

But now he was doomed. His father spent all his days and nights sewing new clothes for the royals, or fixing old ones. Maybe this is why he never felt close to the old man; he never had time for his own son. Now, however, Timothy was to take on the role of the palace's tailor, instead of hatter, which was much simpler; all he could make was hats.

He threw down whatever gown he was trying to mend and held his head in his hands. He would have no time for Amelia, he wouldn't even have time to eat or drink. His father had already been buried in the palace graveyard, amongst the other workers, and a ceremony wasn't even held. He wasn't even allowed to visit him, because who would want to visit a man who spent his whole life dedicated to those in the palace. Besides, it was so odd for a worker to have a child that it wasn't even expected that they would visit them.

Amelia came out of the bedroom, dressed in her uniform, as that is what she had came in. "I must be getting back," she spoke softly.

"Why? You are not needed until meal times." Timothy said through his hands.

Amelia came closer and sank into the closest arm chair. "I've been promoted; the princess' chamber maid."

Timothy looked up at her, tears in her eyes that were threatening to spill.

"I didn't think of it at the time!" She cried, "but now I realise that...that when she returns home, I will have to go with her!"

Timothy remained speechless. How could he lose his father and his love in the space of twelve hours? She stood to leave, so he stood too, gazing into those eyes of hers and hating himself for not being able to do anything.

"Don't go." It was all he could muster, and was barely a whisper.

Amelia wiped away her tears and stood up. "I have to, I have no choice in this, it's my job."

A sudden rage consumed Timothy and he slammed his fists against the arms of the chair, getting to his feet. "You can't go! My father has just died and now you're going to leave? Why would you do that to me? There's only so much a man can take, Amelia!"

She threw her arms loosely around his neck and his hands found the curve of her torso. His lips found hers, and the kiss they held was violently soft, complicatedly simple, and he realised what this love was to him; it was her. Suddenly, she was all that was true in the world, the only thing that was consistent in a life ever changing. He didn't just want her, he needed her, and she needed him too. How could he go on now, knowing that her whole life would go on without him? She could wed another and he wouldn't know, she could get hurt and he would not have a clue. He couldn't bear the thought of it. Three weeks, that was all they had left together, and he was going to make every minute of it worth it.

***

"Don't you just love it?" Asked the princess, touching the silk of her corset as Amelia tied the ribbon up at the back.

"I do, it's beautiful," Amelia replied, winding the ribbon into a bow at the bottom of the corset.

"My tailer made it for me, back at my father's palace," she continued to admire herself in the floor length mirror. Amelia was riffling through the princess' wardrobe.

"Which dress does one fancy today, my lady?" Amelia asked.

"Oh, I do not fancy a dress," the princess replied, "I shall prefer to wear my corset and bloomers all day!"

Amelia hid her laugh behind a kind smile, but as soon as the princess began to dance like a march hare, she couldn't hold it in any longer.

"You dance like a march hare," Amelia giggled, because that is what she thought.

The princess mimed surprise. "Really? Because I think I am the most elegant," she hopped on one leg and swung her arms like windmills, "dancer," she switched legs and hopped in the opposite direction, "ever!" She fell onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

Amelia allowed herself to laugh louder than she had in years. Since being shunned into the darkness of the castle basement kitchen, laughter had become as common as a pepper free meal. Timothy was her only joy, but now she let herself go. She felt light and giddy, and with every sweet intake of breath it was as if she was floating, up and up until she hit the clouds. For the first time in ages, she felt gay and free.

But she saw the handle of the door turning, and the princess did not, as she was having balls of laughs on the bed. Amelia immediately composed herself and began to shift through the heavy gowns jammed inside the princess' wardrobe.

The Red King entered in a furious temper. "What is this?!" He bellowed at the princess, as she wiped away her tears of laughter and sat up. "Why, you're not even in your dinner things! You would think your maid was was the princess, she's more composed and formal than you are! Get dressed, now!"

He left with a large slam of the door. The princess slowly turned her head towards Amelia, a hateful glare in her eyes. "Go on, then!" She said, scornfully, "get dressed, little princess!"

Amelia stood stationary, and the princess advanced towards her. "What are you waiting for, princess Amelia?! Oh, I'm sorry, I'll dress you, my lady! Because that is what pathetic servant girls do!" She towered over Amelia considerably, making her feel small and terrible. She spoke quietly now, her voice laced with venom, "I don't need you. You don't deserve to be here, you're just some peasant plucked off the street."

She strode off, towards her en suite, leaving Amelia feeling unworthy and enraged. Before the princess entered her bathroom, she turned round to face Amelia once more, "my parents obviously prefer some poor orphan to me, so go on then, get dressed for dinner."

And the door slammed.

Amelia released a huge breath, frozen to the spot. What was she to do? Of course she couldn't join the king and queen for dinner, the princess was just being ridiculous and ungrateful. But now her job was at risk, and if anyone found of about the princess' hatred towards her, she would be demoted back to the kitchens.

Three pearly tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away before she felt sad and ridiculous. Turning back to the princess' wardrobe, she selected a light, elegant gown in a vibrant shade of scarlet. Laying it down upon the princess' sheets, she wrote a quick note on a piece of paper and placed it next to the dress;

"My lady,

If you have any difficulty applying your own powder, do ring for me."

And she left.