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Griselda sighed as she took her sweet time climbing the stairs to the prince’s chambers.
It was dusting day, so she was appropriately armed with an apron and rag, and her red hair was tied back behind her horns with a bit of string. She hardly saw the sense in carrying out the chore every three days; the prince barely had any furniture in his room to dust in the first place. Guess it was yet just another way for him to antagonize her.
So, this was her life now: stolen from her family and home to be an unwilling personal servant to the kingdom’s one and only heir. She supposed it was all her own fault; mouthing off at royalty (Dark Forest royalty), was just about the dumbest, most suicidal thing anyone could do. Over the years, her father had warned her time and time again to watch how she spoke to people, especially to those above her rank; guess she just took after her mother too much when it came to self-control.
But still! What kind of entitled, rude, heartless brat would tear a person away from everyone and everything they knew simply because they were flat out refused a single, stupid dance?
At least she was getting paid, a quite impressive amount, as a matter of fact; much more than any measly job her simple border village would have to offer. Yet, with free room and board, she had little use for the wages she earned, so she was happy to send the majority of it back to her family, which gave her a great deal of comfort. And it was nice that she was allowed to freely correspond with her friends and relatives back in Ivy Slope; she certainly needed plenty of people to complain to. Not that she hadn’t been treated well by the rest of the castle staff, but it was hard to trust people that had spent so many years with the enemy!
She didn’t see too much of the guards, the king’s two aids, Brick and Brack, nor the rest of the royal family, thank goodness. Any interactions with them were usually handled by Carrion and Skarn, the head chef and caretaker, respectively.
Griselda actually liked Carrion a lot. She was a large ogre with a great sense of humor, a laugh that shook the whole room, her food was divine, and she watched out for the little farm girl like she was her own daughter. Skarn was nice too, once you got to know him; he was about as deathly grey and quiet as a tomb, but the elderly gnome always gave her a tiny, friendly smile when they ran into each other in the halls, and her room had been perfectly warm and leak-free since day one.
Carrion and Skarn made her current situation…tolerable. Between them, they gave the best advice on how to get her work done efficiently but quickly, they’d shown her all the secret servant passages in the castle walls, as well as which members of staff to associate with and which to steer clear of. Admittedly, it was rather odd how they seemed almost manic about keeping her out of sight from the Thunder King himself but, given his bloodthirsty reputation, Griselda definitely wasn’t going to put up a word of protest.
The one thing she could do without was their constant soft defense of the Thunder Prince, better known as the prickly pond scum responsible for her…incarceration! No matter how she grumbled about him, they insisted on her using his given name, Briar, in their conversations, made her promise to watch her sauciness around him, and would repeatedly assure her that he ‘wasn’t what he seemed’.
She found that hard to believe, not only based on personal experience, but the countless, horrific, nightmare-inducing rumors she’d heard, even well before they’d met! Heck, most of the other maids whispered that he was a savage killer and growing up to be more like his ruthless beast of a father every day…
...Well, to be fair, the Thunder Prince hadn’t been outright cruel to her since the party at Ivy Slope a month and a half ago, just…teeth-grindingly irritating, with his haughtiness and never-ending list of demands. Sometimes, it was hard to believe she was tending to a young adult instead of an infant!
Speaking of which, Griselda pursed her lips to hold back a snide remark as she finally opened the chamber door only to see the bane of her existence sitting back in a chair with his long legs propped up on a table, reading a book in his lap.
Ugh, she hated it when he was in the room while she cleaned! She felt uncomfortable enough around him already, but at least when he summoned her up for a “half-full” glass of “lukewarm” water or something else equally ridiculous, it was a brief encounter with only a couple of snippy exchanges. However, when she cleaned, that meant she’d be trapped in there for at least forty-five minutes, and whenever she was around the prince for more than a few moments, gone were the arrogant comments and the sneers, and in their place, was the silent staring.
She just didn’t understand it! If she could at least decipher some recognizable feeling in his eyes, maybe that would help. He’d sure been frank enough in the past with words that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see disdain or even outright hatred when she caught him looking at her, but no! For peat’s sake, she couldn’t glean any emotion in his grim, scarred face. All she knew was that it was an earnest, steadfast gaze he never failed to fix on her when she had to stick around, but it put her on the backfoot more than anything else on earth.
And he was already doing it now!
Hmph! Maybe he’s just zoning out. Griselda thought, wordlessly striding over to begin her dusting on the bookshelf; of all the furniture in the room, it was both the largest piece and the furthest away from him and therefore, her favorite.
.
.
.
Unfortunately, after about ten minutes, the redhead was gnawing the inside of her cheek to keep from muttering angrily to herself. Aside from rule number one of dusting being to go from top to bottom, something else essential she’d foolishly overlooked before opting to start with the bookshelf was height. She was almost to the point where she’d need to borrow a chair to reach the upper shelves. It was either that or moving to the nightstand, but she'd be damned before she gave the Thunder Prince a reason to so much as chuckle at her short stature. Normally, his schedule was so busy, he would’ve left by now, but for whatever unfair reason, this time, the bloody seconds just kept right on passing by, and the longer that jerk sat on his silent, staring butt, the higher her anxiety climbed.
Perhaps that was why she nearly gasped out loud when the oppressive silence was suddenly broken by his gravely baritone:
“Dark battle.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Yer name. That’s wha’ it means; dark battle,” he clarified with a nod to the book in his enormous hands, “It’s quite fittin’.”
Griselda planted her fists on her hips. In the handful of unsettled glances in his direction she’d made since her arrival, she had noticed he was reading what seemed to be a book on goblin languages.
Why that pompous stick bug! Was he taking a shot at her lack of formal education compared to his own?! He knew damn well she could read and write as well as any other goblin in the Dark Forest!
Annoyed by the smirk she now saw playing at his mouth, she completely forgot about her promise to Carrion and Skarn about keeping her sauciness in check…again.
“Not as fitting as yours, I’m sure. A sharp, prickly, pain in the-!”
“Ye missed a spot.”
She threw her dust rag at him.
He caught it with insulting ease; hooking the cloth on a single, razor-sharp talon right out of the air, then casually dropping it onto the table, with that smirk still firmly in place on his thin lips.
Cheeks burning, but with her nose in the air, Griselda stomped over to the table, snatched back her rag, and furiously returned to her work on the shelf.
“Yer done with tha’ section,” he said after another minute.
Griselda ignored him.
“Yer ready fer tha’ top shelves.”
“…”
“Ye need a chair.”
“…”
Maybe it was childish, but Griselda couldn’t help it. Ooh, he made her so mad! The best way to keep out of trouble was to just keep her mouth shut.
*thump*
This time, Griselda did gasp out loud as well as flinch as the prince abruptly appeared by her side, his tattered, iridescent wings brushing against her arm as he immediately turned to walk back to his seat and thankfully resume his reading.
When had he moved?!
To her further astonishment, she saw the reason why he’d approached her: he’d brought over the spare chair from the table.
For a mortifyingly long moment, she was too shocked to even move, let alone speak! Like a fish, she just blinked and gaped back and forth between the prince and the chair until his aquamarine eyes sought her again.
That sure sparked her nerves. Scowling, she stuck her nose in the air again and strutted away from the chair and damn bookshelf to the nightstand, but she didn’t even get to scrub the surface twice before he spoke again.
“Ye dorn’t fear me.”
Was she imagining things, or did he sound…relieved and……almost in awe at his statement?
Begrudgingly, she spared him another glance. He’d abandoned his book in favor of openly watching her over crossed arms, still with that indecipherable expression.
“Life’s too short to be scared all the time,” Griselda said with a shrug in an attempt to be nonchalant, “and besides, I think the Dark Forest has enough fear in it already.”
“Yer probably right,” the Thunder Prince murmured, “yet yoo dorn’t fear me.”
Griselda finally paused and faced him fully. It felt as if there was a change in the air; something she couldn’t name, but whatever it was, it was wrought with tension.
Why was he acting so weird today?
In defiance of this…bizarreness, Griselda lifted her chin and replied:
“Should I?”
There was a beat before her question was answered by a rap at the door. Instantly, the prince huffed, sat up straight, and barked at whoever it was to enter.
Timidly, the door creaked open to reveal the leathery head of Brick. Griselda quickly went back to work to appear as inconspicuous as possible. The absolute last thing she needed was for gossip to spring forth from a staff member she’d been advised to avoid.
“P-pardon me, your highness,” Brick stammered with a bow, “bu-but the Thunder King wants to see you in the f-f-fighting arena, right away.”
The prince must’ve waved the messenger off because Griselda heard the door shut without another word. She was just about to start on the bed posts when she heard a long, low growl followed by the sound of metal briefly scraping across the floor. Curious, she stopped once more and saw that the prince had retrieved his training staff from the far corner and was staring pensively at it. She didn’t have a good view of his face due to the angle, but…if she didn’t know better, she’d say there was an aura of…something akin to misery about him.
“Have ye heard rumors about me?”
Too stunned by the question to feel awkward about herself now being the watcher, she had nothing more eloquent to say other than…
“What?”
“Ye asked if ye should fear me,” the prince recalled, slowly turning towards her, “have ye heard rumors about me?”
He did not meet her eyes, but merely examined the end of his training staff, looking at something far beyond it’s worn, stained metal.
“Terrible things? Cruel? Almos’…nightmarish?”
“…”
“…”
“…Yes.” It was embarrassing to admit, but she didn’t see any point in denying it. Was this the part where he was going to say that they were all vicious lies? That he was really a lonely, misunderstood soul that simply didn’t know how to connect with others? That he ‘wasn’t what he seemed’?
After an eternity, the Thunder Prince appeared to come to an internal (and agonizing?) decision. He stiffened like a soldier and gripped his staff like she’d seen his terrifying father do with his royal scepter a few times. His aquamarine eyes flashed at her like lightning and what he said next made her heart and every bone in her body freeze.
“They’re true.”
Whatever he saw in her face must’ve spurred him on for his expression hardened and his shoulder plates flared, making him look even more sharp and deadly than ever. Griselda could’ve even sworn the temperature plummeted as he then stormed from the room, snapping at her about how he wanted the dusting finished by the time he got back, so she needed to hurry the hell up!
The slam of the door made her jump in fright, but the expense of energy brought her senses back, thank the moon! She snarled a few colorful curse words under her breath at the giant dung heap for making her so rattled as she practically flew through the rest of her task.
He was nothing but a bully! Yes, a bully and a creep and a selfish, bossy, spoiled, cockro-!
“Ouch!”
Griselda winced and bent down to rub the toe she’d accidentally stubbed against the leg of a chair…
…the same chair the selfish, bossy, spoiled, prince had moved to the shelf for her.
Worrying her bottom lip, the gobliness carefully climbed onto the chair and set to finishing the rest of the bookshelf with ease.
Hmm…well, Briar still is a fitting name for him.