Serving the King Ch. 01

I stood in the hallway beside two other women and two young girls. We waited, just outside the first of the royal chamber doors, waiting for the sun to finish hitting the horizon. I shifted my weight back and forth slightly, trying to wake up my tired muscles. One of the things I haven't been able to get used to about serving the royal house is waking hours before dawn.

Finally, the light hit the elaborate stained glass masterpiece on the far wall. The five of us tensed slightly, watching the line of light drift upwards. It hit the middle of the glass mural, and the oldest of us gave a nod. "Time to go."

She turned and gently knocked on the ancient wooden door. She had been doing this for decades, and somehow managed to knock hard enough for the sound to carry, but not hard enough to seem impolite or insistent. One doesn't wake the queen with anything but gentle politeness. After a respectful heartbeat of waiting, she put her key in the doorknob, unlocked the queen's door, and eased it open.

The five of us swept in, immediately splitting up and moving in different directions. This first room was a sitting area, where the queen was wont to take her breakfast, or even her dinner on nights when she wasn't expected to entertain guests. The two youngest servants moved immediately to the table, small by royal standards but large enough to seat six or eight people, and started arranging all of the plates and cutlery and napkins and culinary miscellany.

I followed Charlotte to the queen's bedchamber. Charlotte gave the same knock she'd done a moment prior, then entered her majesty's royal chambers. She made her way straight to the queen's wardrobe to pick out a morning robe. Picking out and putting on the day's outfit would come later, and would require at least another two people.

I moved to my position by the window and pulled on the thick cord to move the heavy drapes. Early morning light spilled into the royal chambers. It rushed in with none of the polite hesitation Charlotte had shown before stepping inside. If ever a person burst into the queen's chambers with such reckless haste, she would have them beaten.

Nonetheless, the sun shone in the room with reckless indifference to the royal preference. Not even the queen can punish the sun... but if she were particularly displeased she might elect to have me punished.

Queen Roselyn rose from her bed, and joined Charlotte at the dressing mirror. I skirted around the edge of the room, staying well out of her way, until I reached the enormous bed. It really was big enough for three or four to sleep comfortably, which was wasteful since it was very rarely occupied by anyone other than herself. The king's bed down the hall was similarly empty save for the man himself. If the rumours around the castle were to be believed, it was a rare thing indeed for the king to be welcomed into his wife's bed, despite them having been married for almost ten years and having no heirs.

I took hold of the edges of the royal sheets upon the royal bed, and shook them to clear them of any royal dust that might have accumulated from the queen's royal body.

Pulling the sheets up the bed was an act of precision and careful coordination. The three pillows must be fluffed first, positioned just so, then the sheets could come halfway up the pillows. The queen was very particular about that - halfway up the pillows, not more or less.

I pulled the small roll of measuring tape from one of my apron's many pockets, and laid it over the royal pillows to make sure the royal sheets sat just right. It was a trick I had been taught by my predecessor, before she retired. I moved slowly, pulling the sheet ever so slightly this way then that way, arranging it to royal perfection.

Then there was a blanket, a duvet, and twelve more pillows, eached arranged just so. All said, it took me only twenty minutes to make the bed, much faster than when I had started.

I surveyed my work to make sure it was flawless, then laid the finishing touch: a single rose from the castle's garden, placed in the very center of the bed. It had been the king's idea, a romantic gesture that the queen hated. Nonetheless, the words from the king's mouth are law, so I placed a rose on the bed every morning.

The queen had been moved from the dressing mirror to her accustomed place for breakfast. A gentle knock on the door indicated that her food had arrived, and another servant bustled in with the dishes just as the queen settled into her chair. Timed to perfection.

I stepped out through the open door, turning to give the queen a deep bow that she didn't deign to notice. Then I turned and walked down the long hall that separated the king's room from the queen's. The door was open slightly because his personal servants were already doing their various duties. I stepped into the king's personal rooms, which were almost identical in construction to the queen's - a large sitting area, an adjacent bathing room, and the royal bedchambers.

It is towards the latter that I moved, stepping through that open door with a polite knock. The room was empty, as it always was at this exact time. I would finish in the queen's room, move to the king's room while he was still in the baths, and make his bed. Then I would help clean the king's bath, then collect his dishes, then check in on the cleaning of the queen's rooms and help however I was needed. Everything is timed just so in the royal household.

I knew all the timing by heart now. I knew how long the king usually took in the bath, and how long he would laze in his comfortable chairs before summoning his butler to dress him. It is beneficial for any professional servant to learn their employer's schedules... especially when that servant is scheming.

I took slightly longer making the king's bed this morning. I paid very precise attention to the exact lines of the sheets, even though the king had never cared as much as his wife. By now I should have been standing in the main seating area while the king moved from his bath to his bedroom, so that I could help clean his royal bathtub. But today the cleaning staff had a trainee, and she told me last week that I would be able to step out into the hallway and have a little while to myself, if I wanted it. I was indeed planning on having a few moments to myself, but I'd chosen a different location.

Because I was taking my time, and because I was very carefully arranging the king's blankets, I was still here when he stepped into the room. I heard him pause as he took in the sight of me on all fours on his bed, and I gave him a moment before I turned to look at him over my shoulder.

"I'm very sorry, your majesty," I told him in a demure voice. "I am just finishing up here, and I will be out of your way."

I had given him a moment before turning so that he could enjoy the view before I turned to him. I hadn't necessarily expected him to still be staring at my ass when I looked at him, or for him to continue looking while answering me. "No, no, take your time, my dear."

"Thank you, your majesty."

I turned back to the job at hand, and fluffed one of his pillows for the third or fourth time. Then I stretched out to place it, making my back arch and my ass move slightly. The king was not the kind of man who picked up on subtlety very well, so I was making sure that my message was loud and clear. I'd even bunched the front of my skirts under my knees just before he entered the room, so that the back of it would be clinging to my backside.

"What is your name, dear?" the king asked from behind me, his voice lower than usual, "I don't believe we've been introduced."

I stopped what I was doing, still bent over on his bed. "Arabela, your majesty."

"And how long have you been employed in our service?"

"I have been making your bed for two months, your majesty." I turned and backed off the bed, toward him. As I walked backwards on my knees and stepped off the bed, my skirt somehow managed to ride up my leg, and it took me a moment too long to pull it back into place. Oh dear.

I faced his royal majesty, glancing at his face for the briefest of moments before lowering my eyes. No matter how bold or wanton I might want to be, one simply doesn't stare at the king's face. He was still wearing nothing but his fluffy robe and his thick slippers. I noticed he'd closed his chamber door, so it was just the two of us.

"Are you quite sure?" he asked. His gaze trailed up my body, starting from where he'd seen a flash of my leg, then up to my face, then back down to my chest. "I'm sure I would remember seeing you before. You are very lovely, and I seldom forget a lovely face."

"Your majesty is too kind." I kept my eyes low. I would have liked to have blushed, to really sell the innocent routine, but that wasn't something I knew how to fake. Fortunately, the king didn't seem very interested in my face. "I am usually finished here before you exit your bath. Unfortunately today I was slightly delayed in the queen's room, so I was slightly behind on my schedule."

"Perhaps one moment of misfortune can turn just as easily into fortune," he mused.

"I'm not sure I understand, your majesty."

He took a step closer, so that there was no more than an arm's length between us.

King Edward was not the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes on, not even the most beautiful man I'd seen this week. His beard was just a bit too long for him to look handsome, and just a bit too short for him to look wise. His nose was a bit too wide, and his eyes a bit too small. He wasn't ugly, but he certainly wasn't handsome or beautiful. What he was was even better: powerful. He was the sovereign king of Amella, and commanded one of the greatest fighting forces on the continent. His grandfather had helped arrange peace between the dwarves to the North and the human kingdom beside them, and his father had driven back two separate invasions from the orcs to the South.

He reached out a hand, and gently laid it on the side of my face. "You are beautiful," he told me. "Where are you from?"

"I was born in Amella, your majesty, as were my mother and father. My grandparents came from Sawarra."

"Sawarra? That's South of Patridike, if my memory serves correctly."

"Very good, your majesty. Southeast of Patridike and Southwest of Yamen En'sol."

He nodded, and slowly stroked my cheek with the back of one finger. "And what brought them all the way across the Emerald Sea?"

"The same thing as everyone else, your majesty. They wanted freedom and opportunities."

"Did they find it?" His finger trailed along my jawline.

"They were prosperous, and their granddaughter works in service to the king."

"They must be very proud," he muttered. His finger stopped under my chin, and gently lifted my chin until I was looking into his face. "I'm going to kiss you now."

"Yes, your majesty."

It wasn't my first kiss, not by a longshot, but I couldn't help but be nervous. This was the most powerful in the kingdom, one of the most powerful people on the continent, and maybe even one of the most powerful men on the planet. He kissed me exactly the way I knew he would: his lips were soft, but his actions were not. He plastered his lips against mine, consuming my mouth with the avarice of a man lost in the desert and stumbling upon an oasis.

He was not gentle. My lips almost stung with the force of his kiss, and his hands immediately moved around me. One hand tangled in my long black tresses, and the other went straight to my chest, cupping my breast through my apron and dress.

He moved forward, pushing me backwards step by step. I had worried he wouldn't be interested in me, and that all this planning had been for nothing. But it was obvious that he wanted me.

I let him lead me backwards. It seemed like he was pushing me towards a wall, so I subtly changed our angle and had him move me back until my knees pressed against the edge of the bed.

He kept pressing forward, and I tumbled backwards onto the massive, plush bed. He followed, getting onto his knees on bed so he loomed over me, his knees pressing my legs apart. He leaned down over me, letting his hand trail up my body from belly to breast.

"So beautiful," he whispered to himself. He leaned down and kissed me again, pressing his lips hard against mine and grabbing my chest. He squeezed my breast through the thick folds of my dress and apron, just a bit too firmly.

"Gentle," I told him, automatically. Then my eyes widened in shock as I realized I had just told the king what to do. That is simply not done.

He broke the kiss and stared at my face for a second. He read the fear and nerves stemming from my ill-advised order, and evidently came to the wrong conclusion. "A maiden," he whispered, then smiled. "Of course, of course I'll be gentle. The first time can be difficult."

It was not my first time. There had actually been two different men before the king, but I didn't see much point in arguing.

King Edward's mouth was on mine again, and his hand was on the move again, this time starting on my thigh and making its way up. He slid his hand up, up, under the edge of my skirts and along the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh. I felt myself breathe harder as the tingly sensations of his hand on my naked skin mixed with my mounting anticipation.

I had been waiting for this for a while now, much longer than the two months I'd been working in the royal chambers. This was the result of more than half a year of careful planning.

His fingers grazed against the edge of my underwear, still following a straight path to his destination. They continued gently, finally coming to a stop where my legs met. He pressed his hand against my pussy, and I reflexively pushed myself up against him. "Eager, are we?" he asked, smirking.

He rubbed his thumb against the outline of my folds through my panties, and I felt a slight heat rising to his touch. It'd been over a year since I'd last had sex, since just after my eighteenth birthday, and I was craving more. He obliged.

I felt his hand shift, taking hold of the edge of my underwear and pulling down. The fabric slid down over my ass, aided by my wiggling hips, and down my thighs.

His hand resumed its previous position, thumb gently tracing along my naked flesh, its motions concealed by the layers of skirts. He kissed my mouth harder as his thumb slid along my other set of lips. My arms were wrapped around the back of his neck and shoulders, lightly entwined in his still-damp hair. His hand shifted under my skirt, and now it was the tip of a finger that was slowly stroking my sensitive flesh.

He moved his hand, until he was cupping my vulva, and that single finger traced its way back down, sliding gently between the lips. Then his digit was against my entrance, and pressing lightly. I was wet enough to not provide much resistance as he pressed his finger into me. I sighed in appreciation at the sensations. I had worried he was going to just shove himself in with no preparation, and I was glad to be wrong this time.

I should have been playing the role of the shy maiden, I mused to myself as he slowly slid his finger in and out of me, but the king didn't seem to care too much one way or the other. Besides, doesn't every man, especially a powerful man, consider himself so attractive that any woman would overcome her shyness to spread her legs for him?

He pumped his finger out of me a few more times, even curving it to stimulate that pleasurable spot. He obviously knew how to move his hand to make a girl happy. Then his hand was gone and his lips left mine.

I opened my eyes again and regarded his royal majesty, king Edward, first of his name, as he opened the front of his robe and slid the whole thing from his shoulders. His royal majesty's royal cock stood out, hard and proud. I regarded it critically, and was glad to see it was neither tiny nor massive. Either one might have made this more complicated.

"Is it your first time seeing one?" he asked as he moved his hands to the bottom of my skirts and pushed them up. "I'll show you what to do, never fear."

He pushed the folds of my skirt up until they were bunched around my hips, and pulled my underwear down until it hung from one knee, then pushed my legs open wider with his knees. Romantic.

"Thank you, your majesty," I answered, but it really barely seemed like he was listening. He bent down over me, one hand beside my head and the other holding his package, and started trying to line himself up. He looked eager, no... desperate. It had been over a year since I last had intercourse, and I wondered how long it had been for him.

The very tip of him pressed against me, and I took a breath in anticipation. That breath came back out in a sigh as he thrust forward and missed his mark, sliding his cock along my mound. He lined himself up and pushed forward again, missing my entrance and pushing fruitlessly against the skin above it. I stifled another sigh, and wondered if I should reach down and line everything up myself, but the third try was the charm. He pressed his cockhead against my opening and pushed, immediately sliding an inch or two into me.

I sucked air between my teeth in a hiss at the sudden discomfort, and the king made some clicking noises that were probably supposed to sound comforting. "There, there," he whispered. "The first time is always a bit painful, but the worst is over."

He shifted his hips slightly and pushed forward, and I felt the royal cock slide deeper into me. My body spread willingly before his length, opening around him as he entered me. He kept pushing forward, not stopping until he was all the way inside of me, his balls pressed firmly against my bottom.

"There," he whispered in my ear, "that's nicer, isn't it? Do you feel that? We're connected now."

My arms were still down at my side, half-trapped under him. I had always been a slight girl, and the king was broad of shoulder and hip. If anyone had seen us then, I would barely have been noticeable except as a pair of legs splayed lewdly around his thighs.

The king was still for the length of a breath, maybe two, before he started moving again. He slid back, withdrawing from me slightly before thrusting forward again. I had been hoping he'd start slow and gentle, but the king was a busy man and had many things to do in a day. He thrust hard, and my body shook slightly with the motion.

He set a fast pace, pushing into me over and over. Of the three lovers I'd had in my life to date, the king was not the worst - that title went to the boy I'd had my first experience with when we were both too young for that sort of thing.

King Edward found a rhythm and stuck with it, a steady pace of thrust, thrust, thrust. His lips met mine again in a passionate kiss, and I could feel my body warming as he brought us together again and again. My body eagerly spread before him with each thrust, and clenched at him like it wouldn't let go.

"You feel amazing, Arabela," the king whispered as he paused and shifted the angle of our joining.

"It feels fantastic, your majesty," I moaned into his ear. "You're so large." I wasn't lying about either of those, even if I did exaggerate a little - it did feel nice, and his cock was not small.

The king huffed in obvious pleasure and thrust faster, harder. I could hear the wet sounds of our joining echoing in the room, and my body rocked each time he drove his cock into me. A pool of heat seethed in my middle, driven forward each time his cock slid into my body.

"Oh gods." I clenched the front of his open robe and moaned again. "Just like that."

I revelled in that warmth, that pleasant glow, as the king thrust his royal cock into me again and again.

"Gods, you look beautiful," the king whispered, his voice sounding strained. "Like the fairest nymph in the realm of fae."