Wings of a Dragonfly

Chapter One

Hi!

Welcome to Wings of a Dragonfly. This is a historical fiction set in the early 1800s (based on absolutely nothing real that happened, bar some mentions to the American and French revolutions). It is set in a fictional, small country off the coast of France.

This book holds a special place in my heart, I wrote it around 2012 and this is a newly re-written version of it that I'm releasing as part of my big re-writing project. This one took a lot of work because 17 year old me did not give one single fuck about research.

I hope you love my boys as much as I do.

Love, Cam.

PS. Don't judge the cover too harshly, I had a half-hour to draw it.

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Chapter One

Judging by the sun's position in the sky, it had only risen about half an hour ago. I stretched out in my bed, slowly letting myself out of a sleepy stupor and into my daily routine. I got dressed in my servant's uniform, and pulled on my shoes. I despaired over my hair in the looking-glass, at it liked to stick up in every possible direction and seemed impossible to tame. Then, wondering what the day would bring for me, I walked from my room to the kitchens.

"Good morning!" I greeted everyone. The kitchen was bustling, filled with servants hurrying about. Mary-Jane, the mother figure to most of us, was busy cooking up breakfast for the family, and it smelled delicious. She pushed some at me, and I ate quickly. The bread was freshly baked, warm and soft, with butter churned from our cows and eggs that had been collected from our hens. I never stopped marvelling at how she made every meal taste so wonderful.

"Slow down," she warned me. "You're no good to the master if you're running around with indigestion."

"Yes, mother," I smiled ruefully, eating more slowly. The sun crept slowly upwards, and once it began to shine more strongly, I prepared tea. Today was a busy day for my master, and I knew he would need an energy boost to get through it with a smile. I prepared a black tea with orange, one of his favourites, and let the pot boil slowly over the oven prepared with a smaller fire. Once it was heated, I placed it on a tray with two teacups.

"Back soon," I told MJ, and headed out of the kitchen and up the servants' staircase. We had our own system throughout the house, to avoid interrupting the daily life of the master, and to get around with maximum efficiency. I exited the servants' paths into the main corridor of the left side of the second floor, and walked to the room I knew all too well by this point.

I knocked on the door, and received a grunt of acknowledgement. It was all I required, so I pushed the door open, steadying myself for what lay within. My master was not a morning person. I shut the door behind me, balancing the tray on one hand, before heading over to the bed.

"Good morning, Sir," I greeted him cheerfully. "I have your morning tea."

Oliver was half-naked, the covers entangled between his limbs. I could see the firm muscles in his back, his leg splayed out over the covers. If he moved even a little bit, I'd see a whole lot more. I averted my gaze, feeling very warm all of a sudden. "Sir, I have your tea."

"Good," Oliver grumbled into his pillow, stirring enough to hear what I was saying.

"But it's going to go over here," I said, setting it on the table just out of arm's reach. "So you'll have to come over before it cools too suddenly and is no longer enjoyable."