King's Quarters

He was the king. Of course he would use her for one night and forget about her. It was what Claire expected when she snuck out of his chambers early that morning. She was only a kitchen maid. It meant nothing to him and everything to her. But it was to be expected. This was how kingdoms were ruled.

            She never expected him to want her after that night. He would forget about her, marry a lady from a noble family, and she was to continue to live her life in the shadows. It didn't matter that she could not stop thinking about how he held her, how his scent seemed to still linger on her. He was the king, and she was his play thing for the night. Claire was fine with that. At least that's what she tried to convince herself.

            "Claire!" The cook yelled after her, taking her out of her day dream.

            "Yes, miss." She rushed to the cook's side, prepared to do whatever task was asked of her.

            "Take this tray up to the king's room." Cook handed her a tray filled with the morning's breakfast. Piles of bacon, toast, eggs, and morning mead weighed the tray down so much it was a strain on Claire's delicate arms.

            "The King's quarters? But...but I thought that was Mary's job." Her arms shook with the weight of the tray and the nerves running through her. She was not ready to see him again. She was not ready to look at that royal face and see disinterest there. She didn't know if her heart could take the pain.

            "Mary's with the Queen Mother while she visits the princess in Gainsville. You know she recently had a baby," cook explained. "Now, stop stalling and take the man his breakfast! If it arrives cold, that's coming out of you wages!" Cook shooed her up the stairs.

            Claire's feet felt like blocks as she travelled closer and closer to his apartment. She remembered coming down this hall the night before. It was different in the light of day. The painting of past royalty stared down at her with judgement in their eyes. As if they remember her from the night before and knew what she had done.

            With shaking hands, Claire moved the tray to one hand and knocked on the door. She stood back and waited for it to open. She expected one of the valets when it opened. Instead, she was greeted by a tanned, well sculpted chest that peeked through a half open shirt. He stood before her, unconcerned that he was in his undershirt and nothing else.

            "Claire." Her name fell from his lips in a gruff tone. The sound one makes as they first wake from a restful sleep. A rush of pleasure ran up and down her spine, her nipples tingled and peaked, her thighs rubbed together, all because of the lust that filled the king's eyes as she stood in front of him with shaking arms holding the heavy tray.

            "Your Majesty." Her voice trembled as she bowed. "I brought you your breakfast, sir," she squeaked out.

Sir. She said it as if she had never said his real name. As if she were not in this very room, screaming his name in pleasure.

She felt nervous walking into his chambers again. She was not this nervous the night before. She was a bold temptress, knowing that she would never be in his presence again. Now, that temptress was gone, replaced by the mouse of a woman that stood before a man that knew her in a biblical way.

            "Come in. Place it on the table." He opened the door wider, allowing her room to enter. She hurried in, making hast to the small dining table on the far side of the huge room. She placed his meal on a table that sat next to a huge fireplace. Nothing but embers remain in the heath. It was her job to rekindle the fire. She had to come back to stoke it. It was the only thing she could think about. It was the only thing she allowed herself to think. If she thought about anything, anyone else, she would not make it the rest of the day. Make it out of this room.