The first few days slip by in a haze of routine and learning.
I wake up before the sun rises, eat dinner's leftovers as breakfast, and start on my chores. Madam Amaia wrote out a list of my daily tasks on the first morning—starting with having Eero's breakfast in his study before he wakes up. After that's done, it's cleaning, cleaning, and, you guessed it, cleaning.
None of the work is hard, per se. It just takes some getting used to. Since I'm so inexperienced, Madam Amaia works closely by my side.
Turns out, Eero doesn't like people being in his personal space. Madam Amaia was doing all the straightening up and laundry for him because she's one of the few people he can tolerate.
Or maybe it's that she's one of the few people who can tolerate him.
Either way, now that I'm on the job, he's gone. Disappeared. It's almost as if the last place he wants to be is wherever I am.
This only adds to the suspicion that he recognized me.
"Where does he go?" I ask one afternoon. We're sitting out in the servant's yard—the little nook behind the castle, nestled between the kitchen and the outer wall—scrubbing clothes on a washboard. After I lather the soap and give the cloth a good dragging across the stiff metal, Madam Amaia hangs it up on the long clothesline overhead.
"Training, mostly." She pulls two pins out of her apron pocket and drapes the pants over the line. Water drips from the legs, wetting her shoes. If she minds, she doesn't say anything.
"I haven't seen the training area yet, have I?"
"No, and hopefully you never will." She takes a shirt from me and I use the break to rest my hands. The water's ice cold by now, and the chill of it only worsens the bite of the washboard. Plus, the constant motion of scrubbing gives me hand cramps. After three days, I should be used to it, but I'm not. Every night, Madam Amaia applies salve to the cracked and aching joints.
"Why not?" I press.
As she turns to grab another article of clothing, she notices me rubbing circles in my palms. "Your hands hurting you again?" she asks. "Swap places with me. I'll scrub while you hang."
As I stand and shake out my skirt, I say, "Don't avoid the question."
Madam Amaia grins at me. Earlier in the week, I wouldn't have spoken to her like this. But when you spend nearly every waking moment with a person, you bond with them. The older woman is a little highlight in the monotony of palace life. I feel comfortable enough around her to joke and prod.
"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to!" She starts washing a new piece of clothing. While the simple act makes me sweat, Madam Amaia does it like it's her calling. "The training grounds are no place for women. Too many men in one place. The testosterone alone could smother you, but then there's the fighting as well. Prince Eero insists on 'real training,' as he calls it. No mock swords or dummies." She shakes her head. "It's a bloodbath as they all try to prove who's the biggest and toughest. Silly boys."
Well, that explains why Eero was so bloody the last time I saw him.
"Who does most of the winning?" I absentmindedly ask as I start to hang up clothes. It's easier work than washing; I can handle a bit of back pain.
Since Eero's made it his life's mission to run from us, I've taken it upon myself to learn everything I can about him. Why all the other maids have quit, why the palace staff talks about him in whispers, why he doesn't like people in his space... Papa would call this "researching your target."
Finn would call it a sick obsession.
In this case, I have to side with Papa. I refuse to admit or even consider that my interest in Eero is anything but research-driven.
So far, I've learned that he doesn't go anywhere without at least one member of his personal guard, which seems silly considering Eero can protect himself just fine. It's going to be exceptionally hard to get him off on his own, but surely I can do it.
I have to.
I cannot give up.
Not when I can see the water levels of Finn's prison dwindling.
Now when I know Papa's worried about me. The storms over the sea are all any of the house staff have been talking about.
I just need to be patient. If I wait, the fruit will fall into my hand.
Madam Amaia's voice brings me back to reality. "Eero, of course. There's not a guard or trainee that can beat him. The boy's been training since he was old enough to pick up a sword."
I try to imagine Baby Eero toddling around with a sword behind him, but the picture that comes to mind is a sharp-toothed, red-eyed goblin child. It isn't pleasant.
"Have you been here his whole life?" I ask, reaching for more clothes. We've almost made it through our entire pile.
"Yep." She finishes the scrubbing and sits back on the little bench to dry her hands. "The King hired me when I was your age. Been here ever since."
"So you know the family pretty well."
She answers after helping me tip the bucket over, emptying the sudsy water on the ground. "I should say so, considering I watched the king marry, served under the queen for twenty years, and raised little Eero after his mama's passing. Gods rest her soul."
That explains why he trusts Madam Amaia to be in his space.
"What's he like?" I blurt.
The matron stops in the doorway, bucket poised on her hip. "You're a smart girl, Ari. I can tell. Don't go down that path." Her words are thick with warning.
"What path?"
"The one where a young, naive little servant tries to woo the strong, handsome prince. I warned you about romance in this palace. It won't end in your favor."
I cringe. "Trust me, that is not why I'm here."
The thought alone makes me shudder. He's plotting against my people! If that wasn't enough to push romantic notions out of my mind, the fact that he's human would be.
Madam Amaia sighs and lets me pass by her. The hallway opens and we're able to walk side-by-side. "Good, because I don't want to see you get hurt. And you would; I promise. The prince is a lot of things, but he's not someone for you to get tangled with."
After that, she falls into such a heavy silence that I hate to interrupt it. We drop the washtub off in a supply closet and head towards the kitchen to help with lunch.
"You're his maid," she says suddenly, making me jump, "so I guess it won't hurt to tell you a little." Her arm wraps around mine, and she pulls me to a stop in the middle of the hall. "There is one thing you need to know about the prince."
My body tingles with anticipation. This is it, the bit I've tried to pry out of her for days. My window of opportunity.
"He's a good soul," she starts. Wait, what? "A kind man. Better than his father, really. But he's not had it easy."
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. He's not had it easy? Sweet Divine, I lived through a war, and you don't hear me whining about it.
"Being a crown prince is a lot of responsibility, and it was all thrust upon him at a young age. He never really had time to just be a kid. It was all lessons and training, pomp and circumstance. The pressure to be a perfect prince was ever present, I'm sure."
I know all about the "responsibility" that comes with succeeding a throne, but you don't see me complaining about it. I suffered through Papa's training, through years of endless lessons about our people's history and our legacy. I'm in the exact same boat as Eero.
But I didn't turn out to be a brooding, insufferable... war monger.
"Prince Eero's been shoved inside a box his entire life, and he's thrown away the key, so to speak," Madam Amaia continues. "If you don't know him, and I mean him, not the mask he's forced to put on, then you'd think he was some cocky, obnoxious... well, dolt, for lack of a better word. He seems like a bit of a dolt."
She laughs, a soft sound that comes from deep in her chest. It's full of sentiment and love. I imagine that this is what it sounds like when a human grandmother talks about her grandchildren—all pride and blind, faultless admiration.
"The Eero I know isn't like that. He's loyal to no end, would do anything for his people and kingdom, and is immeasurably kind. I could see a girl like you falling in love with him once you got to know him. And you probably will, considering how much time you're going to be spending with him." She pauses there and looks at me sternly. "Don't quit like the others, Ari. Don't shut him out before you've given him a chance at friendship."
I open my mouth to tell her that it's impossible. The door between Eero and me is locked; the key's already at the bottom of the ocean. There's no way I can give him "a chance." Prince Eero is irreparable.
But the way Madam Amaia talks about him, it's as if we're referring to two different people.
Maybe we are. Maybe I don't really know him after all.
"He's going to try and chase you off," she says as we step into the kitchen. Josef leans down, gives her a soft peck on the top of her head, winks at me charmingly, and then saunters past, humming to himself. "That's what Eero does. He'll be rude and crass and grumpy, but you can't take it personally. He just doesn't trust anyone, bless him." She turns and yells across the kitchen at Josef, "Do you need any help, love?"
Josef shakes his head without fully turning around. He's a man of few words, I've learned.
"Alright, We'll get out of your way, then. Come on, skatter."
I follow her into the dining room, where the other ladies are already setting up the table for dinner. Madam Amaia and I jump in to help, not needing to be told how.
When everyone's finished and the servers have come to stand in their positions around the table, the matron pulls me to the side.
"Come. I'll help you write down the prince's schedule."
"What for?" I ask as I hurry after to the servant's yard.
"So you can do this on your own tomorrow. I can't keep holding your hand."
I have to hide my smile from her as we step out onto the grass. Maybe I'm finally making progress.