The Prince and his Servant

Christian had been nothing but nerves as he stood just beyond the foyer, the doors that would lead him to the Prince’s chambers stood tall and imposing. Once he walked in and the doors sealed behind him they would shut away his past and only open for his future. His fate, sealed with finality.

Upon hearing of the death of Prince Ivan, heir to the throne and whom Christian served as a stable boy for, was the news that he would be moved up. As a personal servant to the next in line for the thrown. Prince Hadrian. Although Christian had seen the Prince and his sister on the Castle grounds, never had he spoken with them. Never had he wanted too. Speaking to the royalty out of turn would only serve him a spot in the stocks. Christian had no desire to be stuck in there, or even worse have his head removed which he was sure the king was itching to do.

With a heavy breath he pulled open the door, stepping inside and closing them deafly behind him, his eyes roaming the room as he stepped forward, going to his knee and bowing his head as he stood before the Prince.

“Your Majesty, I come to offer my services.” 

And so it begins...

In the wide, central courtyard of the Ivashkov palace, two small figures moved stealthily through the crowd, their heads slightly bowed and their eyes downcast to dissuade unwanted conversation from the courtiers they passed. They paid no heed as the men and women bowed and curtsied—it was expected, after all, when one was in the presence of royalty. No one stopped them, despite the fact they were wandering about without the gaggle of chattering girls that normally accompanied them; the members of the Court knew better than to question the Mazur Princess. Her temper—like her father’s—was already legendary.

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