Maid To The Prince
Author
Tania Shava
Reads
20.2K
Chapters
63
Aurora spends her days slipping through palace halls, working hard and keeping her head down in a world where the wealthy rule every breath. Then one twist of fate places her in service to Prince Caspian, the charming royal who has never heard the word no in his life. He is all confidence and temptation, and she is the one woman who unsettles him without trying. Their stolen moments start as duty, turn warm, and slowly tug at the edges of their guarded hearts. In a world that insists they stay apart, something tender begins to spark. But can a prince truly fall for the maid who was never meant to be seen?
Chapter 1: The Cold Before the Light
AURORA
The cold came for Aurora every morning before the light did.
She was already on her bicycle when dawn broke over the rooftops, pedaling hard along the rutted road that ran from her lodgings to the palace gates—a full twenty minutes of frostbitten air and muddy ruts that rattled her teeth.
Most of the palace maids had it easier. They slept within the palace walls, in the servants’ quarters, where there was hot water and the warmth of other bodies nearby.
Aurora did not have quarters. She had not known the right people, had not been there long enough, had no family connection to smooth her way in. She had a rented room barely large enough for a bed and a narrow table, a well ten minutes in the other direction, and a uniform that hung on a single peg. She earned just enough to survive—candles, a ration of bread, an occasional egg when she could stretch her coins that far—and she had long since stopped hoping for more than that.
She did not begrudge her friends their luck. She had simply learned, early and well, that hoping for things led only to the particular hurt that came when they failed to arrive. She had loved someone once, or believed she had, and the memory of what that had cost her was enough to keep her moving forward with her head down and her expectations level with the ground. She did not speak of it. She had packed it away in a part of herself she no longer visited, and she intended to keep it that way.
She got to the palace gates as the sky turned from black to gray. She dismounted her bicycle, showed her badge to the guard, walked the bicycle to the stalls, and straightened her uniform. Her nose was probably red from the cold. The kitchen staff would notice and smile. She did not mind.
The staff kitchen was already loud with chatter and laughter when she pushed through the door, and the warmth hit her like a wall. She exhaled. She could feel her face again.
She joined the queue at the tea station, gave her name, and was ticked off the list. One cup, one piece of bread. She knew the maids who lived inside got more—they had cultivated friendships with the kitchen staff, brought small gifts, hairpins or ribbons, enough to earn extra portions. Aurora had never managed to secure anything worth offering. She took her single cup and bread and made her way to her friends.
“You look like you froze to death,” Ida remarked, pulling her bench back to make room.
Aurora sat and took a careful sip of her tea. It was scalding. She burned her lip immediately.
“You forget every time,” Ella said.
“It’s a shame you have to make that journey in this awful weather,” Lucy added, with enough genuine sympathy to sting a little.
“It’s sad they can’t make room for all of us,” Agnes said, too loudly, glancing toward the kitchen supervisors. “They eat very well, the royals, but they can’t be bothered to give everyone decent living conditions.”
“Keep your voice down,” Evelyn said in a sharp undertone. “The palace has eyes and ears everywhere.”
“It’s fine, really,” Aurora said. She smiled at them all. They lived here, all of them, and they still found things to be angry about on her behalf. She loved them for it. “Hopefully a space opens up soon, and we can all be together.”
“Maybe one day,” Barbara said warmly.
Aurora wrapped both hands around her cup and let the warmth seep in. The tea had cooled enough to drink now. She took a proper sip and was grateful for it.
They chatted until the kitchen supervisor began moving through the room, and that was the signal for all of them to disperse. Aurora put down her cup and stood. Today she had been reassigned.
Madam Beatrice had summoned her the previous evening—a short, terrifying conversation in which the head maid had disclosed that Constance, one of the senior maids, had caught the measles and could not work. Aurora was to take over her duties. She had been given a sheet of chamber rules to memorize. She had spent the night huddled under her blanket studying it by candlelight, and this morning she had reviewed it again on the road.
She fetched her broom and made her way to the outer courts first, completing the sweeping she was still technically assigned to, working hard enough to warm herself through. The day had already begun around her, and it was a bit gloomy, clouds sitting low over the palace rooftops.
After two hours, she was done. She headed inside.
“Aurora! Aurora!”
She turned toward the voice. It was Cathy from the kitchen, jogging toward her and slightly out of breath.
“You need to come with me,” Cathy said between gasps. “Urgently.”
Aurora followed her through the palace corridors without getting a chance to ask what was happening. They found Madam Beatrice standing in the interior hall, very still, which was more frightening than if she had been pacing. She dismissed Cathy with a look and the girl vanished.
“Morning, Madam Beatrice.”
“Aurora.” Madam Beatrice looked her over. “You know why you’re here. Constance’s duties are yours until she’s back on her feet.”
“Yes, Madam.”
It was not as though she could refuse.
“Follow me.”
Aurora followed her through the palace, trying to memorize the turns but giving up quickly. The interior was vast, and she was still new to it.
They stopped at a door. Madam Beatrice stood aside. “You will be cleaning this room. To perfection.”
“Yes, Madam.”
“I chose you because I know you work hard.”
“Thank you, Madam. I won’t let you down.”
“There is an hourglass. You have an hour and a half. They are at breakfast currently.” She paused. “Do not disappoint me, Aurora.” The threat in her tone was gentle and absolute at once.
She left. Aurora turned the hourglass and got to work.
The room was very fine. Silk sheets, garments made from fabrics Aurora had never touched before. She made the bed, dusted every surface, swept the floor, folded what could be folded and set aside what needed washing. She moved quickly and did not linger on the quality of anything around her.
When she was done, she had a few minutes to spare. She picked up the basket of dirty laundry and turned toward the door—and walked directly into someone coming in.
