Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)“No baron will run my estate,” Prince James asserted. The baron shifted his large weight in the cushioned chair, staring uncomfortably at his empty wine glass. The prince ignored him. The estate bordering the king’s manor was traditionally given to the prince so the young man had experience in managing his own affairs. This included keeping his peasants on task and ensuring all crops were properly handled for the kingdom. Much like other luxuries afforded to young nobles, the prince was being denied it.
“James, you are unprepared. You should be learning falconry and hunting – or attending to the courtly meetings,” the king insisted. “I have other duties of this nature that are more suitable for you. Running an estate should be left to those of the appropriate status.”
Prince James scoffed and slouched in his chair. King Lyon's jaw tightened, his gaze resting heavily on his son, and an awkward silence settled over the private chamber.
“I will consider your request. I must speak with the baron privately,” the king said dismissively. “If you wish to be useful, see that the scullery maids light the fires for the cook. We are entertaining tonight.”
James left the chamber in anger and humiliation. It was the most menial task his father could have given him and should have been handled by Marjorie, the kitchen maid. His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty hall and cramped stairwell as he descended to the servants’ hall to find her. I’ll be damned if I spend my evening with the scullery maids. Let Marjorie deal with it, he thought.
When he reached the kitchen, his princely features were stern and clouded. At first glance, the room seemed empty save for the large pot over the kitchen hearth already filled with water to boil. He turned toward the scullery room to look for Marjorie when he noticed a young woman near the long wooden table laden with food for the night’s feast.
“You, there. Where is your kitchen maid?” the prince inquired.
“James, you are unprepared. You should be learning falconry and hunting – or attending to the courtly meetings,” the king insisted. “I have other duties of this nature that are more suitable for you. Running an estate should be left to those of the appropriate status.”
Prince James scoffed and slouched in his chair. King Lyon's jaw tightened, his gaze resting heavily on his son, and an awkward silence settled over the private chamber.
“I will consider your request. I must speak with the baron privately,” the king said dismissively. “If you wish to be useful, see that the scullery maids light the fires for the cook. We are entertaining tonight.”
James left the chamber in anger and humiliation. It was the most menial task his father could have given him and should have been handled by Marjorie, the kitchen maid. His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty hall and cramped stairwell as he descended to the servants’ hall to find her. I’ll be damned if I spend my evening with the scullery maids. Let Marjorie deal with it, he thought.
When he reached the kitchen, his princely features were stern and clouded. At first glance, the room seemed empty save for the large pot over the kitchen hearth already filled with water to boil. He turned toward the scullery room to look for Marjorie when he noticed a young woman near the long wooden table laden with food for the night’s feast.
“You, there. Where is your kitchen maid?” the prince inquired.