The Princess's Manservant

CHAPTER SEVEN - The Morning After

The night ended in celebration. Apparently, the bonding ceremony was a sign that the leads had come of age and had been deemed worthy to take the test of leadership. The Crown Prince had gone through the same rite years before. Now, it was the princess's turn.

Alex did not meet the princess that night. Instead, he acquainted himself with the other servants, who threw a brief welcome gathering in his honor. Even his quarters had already been prepared—neat, orderly, with numerous uniforms arranged carefully in the wardrobe.

The next morning, however, was unpleasant.

Alex did not sleep a wink. He tossed and turned, not because of the bedding, but because of the thoughts that refused to leave him.

What a strange tradition, he thought.

Why must there be a personal servant?

Where is Obinna?

Do I have to pretend?

What is my wife-to-be like?

As the morning sun rose, he groaned and dragged himself out of bed. Another male servant led him to bathe. When he returned, dressed and prepared, he waited.

His gaze drifted to the deep green book resting on the desk by the window.

Alex stepped closer, his hand resting on its cover as he lifted it. The kingdom's crest was pressed firmly into the leather. He opened it.

The Bonding Journal.

His frown deepened. The title reminded him of the weight around his neck.

He closed the book quickly and placed it back on the desk just as a sharp knock shattered his thoughts.

"It's me—Adaora," a voice announced.

Alex rushed to the door and swung it open. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sir. Come—we are to meet Her Majesty," she said briskly.

"Oh," he replied softly, stepping out and closing the door behind him. "Is something the matter?"

"No, no," Adaora said as they walked. "I was informed that milady will be attending the after party."

Is that reason to be in such a hurry? He wondered.

"Did she not wish to attend?" he asked.

"You are quite sharp," Adaora praised. "Indeed, she did not. But His Majesty commanded it, so she has no choice."

"I see," Alex murmured.

Silence followed. His eyes wandered through the palace halls—green curtains, white walls and floors, black doors edged with silver. Everything was brighter, sharper, more rigid than what he was used to.

"We've arrived," Adaora said.

Alex looked up at the black door before them. Adaora knocked, announced herself, and entered. She gestured for him to follow.

He did—and immediately looked away.

The princess stood in her undergarments.

His gaze fixed firmly on the floor as heat rushed to his cheeks. "Good morning, ma'am," he greeted nervously.

She did not respond.

"The sash is meant to be fastened on your left, not your right," she said coolly. "Did they not teach you proper dressing?"

Alex said nothing.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Leave. Wait by the door."

He clenched his jaw but obeyed, stepping outside and standing where instructed.

"Ada," the princess called, her voice tired as she turned to her maid. "Help me dress."

"Of course," Adaora said, moving to the wardrobe. "What fabric would you like today?"

"Anything," the princess replied.

"That is a rather lazy decision."

"I suppose." She paused, then gestured. "The grey akwete with the green pattern. The grey blouse. The green corset."

Adaora smiled. "See? Isn't that much better?"

"Not really. I'm still in a sour mood."

"Is that why you were rude to Mr. Alex?"

"Is that his name?"

"Yes. And you would have known that if you controlled your temper."

"I do not have a temper," the princess muttered, avoiding her gaze.

"The sash is meant to be on your left," Adaora mimicked gently.

The princess flinched. "I was merely correcting him."

"At whose expense?"

She did not answer.

"I should also inform you," Adaora continued softly, "that his bond is rather uncomfortable."

"That is to be expected," the princess said. "Take his measurements and summon the craftsman tomorrow."

"Of course."

When Adaora left, the princess turned to her reflection.

"A woman of dignity and elegance," she whispered. "Is that who you were, Mother?"

Her gaze shifted to a portrait nearby—herself as a child, cradled in her mother's arms.

A knock interrupted her thoughts.

She straightened as the maids entered, settling before the mirror as they styled her hair and applied her makeup. She allowed it in silence, wondering what the days ahead would demand of her.