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The Maid and the King Chapter 2“Prince Anduin? Wyll sent me here to collect your things.”
You were trying not to let your excitement show so openly, trying to keep your smile toned down instead of the grin you had as you raced through the halls when you received the news of your position.
The head maid assigned you to assist Wyll Benton, Anduin's personal servant who had been since his birth and before then to the other kings.
Wyll was growing older but insisted he never needed help until he almost hurt himself picking up laundry.
So you were there as the laundry maid.
Prince Anduin sat on his bed, putting on his coat with a similar smile on his face. Was he just as excited as you were?
“Please. When it's just the two of us, call me Anduin. Here. Let me join you.”
You couldn't help but blush, scared to say it was alright and that you could take everything but when Anduin stood from his bed, you could only nod.
This started to be the norm for you.
Coming in the morning, afternoon and night to
Appealing to the Arcanist Aranya sat, at one of her myriad desks in one of her sundry offices or sanctums scattered throughout the nooks and crannies of all the known worlds, her upright pointed ears stiff with irritation, her whiskery black eyebrows twitching ever-so-slightly with every warring emotion in her head, staring at a letter that had been so unfortunate as to find her. Here, in one of the more civilized holes that she claimed ownership of and did her work in.
Of all the veiled threats and implied bullying that the banshee had ever sent her way, not one had managed to get under her skin, make her bow or come to heel. Not. Even. One. Aranya had managed to keep the resources of the Eclipse Syndicate strictly allocated to their own business; acquisitions and trade, island plunder, azerite assets and smuggling, and the running of their various fronts in taverns and the shop in Stormwind.
“Miss Ver’Sarn,” this letter began, simply. Not “Esteemed Arcanist Ver
The Maid and The KingYou shared your first kiss with the King.
It was when he wasn't King of course. You both were children playing behind the Church. You worked in the kitchen with your mother and befriended Anduin easily when he stopped by for a sweet.
That day was a bit different when he stopped by.
There were scrapes and bruises on his round face and arms that left you worried as soon as you didn't see his usual warm smile.
He seemed to perk up as you came around the corner with a sweet roll in hand. Without a work, you reached down to gently take hold of his hand to lead the Prince of Stormwind through the kitchen to grab a few treats and stuffed them into a satchel you kept nearby.
“Where are we going?” Anduin shyly asked as you led him out to the servants quarters near the moat.
You knew of a secret path that safely led to the Church that was used for safe passage in case of emergencies so you decided to surprise the prince. You had heard of the training he h
Come Raise the DeadSilvermoon remained a terribly ironic name for the city of the elves, as the golden sun gleamed on its gilded walls and streets of white and red stone, making it radiant with warm light. A vibrant contrast to the desolation that was now Tirisfal.
Aranya strolled with purpose through the streets from her personal sanctum in the capital city, to the end of Farstrider Square that was partially shaded from the heat of the sun by large red tented banners, some steps above the open training area, which was lined with dummies. The smiths needed such shade - partial as it was, and not entirely effective - to keep from completely succumbing to the heat of both the sun and the forges. One had his back to her as she turned up the steps and approached, banging on some armor.
“Excuse me,” said Aranya, just loud enough to make herself heard over the banging, and as soon as he stopped she continued. “How much for a good sharpening to a set of boot knives?” The arcanist asked.
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