When I enter the scullery room, I nearly turn back and run. The room is nearly overflowing with clothes strewn left and right. Piles upon piles of silk robes, gaudy dresses, and elaborately over decorated suits.

It looks like Hell or at least what I imagine Hell would look like. Man, if this is the punishment the Head Miss gives to people she likes, I’d hate to see what she gives to people she hates.

I let another groan escape my lips before walking the rest of the way into the room. Damn this is going to take all day and maybe most of the week.

I haul the first gigantic pile of clothes up into my arms and nearly buckle at the weight, which is saying something because I’m not a weak person. Just how much clothes can a few people possibly need? I wonder as I drag my load of dirty laundry towards the water basins on the other side of the room.

No, not a few people, just one person. I realize in dismay as I empty my arms of their heavy burden and let the distinctly male robes tumble to the ground. I know immediately who they belong to as I survey the pile, all in the most fashionable cuts and styles. That prince is a piece of work I tell you. No one should wear this much clothes, no scratch that, no one should have this much clothes.

And wait a minute, just how long have these clothes been down here and how many times have they been worn? I wonder as I sift through the clothes thoughtfully, finding the riding outfit the prince had worn the day before along with the dress suit he wore to the meeting yesterday, and the pajamas I placed in his bedroom two days ago. And, wait a minute. Don’t tell me…

Yup, all these stupid cloths are the ones I had the maids bring up to his chambers two days prior. Which means that this mountain of clothes is from, at most, the past few days. How does someone even find the time to change their outfit so often? It’s like he picked a new one every hour of the day or something.

Curiously, I walk back towards the piles of clothes and begin sifting through the stacks. Finding first the mountain of clothes belonging to the queen, then the much smaller pile of clothes belonging to the royal princess, and lastly the decidedly minuscule stack of clothes belonging to the king.

Good god, his royal nut job has more clothes than her lady the princess and his royal ass the king put together! I think in astonishment as I look back at the princes mountain of clothes that rivals the queens own monumental pile.

You really have to have something wrong with you if you are changing your clothes at the rate the queen does. I mean it’s no secret that her royal highness the Queen is spoiled rotten and nearly drains the palace riches dry with her expenditures.

She’s an overindulged pampered little brat I tell you. Raised with a silver spoon shoved so far down her throat that not even the best medics in the world could remove it. Pampered, prissy, little rich girl, through and through.

Wow it’s a good thing I don’t talk anymore. I’d definitely be hung if anyone knew some of the things I think about the royal family.

I roll my eyes at the notion of people learning my innermost thoughts and stock back across the room towards the horrendous pile of richly embroidered clothing. I think it may have been better if the Head Miss hated me. Maybe then she would have killed me with her wooden spoon and I wouldn't have to suffer through this.