Once upon a time, in a far away land, in a farther back time period, in a world far less advanced than the one that you, dear reader, probably live in, there was, as most cliches go, a princess and a prince. Were they siblings? No. Were they engaged? No. Did they even know each other existed? Oh, most definitely, because they hated each other.

Prince Savera walked across the cold marble floors and ivory halls, ‘Princess Aleanna,’ his lips fell into a frown at just the thought of her, ‘can’t believe I have to entertain that prick for a whole evening.’ 

She held her arms crossed as her annoyed expression fell upon The Prince’s portrait, ‘God I fucking hate this guy, I hope I hurl my stomach out before I have to hang with him.’

“Your majesty,” said a lowly maid from behind, “the royal family is ready for your’s.”

“How wonderful!” exclaimed Queen Sereanna, “my eyes were growing sore from glancing at this horrid art. They must hire a new painter!” Sereanna was known to be hard to please with the arts; she, however, had no art of her own, or at the very least it was never displayed. 

The maid accompanied them down a long corridor adorned with stolen artifacts and portraits of the royal family of Ecarvia; Sereanna knelt down to her daughter's level, “it appears they’ve always had bad taste,” she whispered with a wide smile. Aleanna stifled a quiet chuckle.

The maid, though petite, showed no effort in pushing open both of the large oak double doors that led to the dining hall. She escorted the family past the long table and to another room, this time it led to a glass circle conservatory adorned in azaleas and stained glass displaying different historical events, with an uncomfortably small table for royals placed in the middle.

“Dicky-boy!” exclaimed King Drake, “why it has been far too long since I have breathed your breath, my friend!”

“Please call me by another name,” begged Prince Richard, “I have grown tired of being referred to as ‘Dick’ and ‘Dickie’.”

Drake bellowed a deep, husky laugh as he threw his arm over Richard’s shoulder, “maybe once you’ve earned the title I shall call you ‘Rich,’ but alas, you are still just a prince!” 

“That’s because I married into the royal family, Drake, y’know that I still have the same power as a King, right?”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, kid,” He remarked as he ruffled his friend’s hair.

“We’re literally the same age! Why are you acting like a lil’ sh-”

“Come, you all, sit down and rest your weary feet,” interjected Queen Victoria.

Sereanna and Aleanna thanked the invitation with a quick curtsy before taking seats next to each other in the floral, white chairs, draped in a pastel forest cushion; Richard childishly glared at Drake, whose face held a playful smirk.

“Princess Aleanna, what have you been doing? It has been so long since I have seen you; do you remember when we last spoke? You were so lively then, now your face holds a solemn expression, one of annoyance, are you alright? Have our servants not been accommodating?”

“Your servants have been quite accommodating,” she lied, ‘Even though they haven’t talked to us all morning,’ she smiled, “I enjoyed the travel here much, who is your new carriage man?”

“Ah, that shall be Gabrio, a quiet young man he is, are you sure you enjoyed his company? Of course, you must have, he rarely speaks. Did you know-”

“Quiet, Victoria! You’re talkin’ her ears off!” laughed Drake, “besides, she can’t stay long,” he stood up and bowed, “forgive my bluntness, we just have some affairs to attend to with ol’ Dickie-boy and Sir-No-Smiles. Savannah!” 

Savera stood with his head hanging low so that his father could not see the annoyance on his face, “sir?”

“Entertain Al for a bit, would-ja?”

Savera stared coldly at Aleanna, she avoided his gaze as it would be rude to reciprocate his expression in his own home. 

“Boy?”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he replied robotically. He briskly walked over to her, “come, I’ll give you a tour,” he said swiftly, then speed-walked, like a gay fashion designer with a crisis right before a showing, to the door. 

Aleanna stood, gave a quick curtsey with her thanks, and turned to follow her ‘tour-guide,’ whom she hoped would ditch her soon.

They walked in a spiteful silence for a few moments before Aleanna caught the smell of a dessert unknown to her senses, “do you smell that?”

“No, I don’t have a nose,” Savera snarked, she sent daggers at him with her eyes - if only she could do it in real life.

“I’m serious, what is it?”

Savera closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “smells like vanilla, cinnamon, blueberries, and cream, I guess.”

“Oh,” she dropped her head, “I suppose you wouldn’t know the name.”

“I’m sorry?” he exclaimed, his pride hurt.

“Don’t be, you didn’t choose to be born ignorant.” 

Savera stopped, grabbed her tightly by the shoulders and shook her whilst protesting, “Ex-fucking-scuse me?!”

Aleanna shrugged his hands away, “don’t hurt the messenger.”

“Well the messenger is an insolent brat who doesn’t even do anything but eat and sleep!”

She gasped, “I don’t just eat and sleep!” she placed her hands on her hips in defiance, “I read too, y’know!”

“Read what, children’s books?”

“Yes! They are quite entertaining,” she turned her head to the side.

“I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she puffed.

“Good to know we have one thing in common.”

“Wait, huh?”

“We both hate you.”

Her face flushed as she raised her hands and began lightly punching him, “I meant I hate you, you fool! You buffoon! Moron! Idiot! I wish I di-”

“Excuse me, your majesties,” interjected a soft voice with a slight rasp, “I’m trying to enjoy the morning in peace.”

“Why would we care?” asked Savera, “you’re a servant, you know, you shouldn’t speak unless spoken to.”

The servant’s lips curled, piqued by his remark. “Hey, he can speak to us if he wishes to,” Aleanna contested, “even people speak to God.”

“They pray to God, you idiot.”

“Praying is speaking, moron, and we’re also not Gods. He can talk to us if he wants to, especially to warn us that we’re being rowdy.”

“Servants shouldn’t speak without being spoken to!”

“I wouldn’t have to speak if you were quiet,” said the servant, “and I do have a name, your majesty.”

“I don’t care to know it.”

“Nor do I your’s, but I still know it.”

Savera stared at him, vexed with his demeanor, “well, what is your name?”

He stared at the ground in silence, sighed, then dejectedly uttered, “your people have named me ‘Tim.’”

“Very well, ‘Tim.’”

‘Tim’ bit his bottom lip in anger, holding back his every urge to say his real name, but refusing to, knowing the humiliating words that would be thrown at him. 

Aleanna peeked into the kitchen door, which stood cracked behind him, “what are you making? Is it good?”

“It’s pudding from where I’m from.”

“Oh, where are you from?”

“The ‘New World,’ as you all call it.”

Aleanna’s eyes lit up with excitement, “the New World? Awesome! You must let me try this pudding!”

He shrugged; Aleanna squealed with excitement and pulled him into a tight hug, “oh how wonderful!” She released him and ran into the kitchen with him following confusingly at her heels; Savera groaned and reluctantly accompanied them.

・・・

After assuring that the nobles had retired to their sleeping chambers, ‘Tim’ exited the castle through a small, weak old oak door reserved for servants who wished to go out to the garden. It had been locked throughout the day to protect any visitors from seeing the ‘low-life’ encroaching on the extravagant plants, but, as it was night, it was now unlocked so that the cooks could retrieve vegetables and plants, and the gardeners could do their job and - well - garden.

He walked softly across the stone pathway, admiring the twinkling of the night sky reflected in the shallow creek irrigation system flowing down each row of the garden. He reached a small shack reserved for the gardeners' tools, hidden in the shadow of the trees. 

He slowly pushed open the door, irrationally fearful that its creaks of age would wake someone. He did wake someone - or rather - something, an old cocker-spaniel with the pattern of a brown cow. ‘Tim’ had been warned about the dog by Lubanzi ‘Louis,’ it was a gift to the gardener from Queen Victoria. She had adored her until she started getting bigger and “less desirable.”

“Call ‘er ‘BonBon’ an’ she won’t hurt you,” Lubanzi explained, “her name is Bongani, after my lil’ brother.”

Bongani, the person, not the dog, had died of a high fever not too long after being taken to Ecarvia. Lubanzi had buried him not too far into the forest, placed before a large oak. 

BonBon, the dog, merely stared at ‘Tim,’ then promptly laid her head back down. “Good, BonBon,” he whispered as he passed by her, gently patting her head. 

He lifted a loose plank in the floorboard and pulled out a small satchel; he reached in and in his hand softly held an herb no bigger than the size of a quarter. He pocketed the copper-colored plant, lavender-like in shape. He then left, patting BonBon’s head. He followed the path back into the castle, and silently and swiftly, as best he could, returned to the servants’ sleeping chambers.