Work Text:
Of all the things to ruin Keith’s day. He was meant to be saddling his pretty white mare to meet a promising young lady in a more private setting, but found himself diverted by a curious addition to their stables.
If Keith didn’t know Katarina’s tastes he would think the grey mare in the opposite stall was merely to allow her precious Macaron an occasional break. (Was he a little jealous of a horse? Yes, and he was well aware it was pathetic.) However while she was long-legged as Katarina preferred, she failed to match Katarina’s tastes in every other way. For one she leaned on the side of too lightly built, with a delicate, dished face and - most damning of all - a sweetly curious expression in her black eyes. Not even a hint of mischief or speck of ill-intent.
Keith leaned against the opposite wall and combed his brain, trying to come up with some answer. Perhaps the mare was a gift to Katarina’s new plaything? Keith dismissed this option almost immediately. Her gifts to her favorites might be generous, but even she wouldn’t be so careless. It would be a declaration of an intent that she didn’t possess.
Despite what the rumors implied, Keith of all people knew that Katarina wasn’t the type to take a mistress.
He thought about it hard enough that he almost didn’t hear the stable doors open and close, or see the maid’s approach until she was upon him. It was rare to see Anne in the stables without Katarina, but the thought didn’t occur to him in the moment. He only had his curiosity in mind.
“Anne, could you tell me why Katarina decided we need another horse? She can hardly ride two at once.” Perhaps if he kept his tone light enough, she would forget she was supposed to hate him.
Anne straightened subtly, as though her entire body was drawn up by a string from her head. He remembered her teaching him that lesson, one lazy summer afternoon. He could also see her considering the question, because unlike any other maid on the grounds she was both immune to his looks and indifferent to the potential punishment if she defied him.
In the privacy of his own thoughts, Keith could admit he had a soft spot for Katarina’s maid.
While a young Katarina drowned him in tea and a truly endless number of sweets, it was Anne who supplied him with sandwiches when her back was turned. No doubt it was because she worked to achieve the goal Katarina desired. Katarina seemed blissfully unaware of the extent of Anne’s quiet loyalty, but Keith - who as a child may as well have blended into the wallpaper for all the attention the other staff paid him - was privy to the lengths she took to fulfill Katarina’s whims.
He supposed they suited each other, maid and master. They were each possessed by the spirit of utter, bullheaded devotion.
Anne walked right past him to hang a brand new bridle near the stall, and for a moment he thought she wasn’t going to respond at all. He was more surprised when she did, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “I believe this one was acquired with you in mind, master Keith.”
His mouth worked. For him?
“What does it mean?” He hated how young he sounded, suddenly. Hated that he turned to Anne for answers even though her loyalty had never been his at all.
Just like that, Keith was scraped transparent as a fine piece of parchment, like the child he was before he met Katarina Claes. Too barren inside even for tears, so monstrous that he couldn’t bear to be seen. Yet he wanted to be seen by anyone at all, to be touched by anyone at all. Was it any wonder that the boy became a man who delighted equally in a quick fuck or a duel to first blood? He could flip a coin. What difference did it make?
How could he explain what it meant for Katarina to think of him at all?
“Anne, please.”
Anne was not a woman who faltered. Keith was quite certain that she would face anything short of impending death with that same deadpan expression on her face. However her eyes slid away from him, her head lowering just a fraction in what his long career of seduction taught him was body language universal to maids. Whatever she knew she had already said too much. She was fully prepared to accept punishment rather than spill her mistress’s secrets, and she would say no more.
He took a step forward, and Anne - Anne, who had no fear. Flinched.
What expression must he be making to make her react in such a way?
It hurt. It hurt more than he expected.
Not only because he desperately wanted to know what the hell Katarina was thinking, but because he hoped Anne would trust him not to lash out like a rabid animal. But, some dark part of him whispered, have you given her reason to think otherwise ?
"Sorry," was all he managed as he backed away, as if it were the only word he could remember. "Sorry."
He ran, and he didn't know where he was going. What difference did it make?