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“Miss Dupain-Cheng.” The sound of her name said in that particular voice made Marinette’s hand tighten around the scrub brush. “This scouring of my floor is unacceptable.”
She didn’t so much as twitch as the words flicked at her like the tip of a whip on the back of a disrespectful slave. This was the twenty first century and she was no slave, but the man who glowered down at her with pale green eyes was the closest thing to a slave driver she had ever seen.
Felix Fathom was the Crown Prince of England and Wales, Heir to the Throne, the Duke of Cornwall and Rothesay, Earl of Carrick and Chester, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles, and the Prince and Great Steward of Scotland.
“And doesn’t let you forget it, the prat,” Marinette thought, taking a few slow breaths so as not to leave a brush shaped indentation in the royal forehead. Instead, she held her head high and stared down the man like the arrogant bully he was. He eyed her up and down, his gaze lingering on her knees which she knew were filthy from the scrubbing she had been doing. What could the man be doing to dirty these floors so fast? Mud throwing? Science experiments that left the floor covered in a fine sheet of ash?
As much as she tried to be a friendly, likable person and a professional in all things, the prince had taken an almost instant dislike to her, criticizing everything she did to the point of absurdity and, she was not ashamed to say, the feeling was mutual. Sure, she was living in a palace, working as an upstairs maid to the Queen and most handsome prince the world had ever seen, at least according to Time Magazine, and even had her name in for working with the Wardrobe Steward once she had been here for five years. She should have been on top of the world.
“If I can just make it five years,” she thought bitterly, her knees aching from kneeling on the marble floor for so long. She brushed a strand of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear and saw his lip curl in a sneer. “What does he hate about my earrings anyway? Her Majesty complimented them and gave her permission! What can he possibly have against ladybugs?”
“I want you on your knees, nose-deep in a soap bucket for the rest of the day.” His Royal Highness tilted his chin contemptuously, undoubtedly trying to browbeat her into submission with his unarguably attractive jawline. “Have I made myself clear?”
However, Marinette restricted herself to a stony silence as she glared back at him. “You’re just lucky I’m not allowed to have my phone on me,” she thought nastily. “Showing the world a bat in the royal cave would make such a splash on social media!” Not that she would get away with that. In fact, it would get her fired and sued for breach of her confidentiality contract, but it would almost be worth it to sock it to the man’s inflated ego. She was just as good as he was, if not better! How dare he treat her like a… a… non-person!
“Well,” Felix demanded, his tone carrying two degrees more irritation than before. She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath.
“Yes, your Royal Highness,” she ground out, imagining dumping her bucket of soapy water over his grey cashmere suit and perfectly slicked back hair.
The prince’s eyes narrowed at her words and she dared him to find fault with her again.
“Good,” he hissed, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I wouldn’t want you to get a swollen head.”
“Like yours?” It was all she could do to keep those words behind her clenched teeth, especially as he brushed past her roughly, nearly knocking her over. She braced herself and glared at him as he left the room with long, arrogant strides. “Well, if His Highness wants a clean floor, then a clean floor he shall have,” she thought, smugly, as the tension eased along her shoulder blades, neck, and jaw.
After all, her mother had a saying, ‘The best revenge is a job well done and a life well lived.’
———
Marinette walked into the breakfast parlor that morning to such a distasteful look that she couldn’t help but grin with satisfaction. She knew Felix was seething inwardly over not being able to find fault with her work the last few weeks and was looking for any means possible to stick it to her once more. She nodded to him pertly and watched as his lips pursed in disgust as he glared into his coffee cup.
She had brought the coffee service up herself not five minutes ago and knew what he would find. Felix drank his coffee black - “as dark as night and as black as his heart” as one of the cooks said - and, sure enough, he was scowling at a few small bubbles marring the tarry surface. She knew that Felix had been particularly nasty to Mylene the other day about his linens and Ivan, her boyfriend and one of the men who did the heavy lifting and scrubbing in the kitchens, had decided to take matters into his own hands. All it took was a few grains of powdered soap in the bottom of the prince's cup to create those bubbles and it might be enough to give him a stomach ache for an hour or two. With as strong as he took his coffee there was no way he could possibly taste it, but she had to admit that he was unusually observant.
Marinette was not averse to helping along a minor prank, even if she took the blame for it which, by the disgusted swallowing His Highness was doing, she undoubtedly would. She had, of course, made sure the queen’s cup had no trace of soap flakes. No need to punish an innocent woman just because her son was a cruel, sadistic bully with no regard for human decency or respect.
“Are you alright, my darling,” the queen asked Felix, her calm tone tinged ever so slightly by concern.
Marinette had only been working for Her Majesty for a few months, but she already knew that the woman only gave any kind of emotional response to her son and no one else, and even then it was subtle. Felix drew a shuddering breath and smoothed a hand over his already immaculate hair, clearly trying to school himself back into a state of neutrality.
“Serves him right for bullying Mylene the other day,” she thought smugly. “Yeah, go ahead and explain to Mummy Dearest why you get so worked up over a servant.”
She approached the table, dipping into a low, professional curtsey as she did so, and saw the prince’s brows draw together in a glower. “What? Can’t ridicule my posture or my curtsey, Mr Etc?”
“Your Majesty,” she murmured, her eyes cast down in customary courtesy. "Your lady's maid found the earrings."
“One moment, please,” the queen replied, her tone arch and Marinette felt those shrewd eyes settle on her. “I’m conversing with my son.”
She felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. The queen suspected something… something … between herself and the prince? “Ugh! He is the last man on earth I would ever want to be seen with, let alone date!”
Marinette bobbed a curtsey and stepped back, folding her hands in front of her as demurely as possible. When she lifted her eyes, Felix was staring at her with a fierce intent. Well, he wasn’t going to frighten her with a nasty look! She had grown up with Chloe, after all, and Felix would need about five kilos of eye shadow and a dozen more of attitude before he could compete with that brat!
Queen Amelie coughed delicately, drawing Felix’s attention away from Marinette briefly.
“I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Truly, Mother, I’m fine. Just fine.” The Queen raised an eyebrow, an entire conversation in a single movement. Marinette couldn’t help but be impressed by the woman’s poise. She wished she could put the man in his place as easily. As it was, he was staring at her once more as if his eyes could burn holes in her head. She felt her lips twitch into a bland smile.
“Make your choice, Mr Etc,” she thought smugly. “Risk taking a shot at me or keep Mummy Dearest from scolding you in front of me. I wonder which would be worse?”
"We shall see," the queen murmured knowingly, taking a sip of her coffee.
Felix’s eyes snapped back to Marinette’s face, his lip curling back in a sneer that bared his teeth like an angry cat. "Miss Dupain-Cheng."
She stiffened minutely. She refused to flinch, knowing it was what he wanted and having seen the perverse pleasure he seemed to derive from bullying the other servants. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“I insist that you retrieve me another coffee,” Felix instructed, speaking as if to an unruly five- year-old girl. “One without bubbles.”
Marinette felt her stomach clench and leveled a glare of her own at the man. “You’re absolutely insufferable,” she thought, hoping the anger and hatred she couldn’t show in her expression was telegraphed to him through her eyes. She may have hated what he put her through, but she took pride in her work and she knew she had been going above and beyond her job description. To have him treat her like a child was infuriating, demeaning, and… somehow, hurtful.
For just an instant, the fire in his gaze dimmed into something softer… something guilty, before his face hardened once more. Marinette stiffened her resolve to not let this entitled jerk get the better of her.
“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” She curtseyed once more. “Right away.”
She left then, walking as calmly as she could until she got to the carpeted hallway around the corner from the breakfast parlor. The thick runner silenced her stomping and obscured how she ground the toe of her shoe into the carpet every third step.
The day-to-day bustle of the palace kitchens soothed her ruffled temper somewhat. It reminded her of her parent’s bakery back home. The smell of warm bread, tea and coffee brewing, some soup simmering on the stove for lunch, and a hint of raspberries from something the pastry chef was concocting were reenergizing after her not quite confrontation with Felix. She breathed it all in, letting it calm her before she had to return to her upstairs self.
“Everything alright, Marinette,” James, the sous chef, called as she approached the beverage station.
She flicked her gaze to Mylene, who was polishing some silver at a small table, and Ivan, who was busy scrubbing down some large pans in the sinks. James was a good sort, but she didn’t want to get her friends in trouble.
“Yes, sir. His Highness just wants a fresh cup of coffee.”
She set about preparing the small french press instead of the larger coffee machine, measuring out the Ethiopian dark roast the prince preferred to the last gram and ensuring the precise temperature of the water. She would continue as she had begun. She would overwhelm that obnoxious, overbearing lordling with the quality of her work until he was rendered completely speechless!
Marinette let a true smile spread across her face. Prince Felix had no idea who he was messing with.