I hate these bloody events. Every time I have to come to them, a part of me inside shrivels and dies. How will I cope much longer, listening to this drivel?

The man stands before the court in shabby, old clothes, his greying hair unkempt and his stubble starting to darken. He could have at least made an effort, for Isa’s sake. A chance to meet the Queen and her court, and he turns up like this.

My face shouldn’t portray my disgust; I’m meant to be impartial. But a sneer still draws itself across my lips.

“I beg of you, your Majesty,” the man bows low for about the tenth time already. Doesn’t he get it? Royal protocol says bow once when you come in, and once when you go out. “I ask on behalf of my fellow brethren, who toil away dutifully all their lives for our Queendom. Could your Majesty see it in her kind soul to allow our wages to be as high as the women who toil away with us? We perform the same tasks, with the same high standard results, and we merely ask that the Queendom recognises us equally, too.”

I take a sip of my wine to hide my smirk. Pathetic. This idiot has no chance with the Queen; I’ve known her all my life, and I can guess pretty much what she’s thinking.

I glance sideways across at her, and my suspicions are confirmed. A hand heavy with rings raises to her mouth as she makes a half-hearted attempt to cover her yawn. Her eyelids are drooping and she’s already downed her glass of wine. She’s enjoying this just as much as I am.

With a cough to clear her throat, she asks, “are you finished, Mr...?”

“Mr Janedaughter, your Majesty.” The peasant clasps his brown hat in front of him tightly, an unrealistic, hopeful expression on his face.

“Mr Janedaughter,” she repeats, her mouth working its way around the syllables as if they taste disgusting to her. Such a common name. “Thank you for coming here today, with your...request. But I will spare you the lengthy explanation that our Court has come to many a times when we’ve considered what you’ve asked. And we have considered this many times before, as we always want to make sure that all our citizens are properly represented. I’m afraid the delicate and complex economics of our Queendom just can’t permit such an increase in expenditure, which is what your request would mean. How would all the businesswomen keep their companies running if they suddenly had to pay out so much more? I don’t expect you to understand, of course, but think: whole families could be homeless and without bread to feed their children.”

The man’s face drops, although he tries to disguise it with a polite smile. His eyes give away his disappointment, shimmering with a thin sheen of tears. Typical of men really, to get emotional so quickly.

“I...I...” he stutters over words, trying to get something out. In the end, all he manages is, “Thank you, your Majesty”, before bowing one last time and shuffling backwards from the room.

A guard closes the heavy doors behind him, and a chuckle runs through the courtiers stood round the Queen. She hoists herself up from the throne and waves her wine glass for a refill.

“Thank Isa that’s over,” she says, inciting more laughter from the courtiers. We managed to keep a lid on it while the peasant was here, but now we can’t help but marvel publicly at his ridiculous ideas.

“He said he came on behalf of his fellow men,” one courtier, a blonde haired Duchess’s daughter says, “but how many men could be in agreement with him? What stupid fantasies! Really - we should keep an eye on the ideas that are coming out from the peasants, they’re getting more and more absurd.”

The Queen laughs slightly, her eyes rolling. “I agree, Lady Emmeline, the men are starting to get above their stations. But come, I don’t wish to talk of it anymore.” Her voice tilts as her words slur, and I know she’s had one too many glasses of wine. “I’m retiring to the entertainment hall before the events this afternoon, I hear we have another boring evening ahead of us!”

She steps down from the throne platform, and her female court follow a respectable distance after her, like a loyal dog trailing its owner.

***

At the end of the evening, I slump into my four poster bed, so relieved the day is done. The evening dragged by at a slow pace, crammed full of serious speeches and ceremonies.

I like being around the Queen and her court, but these dull days are taking it out of me. The times when we had no responsibility and could just amuse ourselves how we liked come rushing to mind with a pang of nostalgia. That was before the Queen inherited the throne, something which seemed like a brilliant laugh to us at the time.

My thoughts keep me awake, despite fatigue trying to slip me under, and I toss and turn under the sheets. Minutes tick by, the night drawing on.

Finally I give up, and rise from my bed. The summer heat has been growing to a crescendo these last few weeks, making it impossible for me to sleep. The room is too hot, too clammy.

I crack open the large windows which look down over the Ruby Gardens, and pad to the washing room to splash some water over my face. The door of the small room swings open slowly, inside shrouded in darkness.

I step forwards, and as I do, something flickers. Was that my imagination? It’s late and I did have some wine earlier. Perhaps it’s just me.

Undecided, I pause in the doorway, waiting to see what happens. All of a sudden I’m more awake, the blood pumping round my veins quicker.

A clatter sounds and from the shadows a figure emerges. My eyes strain to get a good view, but I have no idea who it is, and I’m not taking any chances.

My arms whip out to strike the person, making contact against a sturdy body. My next attack goes higher; I grab where I guess their shoulders are and step a foot behind their legs.

With a satisfying sweep, the intruder goes flailing to the floor, landing with a heavy thump. They let out a groan, the voice deep and rich.

My breath comes in rapid pants, adrenaline making all my limbs tingle. A wave of pride comes over me for having brushed off this intruder so easily. All that self-defence training has finally come in useful.

The figure groans from the floor again, and I crouch down to his level. At this distance, I can just about make out his features. A young face, with dark brown curls and acne scars scattered across his cheeks.

Who is this person? And more importantly, what the bloody hell is he doing here?

I demand these questions from him, nudging his flank with my barefoot. “You’ve sneaked into the residence of the Queen - I could have you locked up for a lifetime for that! Speak now or rot in prison.”

The lad tries to sit up, rubbing his head gingerly, but my foot pushes him back down. I don’t know if he’s armed or not, so I need to be careful. I’m not scared of him. Just smart.

“I...I didn’t mean to startle you!” he cries, his voice so loud it makes me wince.

“Keep it down!” I hiss. “If you didn’t want to startle me, lurking in my washing room at night wasn’t the best move.”

He flushes and apologises a few times. My patience is wearing thin with this childish boy. “I just wanted a chance to talk to you, Lady Meira, but the guards wouldn’t let me come near. I never wanted to sneak in - but I just had to tell you something. I know you’re a close confidante of the blessed Queen, aren’t you, my Lady? She listens to you, doesn’t she?”

“I ask the questions round here,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “And you can’t just talk to me whenever you like. The Queen holds audiences for members of her public to talk to her - we had one today. Why didn’t you apply for that?”

“I did!” he exclaimed indignantly, his eyes flashing. “Well - my father did. He came and spoke to the Queen earlier!”

My mind tracks back to the scruffy peasant who asked for more pay. Yes, that would make sense. Both that man and this boy are pathetic. At least the father had the common sense to follow the Queendom rules though. The audacity of this boy to sneak into my private chambers! I could hang him just for that, never mind the offensive ideas of his father. Anger pulses through me.

“So why are you here?”

“I’ve come to ask for your help, my Lady!”

I hold back a gag from such weak words, something inside me hesitating. His eyes are like a window into his soul, raw pain and desperation emanating from him.

At my pause, he continues. “You heard my father’s plea today, but the Queen refused to grant him his request. But I’ve come to ask you - beg you - to reconsider. Please, if you could talk with the Queen, she may change her mind.”

“We’re not going to reconsider; the decision was made and it was the right decision.” I frown.

“Please! Hear me out. My father didn’t explain his full story and why he asked for equal pay. He needs it - desperately. Three months ago his wife - my dear mama - died, leaving our whole family without any income. My father stepped up to take my mother’s vacant job at the flour millers, despite being broken-hearted with grief. He does the same job that my mother did, but they pay him half of what we got before. We’re a family of five, with two little ones, and we can’t even afford enough food. Before, when mama was around, we got by comfortably, never in the lap of luxury, but with full bellies. Now the children can’t sleep at night because they’re so hungry! If we don’t get more money, we’re going to starve. Sneaking in here was a risk worth taking to try and protect my brothers and sisters.”

“You have a sister?”

“One is but a toddler, the other is nearly fifteen, my Lady.”

“Well there you go,” I say, straightening up because my legs are starting to ache. The boy, breathing a sigh of relief at the space between us, also sits up. He tilts his head curiously, but I can tell from his tight jaw that he probably already knows what I’m going to tell him. “Your sister can get out and work, too. She is a tad young but I’m sure there will be jobs around, and it’s her responsibility to help support the family. Her wages will be enough to fill the gap that your mother left behind.”

“No!” he cries, and my eyebrows shoot up my forehead in surprise at the tone he’s just spoken to me in. Before I can snarl a reply, there comes noises and banging from the corridors outside my room. Guards pummel along the hall, calling to each other with alarmed voices.

“Intruder alert! Intruder alert! Split up and search the palace - we’ve been informed that an intruder has broken in! I want you to find her now!”

It’s Dara, the Queen’s head of security. Her weighty footsteps pound down the corridor, then come to a stop as the other guards continue on.

A knock sounds at my bedchamber door, and my stomach goes into wild somersaults. A sweat breaks out on my palms instantaneously.

“Lady Meira? Are you awake?”

“Yes,” I reply, training my voice to sound normal, calm.

“Sorry to disturb you at this hour, my Lady, but there has been a break-in to the palace. Is everything alright in there?”

I hold my breath. Now this is an interesting one. Do I tell Dara that their intruder is right here, next to me? Of course it wouldn’t look good that I’m on my own at night, with a boy, but I’m sure things could be overlooked. The Queen is too fond of me to allow any rumours or bad words to spread, and it would be the boy’s reputation that would get ruined more. His sorry life would be in tatters if I gave him up and the world found out he’d been in my chambers.

I want tell her. I want this peasant out of my room, and to have a chance at getting some bloody sleep. But something holds me back.

Is that a guilty conscience?

I don’t know. But some crazy, pitying side of me knows that it would be unfair of me to give him up. Maybe it’s because his mother died, and my heart bleeds for the poor family left behind.

Or maybe I had too much wine.

“All fine in here thank you, Dara.”

“Very good, my Lady. Goodnight.”

I turn my face away from the chamber door as Dara moves on, and look back at the boy in the dim half-light.

His jaw hangs open, his mouth an O shape. In his eyes is that same Isa-damn hopeful look that his father wore today, the one that makes my skin crawl.

“Stop catching flies,” I mutter, and stalk out of the washing room.

What has my stupid, sentimental heart done now?