Sweat trickled down Madam Sandra's face, soaking the collar of her blouse, as her heart thumped wildly against her chest. In her hands, she balanced a tray carrying a delicate glass jug decorated with blue-and-white flowers, alongside a matching teacup. Every step she took across the polished marble floors was measured, her chubby feet moving as fast as they could without letting the tray wobble.
In her thirty years of service to the royal family, she had faced unruly children, demanding queens, and temperamental nobles, yet never had she been summoned by Princess Naiya herself. The princess's reputation preceded her: cold, cunning, and cruel beyond reason. Sandra's mind raced. What could she possibly want? Had she done something wrong? Or perhaps one of the other maids had incurred the princess's wrath, and Sandra—being head of maids—would bear the blame. Her stomach churned at the thought.
At last, she reached the double oak doors of the art gallery. Balancing the tray with one hand, she clenched her other into a trembling fist, gently knocking on the polished wood.
"Princess Naiya, it is I, the head of maids!" she announced, trying to keep her voice steady.
Silence stretched for several excruciating seconds. Sandra's brow furrowed. Was the princess even in there? Should she knock again? The thought hadn't fully formed when a sharp, cold voice cut through the heavy oak:
"Are you expecting me to open the door for you, you disgusting insect?!"
The venom in Naiya's words made Sandra flinch. Her pulse spiked, and she swallowed hard. The princess was clearly in one of her moods.
"Forgive me, princess!" Sandra stammered, pushing the door open carefully, bowing deeply as she stepped inside. Her eyes remained lowered, scanning the shadows, hoping the princess's voice would guide her to the proper direction.
Naiya sat regally on a grey velvet couch, her posture perfect, eyes glittering with disdain. A small table sat beside her, and the tray Sandra carried was carefully placed upon it, the cups and jug clinking softly as she set them down. She dared not look up directly at the princess, remembering how quickly a wrong glance could earn punishment.
"Walk to me!" Naiya hissed, her words slicing through the air. Sandra followed, eyes trained on the patterns of the carpet, careful not to draw the princess's ire. Her steps were measured, her every movement silent as she approached.
Naiya's gaze swept over Sandra, eyes narrowing with calculated cruelty. "Why are you so fat? Do you eat from the royal family's table? Or perhaps the other maids' meals are simply too healthy? Or is it that your work isn't taxing enough?"
Sandra's body stiffened at each word, unsure how to respond. "P-p-princess… I… t-the work… is…" she managed, her voice trembling, words failing her.
A thin, cruel smile tugged at the corner of Naiya's lips. Sandra felt it like a trap tightening around her. This spider had ensnared her in her web, and there was no escape.
"Get on your knees," the princess ordered softly.
Sandra obeyed instantly, lowering herself with her hands tightly clenched by her side, palms pressed into the carpet. Her heart pounded in her ears.
"Raise," Naiya said. Sandra lifted herself slowly, confusion knotting in her chest.
"Get on your knees."
"Raise."
The commands came like a rhythm, each as light and soft as summer air, yet heavier than stone in their consequences. Sandra obeyed, caught between fear and bewilderment.
"Now, grab your ears," the princess instructed.
Sandra's fingers went to her lobes, her palms pressed firmly against them, trembling from the absurdity of it all.
"Now jump around like a frog."
Sandra froze. Did she hear the princess correctly? Jump? Like a frog? There was no time to debate, no room for defiance. To disobey meant certain punishment. She squatted, pushed off the floor, and leapt. Her knees thudded against the cold marble. She could feel the princess's eyes boring into her back, relishing each humiliating motion.
Three jumps in, Sandra gasped for air, the effort taxing her more than she had anticipated. Sweat soaked her brow, dripped into her eyes, stinging slightly, and dampened the fabric of her blouse. Her chest heaved as she continued, each leap growing more desperate, more awkward. By the time she hit the tenth jump, her thighs burned and her lungs screamed, yet she obeyed. Naiya's laugh was soft, barely audible, but every note of amusement cut through Sandra's resolve like a knife.
"Good froggy," the princess mocked, her voice laced with scorn. "Now, go gather every dark-skinned maid you can find. Bring them here within thirty minutes, and perhaps I will spare you from this exercise next time. And remember, it will be in front of them. All of them."
Sandra's knees shook, her breath ragged, her arms trembling from the strain of the jumps. She nodded, scarcely able to comprehend the madness she had just endured. Each word of the princess was a command etched in stone, leaving no room for hesitation or rebellion. She bolted from the room, the basket of sweat-soaked terror clutched against her chest.
Finding the first maid was a race against both time and panic. Sandra's face burned with exertion and fear as she grabbed the young woman by her collar, dragging her close. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps.
"You better find as many maids as possible. Every dark-skinned one in the castle!" she barked, voice shaking with urgency. "Bring them here within fifteen minutes, or I swear I will peel your skin and feed it to the dogs!"
The maid's eyes widened in terror, and without a word, she took off, weaving through corridors and servants' halls, spreading the word. The castle, usually a place of silent discipline, now buzzed with frantic energy as maids rushed to obey, each aware of the thin line between obedience and punishment.
Sweat dripped down Sandra's temples, soaking her hairline, yet she forced herself onward. The weight of responsibility pressed heavy on her shoulders. Each step echoed ominously against the marble floors, a reminder that in the palace, even the smallest mistake could be fatal.
Through the hallways, whispers spread like wildfire. "The princess wants every dark-skinned maid…" "Fifteen minutes…" "Do it, or face her wrath!" Fear was palpable, crawling along the walls like a living thing. And at the center of it all, Princess Naiya sat with a quiet, cruel satisfaction, watching the panic unfold, a masterful puppeteer orchestrating her minions' terror.
Every corner of the palace seemed to shiver in anticipation, every maid aware of the precarious balance between service and survival. Sandra's face flushed with exertion and humiliation as she gathered more maids, their eyes wide, their breaths quick and shallow. The oppressive weight of the princess's power pressed upon them all, tangible and unyielding.
By the time the maids were assembled, Sandra's chest heaved with exhaustion, her legs quivering, and her palms slick with sweat. Naiya's eyes glittered, sharp and calculating, as she surveyed the line of fearful women before her. Every dark-skinned maid stood rigid, waiting, sensing that a single misstep, a single hesitation, could provoke the princess's wrath.
Naiya's lips curved into a faint, cruel smirk. She leaned back slightly, raising a hand as if to command silence, and in that subtle gesture, the room held its collective breath. The tension was suffocating, palpable, like the thick, humid air of a storm about to break.
Sandra collapsed into a nearby chair, trembling. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat clinging to her back and neck, hair plastered to her forehead. She could feel the princess's gaze piercing through her, dissecting every movement, every line of exhaustion and fear. And even as her muscles screamed for respite, she knew that this was only the beginning.
For Naiya, it was never enough to simply command; she thrived on the performance of obedience, the visible manifestation of power over those who dared exist under her roof. And as she watched, satisfaction blooming like a dark flower in her chest, she knew the palace had once again bent to her will.