Lion Head Mesa adoration

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Toula, gliding with wonted preeminence. Eset, two paces behind and on the Queen’s left. It is here where the maidservant prefers to be. Close enough to anticipate the young sovereign’s graceful lean should she have occasion to whisper a request into a broad ear. Far enough to denote proper hierarchy.

She studies Toula’s elegant profile as they move down the low-lit hallway to the baths. There is a delay in answer, though only due to the internal reeling of such consideration being shown to her.

“Impossibly so. Tuna’s instruction has been exceedingly helpful, and the Sesh Tavina has been kind enough to offer to teach me between shifts.”

At the edge of the spring the fellahin tests the temperature then breaks lotus stems and empties their white, sweet-smelling sap into the waters before offering an arm out for Toula to take.

“How are you, My Queen?”

It is a tentative ask when her eyes seek for her’s. This sort of shared conversation between master and serf would have never been permitted in her native realm. Yet, it felt there was a true sense of companionship sought by the Queen. Something akin to not just servant- but friend.

She is so blest, so self-actualized that it is sometimes easy to forget the Queen is only a young girl with all the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders.