I won't have to cheat for more (actually it's kind of a multiplayer game so...)
Love, Normandie, and a silk dress
Kuipy (King of Leon)
They say in Normandy every story begins with a meal. Adelise would have thought this one would begin differently, though. Like, with their new King riding though wheat field in the sunset with a fierce flag in his fist like some knight would have done, their first Norman King for a century. But that was not Hugh’s type, she knew now. First he was lame, they said, so he could not be a real knight and then, well, it was just not his type.
During the whole dinner she had opportunities to cast looks at him, when the cooks sent her up to the hall to carry some dish or jug and she would walk between the tables, avoiding men who tried to grab her. First she’d brought scallops with herbs and buttermilk. Much later that night it had been a whole rabbit stewed in cider with Spanish prunes and turnips. But more often she had carried jugs and jugs of wine and cider and ale between her battered hands. And always she had had a look at the count’s guest, King Hugh.
“ Avoid him, his father had told her. They say he killed his first wife with his bare hands.”
She did not care, though. She knew about men’s hands. But that man was frightening some, though he never paid her any attention. He had long, unkempt gray hair and a fierce look with him. Also she could have sworn he smelled of horse and blood, while her lord the count of Eu always bathed once a day as the Sicilian offshoot he was. And also he spoke all strange, with a weird, raucous accent, and it did not help that often he did not understand what the count said and had him repeat. It was hard to believe he was a Normandie, or a Norman, either.
Yet latter that night she, sitting on a stool near the chimneyplace, she thought of what her father had told her when she was still a little girl, that they were Normandie, too, but on the wrong side of the blanket, and reneged by their family for some sin of her great-grandfather. It was all funny thinking she could have been a princess. She would wear perfumes and silk dresses, she thought, have a an eagle for hunting and servants for herself. She was pretty enough to be one, as far as she can tell, only her hands were battered and bruised for all the dishes she’d washed. But still she could see the way men looked at her and what they would say and try to do when they were drunk, even though she had not time for love. She knew what she could get from the other servants for a smile or for a kiss, and she knew how to stop before they demanded more and still get what she wanted. She looked at her reflection in a polished tin bowl. She had sweet lips and playful blue eyes and a pretty white skin. She could have looked just like a princess if she had combed her hair and made it into braids and such.
Old Matilda entered the kitchen, a crone of fifty with a bad temper. Her grumbling and heavy steps did not wake Adelise’s father though. He was still snoring on a bench, his toothless mouth wide open.
“ He wants yet another flagon. To hell with that sack of wine.”
“Who ? ” she asked.
“The new king. Who else ?”
An impulse seized Adelise. She snatched the flagon she crone had just taken.
“ I will bring it.”, she said and rushed out.