Choose the younger woman

“What’s you name, miss?” you ask the younger woman. The two handmaids exchange surprised glances, then the younger one hides a giggle behind her hand.

“My name is Tavi, Your Majesty,” she says, her cheeks turning pink. “I mean, Orro, Sir.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Servants should be addressed by their last name, Sir.”

"Hold on--are you messing with me?" you ask. "Why did you call me 'Your Majesty'? I'm not the King, I'm just..." You're not really sure what you are, but you're not royalty.

"You are the Vessel," Orro says in awe. Beside her, the older woman makes the sacred sign of the Mother across her chest. “The next King will be born from your womb. That means you deserve the same respect and title as the King himself, Sir.”

"All right, Orro, you're my handmaid. You sound like you know more about this Vessel crap than I do. Sorry," you say to the older woman. She drops a stiff curtsy and exits the room, closing the door behind herself. You stifle a yawn. "Now that that's settled, I just want to sleep." You stagger toward the bed.

“Oh, but Sir,” Orro says shyly. “Shouldn’t you take a bath and put on clean nightclothes?”

You sniff the ragged sleeve of your work shirt. “I do smell like a mule, and a bath sounds wonderful, but I'm so tired, I'd hate to fall asleep and drown."

"Mother have mercy, I wouldn't let that happen, Sir," Orro says. "I would be hung if I let anything happen to you."

"Well, now I really don't want to take the risk, if it means both of our lives," you say.

"I could give you a sponge bath instead," Orro offers, looking down at the floor as she blushes.