[October 13, 2042]

There was always a certain tension between Aina: fourth princess of Luvinia, and Cal, the caretaker of Otter Manor — a quiet antipathy that electrified the air and made the atmosphere awkward. Everyone else living at Otter Manor had noticed and accepted it long ago. Ram would leave the room whenever it manifested. Ellie found it funny. Mel seemed silently annoyed that anyone could dislike Cal to such a degree.

Bridget Abigail Dornlathe, who cared deeply for both Cal and Aina, had employed many tactics in order to persuade them to get along. When she was alone with either one, she would subtly drop hints about the other’s good features into the conversation.

“You know, my lady was known as quite the famous beauty back home,” Bridget told Cal one morning as they prepared breakfast together, wearing matching aprons that Cal had bought with his last paycheck. “She was known as the Flaming Jewel of Luvinia. My lady’s entire family had red hair, but hers was thought to be of an especially mesmerizing and vivid shade.”

Cal had looked at her for a long, long moment, and then resumed cutting vegetables. “Uh-huh,” he had said dully.

“You know, Mr. Cal has a quite handsome, dignified look about him, don’t you agree?” Bridget had asked Aina one night as they prepared for bed. She was brushing Aina’s long red hair with a brush, and both girls had changed into long white nightgowns. “He quite reminds me of the young noble lords back home. I wager if he dressed the part, he would blend right into royal society.”

Here, Aina had turned to look at Bridget with a horrified expression, and then settled a hand on her shoulder. “Bridget, are you feeling well? You seem quite confused. That peasant looks like an emancipated rat with an attitude problem.”

After these unsuccessful attempts, Bridget had adopted a new strategy. She would design some activity or hangout that involved herself, Aina, and Cal, and then suddenly “remember” that she had some chore to attend to. She would make a hasty exit with hasty apologies, and then leave her two bickering friends alone, hoping that through repeated proximity they would finally reach a place of mutual understanding.

Currently, it was one of those times. After dinner, Bridget had invited Cal for tea in the kitchen with herself and Aina (which he had only accepted because of his fondness of the princess’ attendant), and then not even five minutes had passed before Bridget suddenly pushed her teacup away and stood up.

“Oh dear,” she said robotically, staring at nobody in particular, “I have forgotten to hang your dresses in the closet, my lady. I shall be back momentarily.”

She hurried out the door, leaving Cal and Aina alone, after which the two had exchanged glances.

In truth, the relationship between the two wasn’t quite as heatedly hostile as it currently appeared. After a certain pair of chess games, the caretaker and the princess had eased to a more calm and relatively respectful mode of being — the words and feelings they had exchanged that day being too sincere to allow them to fall back into bitter hatred. They certainly did not like each other, and mostly only reluctantly tolerated each other’s company, but they could, as they did now, stay in the same room in silence without being dragged into an argument.

This day, however, Aina seemed to have something on her mind. She frowned, played with the rim of her teacup, before finally exhaling a deep breath of air and turning her eyes onto Cal. “She’s done it again. Bridget is such a smart girl, I do wonder how she supposed we wouldn’t notice this startingly obvious tactic of hers?”

“She wants us to get along, I suppose,” Cal said. “Who knows why?”

“Bridget has always been a kindhearted girl, even since we were both small. She has an endearing tendency to see the best in others.” Aina flashed a mocking grin in Cal’s direction. “That must be why she enjoys your presence, peasant, and is blind to your many deficiencies of personality. Otherwise, she would see the way you treat me, a princess!”

“I own up to many flaws, but that is not one of them,” Cal said flatly.

The atmosphere crackled like bent tinfoil. The antagonism between the caretaker and the princess was building once again, more subtly, more darkly than it had before. The two were beginning to reach the crux of their dislike, which they had been circling for weeks.

Something ugly and hostile suddenly ignited in the princess. A straw too far had been placed.

“You-” Aina broke off, and then took a sip of tea angrily. Then she slapped the cup back down on the table with a thud. “Are you not ashamed, peasant, of the way you continue to treat me? I understand that you were not raised with the proper manners, but the least you can do is exhibit some decorum, show me the respect that I am owed-”

“‘Owed?’” Cal echoed irritably. “What precisely are you owed from me?”

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Aina’s green eyes widened in sincere confusion, as if she didn’t understand the question. “I am- I am…” She stammered, shaking her head. “I am the daughter of Pádhraic V, the supreme and unquestioned ruler of Luvinia. Unquestioned! Do you hear?! I am owed everything!”

She had raised her voice, a strained franticness entering her tone, which made Cal lean back with surprise. He had seen Aina animated with frustration, anger, or excitement before, but this was different. A look that was not her own was entering her face, and words not her own were exiting her mouth. She looked rather strange.

“Do you hear me, peasant?!” Aina banged her hand on the table, wincing as she did it. “I am owed my crown, and my jewels, and my ornate dresses, and the beauty you see upon my face! I am owed and I lack for nothing! I will not be spoken to like I am nothing, an annoyance, a blight, someone not deserving of attention. I have had enough of that! People are not born equal, and I am proof-”

She stopped. Her lip quivered. She sat down.

The princess had noticed the way Cal was looking at her: like he had never seen her before in his life. It was the same way people back home used to look at her.

Aina didn’t say anything for a moment. Then her voice came: quiet and self-conscious.

“I’m sorry, Cal.” She seemed to be shrinking into her chair, all thoughts of dignity and superiority forgotten.

Cal didn’t respond for a moment, trying to get over his surprise at her behavior and get his thoughts back into place. “I… accept your apology. Are you alright?”

Aina took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I am. That was… unworthy of myself. I hope Bridget didn’t hear any of that…” She looked anxiously around the room, her long scarlet hair swaying around her head. “Oh, this is all pathetic. If Didi heard me say that…”

She trailed off. Cal watched her curiously — at her red face, at her slightly shaking hands. It seemed to him that she was reliving some moment of trauma in her own mind, and had forgotten him for the moment.

“Do you need a tissue?” he asked finally.

“No,” Aina sniffled, wiping her nose with her wrist. “No, that’s alright.”

“I’ll get you a tissue.” Cal rose, and opened a kitchen cabinet, handing the princess the box inside.

She blew her nose loudly. “Thank you.”

With this short exchange, the antagonism and the discomfort had faded in an instant. There was now a peculiar atmosphere — one that had not existed between Cal and Aina before — one that encouraged vulnerability and sincerity.

Aina blew her nose again. She wasn’t quite crying, but her eyes were wide and watery.

“Oh...” she said with deep breaths. “You always seem to throw me off my pace. I shout and I yell but I never say anything of value. I’m sick of it, peasant, truly. I’m sick of how pathetic I feel in your presence.”

Aina shook her head. “Be honest, as I know you like to be. You hate me, don’t you? No, don’t sugarcoat it. That's the truth, isn’t it? You cannot stand me. I see it in your eyes.”

Cal opened his mouth to respond, closed it, opened it again. He couldn’t meet Aina’s depressed, green eyes.

“I don’t…” Cal began, trying to choose his words carefully. “I don’t hate you. I don’t think I’m capable of hating anyone. You annoy me, sure. I find your behavior aggressive and condescending more often than not, but I’ve seen how you behave with Bridget. You are capable of warmth and delicacy, even if that is never directed towards me. I would like to believe those are the characteristics that are closer to the core of who you truly are.”

Aina’s lip quivered again. She held her pale hands against the breast of her dress, looking downward at nothing.

“Do you…” Cal interrupted himself, as he tried to form his thought more coherently. “Do you remember that real first conversation we had? After the chess games, about two weeks ago? You got really competitive.”

A ghost of a smile lingered on Aina’s face despite the redness around her eyes, and she nodded. “Yes, I remember. I was soundly defeated, if I recall.”

“What you said at that time stuck in my mind,” Cal said, fixing his dark eyes intensely on Aina’s face, a gaze she met curiously. “You revealed your pride in the game, in your skill — and it wasn’t the pride you usually exude — no, it felt more genuine, more vivid, like it was something you really meant. You confided in me how that pride sustained you, back home. And that was true. It felt true. I think I saw you for real at that moment.”

He paused. “You strike me as a person who has been denied at every opportunity the connections a person needs to grow and nurture their soul. I think you have denied a great many things, Aina. That is my sincere impression of you. And if you make mistakes, or push others away, it is because of that fact: because there is something within yourself that you would never reveal willingly.”

Cal stopped, and glanced at Aina. There was something in her eyes he couldn’t read. The expression a cockroach makes when it is suddenly exposed to a spotlight.

“You mentioned your parents only once,” continued Cal. “And you seemed quite dismissive, like they wouldn’t even notice if you disappeared…”

He rubbed his nose, not sure if what he was about to say was wise. “You might bristle at the comparison, but at that moment… I thought perhaps we were a little similar, princess. Perhaps more similar than anyone else in Otter Manor. So no, I don’t hate you. At least not in any way I do not already hate in myself.”

Aina stared back at him, too lost for words. The last trickles of dusk caught her hair, making it glow reddish-purple. She looked practically ethereal in the glow of the late-afternoon sun.

Not another word was spoken between the two. They sipped their tea, unsure of how to audibly express the emotions swirling between them — yet the desire to fight, or to fight in the future, has dissipated with the fading light. They know longer wanted to do harm to one another. Here now, for the first time, was a desire to understand one another better.

This is how Bridget found them, upon returning from her made-up chore. Immediately, she noticed that something was different between the caretaker and her lady. Instead of interrupting the calm atmosphere, the attendant silently took her tea and sat down, her golden buttons glistening in the light — a wry smile on her face.

There was a quiet tenderness between the three. For now, there was no pain blowing in from the past. The present was warm and secure.