Chapter 1

The occasion didn’t matter entirely, but it did happen to be the harvest feast. The staff had been working for days and offerings from local farms, vineyards, and ranches were still being carted through the front gates. The lord ate well every day of course, but he’d been in a particularly sour mood lately. Everyone hoped today would raise his spirits, as a feast usually did.

—-

I have risen through the ranks of the estate staff, learning the details of his every whim, to finally reach this point as head of his lord’s personal coterie. My job is to anticipate his every urge and I am compensated handily for my skill at it. This morning is uncharacteristically chilly for the spring and he’ll need to be washed for this evening’s festivities. He will want a full breakfast fed to him in the bath, but the timing is never easy to predict. I have a handmaid waiting outside his chambers for the sounds of his snores to cease.

This morning, she was to bring him a steaming pot of coffee and fresh cow’s milk with a bowl of sugar. My lord has quite a sweet tooth. She will use our cushions to prop his large body up so he can break his fast comfortably in repose. He’ll request egg tarts and she knows to bring a heaping platter of them. My lord hates to be made to feel gluttonous. His embarrassment at asking for seconds can sometimes bring punishment on the staff. He should have enough food in front of him to eat to the point of severe indigestion before the supply runs out. Before removing the platter, he’s to be asked if he wants any more in such a way as to suggest he has only eaten a bird’s portion.

—-

“My lord, is that all you will have this morning? Are you saving your appetite for this evening’s harvest feast?” She asks, eyes down.

He lolls his head forward slightly, grunting and stifling a burp. She pretends not to notice. The platter has only three little tarts remaining from the mountain she had served him.

“I couldn’t possibly eat a bite more. I’m afraid these tarts have given me a bit of indigestion. I’m to bathe this morning, but I need a digestive massage as soon as possible.”

“Of course, my lord. I’ll pass this news onto the kitchen. The tarts may have been a bit too rich…”

“No!” he interrupted. “No need to alter the recipe. Please… the massage now.” A bead of sweat slowly slid from his hairline to his temple.

She rushed to dab it away with her shirtsleeve. She used both hands to lift the weight of his huge belly and gently shift it to his right side as her assistant adjusted his cushions. She monitored his face for any signs of discomfort, but his eyes were closed, mouth open, shallow breaths, waiting for relief. Being on his side would help his stomach empty.

She moved his soft arms above his head and kneaded his midback, easing the muscle tension working against his arching back and opening his lungs for easier breathing. Already he was sighing with relief, taking deep breaths and letting his protuberant abdomen spread out.

The oil for the massage was scented with lavender. Botanicals helped with indigestion and hid the smell of sweet pastry, which was sure to make him ill. She rubbed his soft belly, pushing it gently up and down, tapping gassy areas to produce relief. All the while, she monitored his every grimace, moan, burp, and breath for signs of dissatisfaction. He’d gotten so big in recent months that these massages would soon require multiple sets of hands, but for now, she took great pride in how skilled she had become.

—-

I’d heard the report of the handmaid and passed complements to the kitchen. Spirits were very high this morning, tonight’s feast will surely break whatever depression has come over my lord. He hasn’t requested more than food and digestive aids in more than a month now. None of the maids’ companionship has seemed to interest him.