Asher heaved out a heavy sigh as he placed an ornate fork on the counter in front of him and leaned back on his stool. He'd been polishing utensils for nearly an hour and was only just over halfway finished. He was typically stuck with tedious tasks like polishing, washing, and cleaning. He glanced across the kitchen at the men cooking and baking, friendly chatter mixing with the sounds of meal preparation. Cooking was something Asher liked to do, something he was good at. It was also what he thought he had signed up to do when he said he wanted to work in the kitchen, but apparently scullions were in higher demand than cooks. There were only two others aside from him, David, the chief scullion, and Spencer, an arrogant prick. Asher shook his head a bit and picked up another dirty fork. "Goddamn taxes paying for this fancy silverware," he grumbled to himself as he resumed his polishing.

"Talkin' to yourself again, kid?" The voice grated on his nerves. Asher turned his head to glare at Spencer, who had walked up behind him carrying a bucket. "What've you got to complain about when you always get the easy jobs?"

He was right, but Asher wasn't going to tell him that. Instead, he turned back to his work with a "Go away, Spencer." Recently, the guy wouldn't stop bothering him. He thought he was entitled to picking on whoever he wanted because his dad was a member of the nobility, and Asher was his new favorite target.

Spencer scoffed at the dismissal. "I bet you couldn't handle half the shit I do." He knew Asher wouldn't back down from a challenge.

Asher took the bait, immediately whipping back around to glare at Spencer once again. "I could do your work blindfolded," he spat out without thinking.

"Interesting wager," Spencer replied with a laugh, "but how's about we see if you can dump out this dishwater first." He shifted the large bucket in his arms, a bit of soapy water sloshing out the side.

Asher pulled his leg out of the way as the water hit the ground, then stood up from his stool. "Easy." He waved his fork and rag before setting them on the counter. "But you have to finish polishing."

"Easy," Spencer echoed with a smug grin. "Catch."

Asher fumbled to get a solid grip on the bucket when Spencer shoved it into his arms, and nearly dropped it right there. It was heavier than he expected, and his fingers were already tired from rubbing at utensils, but Asher got a decent hold on the bucket and cast one last glare at Spencer before leaving the kitchen. Asher had never been very strong. The muscle he did have was from carrying supplies for his mother and helping his father chop firewood. He was thankful he didn't have to carry it very far, just through a corridor and then outside. Asher was focusing on not dropping the bucket so much that he hardly noticed footsteps coming down the corridor.