The Orphan Who Stepped Into the Storeroom
A world where women did the work men once did, and men did the work women once did.
That was simply how gender-reversed worlds were, and the palace was no different.
The only real exception was that, inside the palace walls, rank still outranked sex.
Albert had been living in the palace for some time now, yet a certain awkwardness still clung to him.
An orphan cherished by Beatrix, the tyrant of the East.
People liked to say that bloodlines didn’t matter when it came to marriage, but his background was still a glaring blemish.
“Man, talk about luck. How the hell did he worm his way so deep into Her Majesty’s heart?”
“If I’d taken that arrow for her instead, wouldn’t my whole life have flipped overnight?”
Wherever people lived, gossip followed as surely as night followed day.
Some whispered because they lacked the guts to insult him to his face. Others simply didn’t want to sour the atmosphere of the whole household. Motives varied, but the root was always the same: jealousy.
Most of the ones muttering behind his back were men.
Of course the women talked too, just never where the person in question might overhear.
“Ahh… I’m so fucking jealous. He’s pretty cute, too.”
“Right? And strong on top of it. I hear his cock is huge. Every night you can hear Her Majesty moaning her head off. Gets me so wet I just wanna drop my pants and shove something into my pussy right then and there.”
“Someone actually fucked him already, didn’t she? Shit. Why don’t I have a cute hung guy?”
“Life is complete fucking garbage.”
The women’s dirty talk mostly boiled down to envy of the queen herself.
At least they don’t pick fights with me. That’s something.
In old fairy tales and romance-centered fantasies alike, the newcomer often drew dark glances and quiet hostility. People loved to give him a hard time just for existing.
But here?
Because the queen who doted on Albert was a tyrant, no one dared start anything. Getting your head chopped off just to soothe your own wounded pride was hardly worth it. Most of the gossips valued their own necks far too much for that. Many of them had survived in the palace longer than Albert had, after all.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Search properly. Are you sure it’s even in here?”
“It is! I put it here myself!”
While strolling the palace grounds, Albert came across two women bickering as they ransacked a small storeroom.
“Is something wrong?”
He approached the doorway quietly. Both women startled and spun around.
“Ah… uh. Yes. What brings you here, um…?”
The tyrant’s lover. The orphan.
Palace folk still didn’t quite know how to address him, so they usually mumbled something vague. Only a few days earlier had they settled, by unspoken agreement, on “Young Master.” Even so, plenty of them still fumbled.
Albert understood the awkwardness well enough and let it slide. As long as they weren’t outright rude, he didn’t care.
“I just heard voices and came to check. Wondered if anything was the matter.”
“Oh, that?”
One of the women who’d been digging through wooden crates stepped closer. Faced with a pretty young male who was supposedly good in bed, her instinct to look good in front of him kicked in hard.
“We stored some zucchini in here, but we can’t find it. I’m positive we put it inside.”
“Ah… I see.”
He’d assumed a royal palace would keep its storerooms meticulously organized. But people were people, and even here cracks showed.
Meat with meat, vegetables with vegetables—that was as far as the broad categories went. After that, everyone just did as they were told and couldn’t be bothered to think further, even when it made more work later. On top of that, every wooden crate was the same size and made of the same wood. No wonder they were hard to tell apart.
“I’ll help.”
Albert rolled up his sleeves and stepped inside. The women immediately tried to refuse, flustered, but he simply lifted one of the crates as if it weighed nothing.
“It’s fine. I used to do similar work at the trading company.”
That settled their worries. They watched him for a moment, then resigned themselves and went back to their own searching. If the man insisted, what could they do?
Two women and one man. They hauled crates to the floor one by one and checked the contents. Three pairs of hands made the work go much faster.
“Found it!”
At last one of the women flung open a lid and shouted. The long-sought zucchini filled the crate to the brim.
“Whoa!”
“‘Whoa’ my ass. Hurry up and take it over.”
“Got it!”
One woman hoisted the crate and vanished, leaving Albert alone with the remaining woman.
We’re already inside a storeroom… Should I just go for it?
The other girl wouldn’t be back right away. She’d chat in the kitchen a bit. Factor in the walking time both ways… maybe they could finish in a flash, like stir-frying beans over lightning.
A filthy little fantasy flickered through her mind and then dissolved like smoke. In her own words, it was pure nonsense. Fantasies belonged in the realm of fantasy.
“Ahem! Thank you for the help. I’ll handle the rest myself.”
She cleared her throat and turned away, but Albert’s eyes were still fixed on the mess covering the storeroom floor.
“Hold on a moment.”
“Yes?”
She needed to tidy up quickly—what was this “hold on”? She glanced back with a look that said she found him faintly ridiculous. Until now she’d only thought him modest and rather cute. Now she wondered if he’d finally lost his mind.
But then:
“I was thinking we could organize things so they’re easier to find.”
The women in charge of the storeroom were diligent enough, yet they lacked a certain knack for systems. Without proper training, their methods stayed haphazard. Albert wanted to fill that gap. Making a good impression would only make daily life inside the palace smoother.
“Easier to find? How?”
She tilted her head, and Albert offered his answer.
Click.
Beatrix set her fountain pen down on the desk and asked,
“Where is he?”
“In the food storeroom, Your Majesty.”
A maid gathered the finished documents into her arms as she answered. Albert had said he wanted to look around the palace, so Beatrix had given permission…
Why a storeroom?
It was pure curiosity, yet a thread of unease ran through it as well. He was adorable, and as a male his abilities were second to none. Plenty of women eyed him with open hunger; Beatrix knew that perfectly well. The thought of him alone in some secluded storeroom made her restless.
This won’t do.
She rose from her chair at once and headed for the storeroom. Day by day her attachment and possessiveness had only grown worse, until she had already decided to make him her official consort. She was simply waiting for the right moment before making any grand announcement.
“Yes, put that over there. Paint this one this color, please…”
The place was lively. Women who knew basic carpentry were building large partitions while others painted crates. They weren’t coating every surface carefully—just dabbing dye on each side so the boxes could be marked at a glance.
The food storeroom had magic circles installed to keep ingredients fresh. Circles like those were expensive to set up and maintain, so only the royal palace and the most powerful nobles used them. Their effect, however, was excellent.
From a distance Beatrix surveyed the unfamiliar scene and realized Albert stood at its center. Under his direction the partitions were being installed and crates painted different colors were being stacked. He even carried boxes himself, lending a hand.
…Hard to interrupt.
Normally she never cared what anyone thought, but she had no desire to break the flow of work—especially when Albert was the one leading it. She waited patiently until almost everyone had left, then finally approached.
Slipping up behind him, she folded her arms and asked,
“What are you doing?”
“Ah, Beatrix.”
For some time now Albert had called her by name instead of by title. She had ordered him to. The distance between their hearts had closed right along with the distance between their bodies.
“Just organizing the storeroom. It was already sorted, but it still felt lacking.”
“Is that so? Let’s take a look.”
As the queen’s steps turned toward the storeroom, nearby servants hastily bowed and melted backward. They knew full well they didn’t register in her eyes, yet they still took care not to grate on her nerves even by accident.
Red. Green.
Most of the wooden crates stacked inside were one of those two colors. A few ochre or gray ones existed, but they were rare. Large partitions stood between the colors like borders, making everything easy to arrange.
Beatrix understood the meaning of the painted crates without needing an explanation.
“You’ve sorted them by the nature of the ingredients.”
“Yes. Red for meat, green for vegetables. A bit simple, isn’t it?”
“Simple makes them easy to recognize. Smart thinking. Did you learn this at the trading company?”
“Uh… yes. Something like that.”
Strictly speaking he had taught it rather than learned it, but Albert saw no reason to correct the misunderstanding. He had no urge to boast that the idea was his.
“Not bad.”
He’d even drawn simple pictures on the sides so finer distinctions could be made. Building proper display shelves would have been better, but that would have taken far more labor. Even if they made new ones later, finishing here for now was the right call. He felt reasonably satisfied. He could also tell that the servants’ opinion of him wasn’t bad. If shortcomings appeared, they could keep improving.
“Was it hard?”
“Not really. I barely did anything. Everyone who gathered did the real work.”
Even when she asked out of genuine concern, he only smiled as if it were nothing. No dramatics, no complaints—just quiet endurance. He didn’t even bother to play up how easy it had been.
Once again Beatrix felt glad she had kept her distance from those calculating young noble sons. Some of them had looked decent enough on the surface—cultured, well-mannered, even if she knew nothing of their bedroom performance. Yet she doubted their manners ran deeper than skin.
I’m exhausted by pretentious little men.
People assumed that because she was a tyrant they would keep their distance and avoid her. That wasn’t always true. Some of them nursed the ambition of seducing the tyrant and bending her to their will. Not many, but not few either. By now she suspected word of Albert had already reached their ears.
A king’s consort was better with ability, but ability wasn’t required. Character was the standard Beatrix valued most. Royal and noble marriages were usually political—made to expand or protect power—but Beatrix was different. She already held a firm grip on a solid power base. Even if she had possessed none, she still would never marry someone who didn’t suit her heart. She’d rather adopt a child from a house she needed as an ally.
“Come to the bedroom. There’s something I need to discuss.”
“Ah, yes.”
Beatrix turned first; Albert trailed after her like a shadow. The moment they entered the bedroom she dropped into a chair at the table.
“Sit.”
“Yes.”
Once Albert took the seat opposite her, her lips parted.
“By now rumors about you will have spread across the kingdom. That means plenty of talk—and plenty of trouble.”
“Ah… I suppose so.”
He hadn’t expected to become famous enough to draw gossip, yet he remained surprisingly calm. The blank expression on Albert’s face was genuine.
“The young lords will grumble a great deal. They’ll seize any chance to tear you down.”
If Beatrix had been an ordinary queen they would have tried to shake her first… but reality was not so kind, so they would almost certainly target Albert instead. He had already considered the possibility and simply nodded.
“Yes. That does seem likely.”
“If they try anything, tell me immediately. They’ve kept their distance so far, but once they actually see you, who knows what they’ll do.”
Whether they insulted him openly or needled him with subtle jabs, he was to report every single instance. Beatrix’s resolve was absolute.
“Thank you for worrying about me.”
It wasn’t as if he’d never been chewed out before, and even if they tried to give him a hard time they weren’t his superiors. A little insubordination wouldn’t land him in the guardhouse, nor would he face discipline for losing his temper. In practical terms he outranked them. Not by the title people saw, but in fact.
That was why his face stayed so relaxed. With a powerful backer behind him, there was no reason to be afraid. Of course people would say he was just clinging to the queen and sucking honey…
Sucking honey isn’t always a bad thing.
Albert remained perfectly calm.
Ah.
Suddenly an old line he’d once read floated up in his mind.
What can you do besides get angry?