The maid was trembling. The tips of her ears shook in time with her pulse. She stared down at the floor and the mess there as though it were her life shattered into pieces, rather than a simple teacup. “I’m so sorry, Princess.” Her voice came out as a choked squeak. She edged toward the door, her head so low her chin brushed on the tile. “I’ll turn my apron into the Housekeeper and have another maid sent to clean–” “I don’t think there’s any need for that,” Celestia said. She put on her warmest smile for the young mare, who couldn’t have been more than 15, on the cusp between a filly and an adult and clumsy as all such growing creatures were. “If we released every maid who broke a teacup we’d have neither maids nor teacups left in this castle.” It was not, technically speaking, just a teacup. It was a four-hundred-year-old antique, one of the last surviving creations of the master ceramist Nacre Glaze, a thing of fluted porcelain perfection rarely seen in the world today. But that was not what this terrified maid needed to hear. Celestia found an enormous fluffy towel in the bath and brought it over. The laundry staff would have a fit – the bath towels, spun from the softest Zebrican cotton, were meant only for her perfect coat, not to clean up spills. But in Celestia’s experience towels never complained regardless of the use they were put too, and this one did just as well at soaking up tea as it did drying her mane. The filly jolted at the sight. Something about the princess cleaning a mess by herself set off a rebellion in her heart, and she darted forward to snatch up the towel. She folded it and blotted with it and scooped up the broken teacup shards, and before Celestia could blink she was halfway to the door with the entire affair. “Wait!” Celestia said, before the maid could make her escape. “What’s your name?” She froze at the door. “Um, G-gold Leaf, if it pleases your highness.” “Well, that’s a lovely name, Miss Leaf, and it’s your name regardless of whether or not it pleases me.” She crossed the distance between them and sat beside her. “Is this your first day here?” Gold Leaf nodded. “Y-yes. I finished the training last week and I did so well the Housekeeper said I could serve you tea today and I was trying to be careful but the cup slipped and I splashed a bit of water on my hoof and that’s why I dropped it and now the Housekeeper will be furious and…” She ran out of breath, hiccuped, and started to shake again. Celestia lowered her head to whisper. “We’ll make sure the Housekeeper never finds out then. Now, since it’s your first day here, would you like to watch me raise the sun?” Would she? Gold Leaf’s expression was the answer. She stared up at Celestia, her eyes wide, her mouth falling open in a little ‘o’ of wonder. She stumbled alongside as Celestia walked to the balcony for the morning ritual. Celestia smiled. This had all the makings of a good day. [hr] It turned out to be an average day. After the emotional high of helping her maid through an emotional crisis, the business of running a nation attacked with a vengeance. She had barely finished breakfast when the chamberlain dragged her off to meet with her ministers and cabinet. Something about the budget, followed by an emergency council on water rights apportionments with the buffalo tribes, then an awards presentation to the winners of the annual Canterlot Science Fair. All before lunch. As they always did, the meetings and appearances and events bled together. She’d done them all before and would do them again. For not the first time, Celestia wished Equestria had more princesses. Somepony to share the load. By the time the sun set and Celestia was ensconced in her bath, she could barely remember the little accident with the teacup. But then the door opened and a gold-coated mare, barely more than a filly, appeared amidst the steam, a pile of towels upon her back. Celestia floated one over and wrapped it around her mane. “Thank you, Gold Leaf.” The maid froze. “I’m sorry, Princess?” Ah. Celestia shook the foggy memories aside. “I’m sorry. Thank you, Golden Bough. You remind me of your mother, sometimes.”