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It didn't seem that you guys particularly fell in love with this story, but oh well, I'm giving it another try. Here's the next part.

I watch Sanara run off to speak to the house hand. What hair, what eyes. What a woman, indeed. Her short, grey-blue dress, only just past her knees, flows around her as she walks quickly, that power-walk she always does when assuming authority.
Sometimes I feel so small compared to her. The contrast is undeniable; I’m shorter than her by at least three inches; she walks with self-confidence, a sort of control that puts her on top of the world, while I move delicately and quietly; she dares the enemy to come closer, her raised eyebrow asking for the courageous fool, while I slide back and ask for peace. No one would guess I could possibly be a Queen from looking at the two of us. They would certainly guess for her, but no, they’d probably assume I was a very well-dressed hand servant. And I suppose I do admire her for that.
As she’s told me, though, I have my own side; I get very, very protective when something threatens someone I love. It’s not as though I’m trying to be brave, in fact I’d rather draw no attention to myself. I simply cannot stand aside.
Though again, I’m not nearly as tentative as I was years ago. Sanara has helped me take control of my position, demand a little respect, and I do, I suppose. Just never in the way that she can.
Perhaps that is why this man in the room before me does not frighten me as much as he did twelve years ago. Perhaps it is because I feel her around me, comforting, caring, protecting, and I worry not about the dangers of the outside world, nor of the man who took years of peaceful dreaming from me, and who for so long stole the smile from my face. Perhaps I know that after surviving hell together, we never need worry again; we’ve beaten Derenhov once, and by God, we’ll do it again.

* * *

Alright, this next part is a flashback, just so there is no confusion.

* * *
Sanara stretched out on the couch, allowing her bare feet the pleasure of the soft material beneath them. “Now this is how I’m gonna live some day, Allen! Someday, I swear. No more cleaning stables, no more hard beds or wandering days through fields. This is how I’m gonna live.”
Allen sighed in the doorway. “Don’t get your hopes up, Sanara. I’ve been a servant all 45 years of my life- and it ain’t gone nowhere.”
The girl scoffed. “Well, there’s your proof! I’m only 17, and already I’m living better than you!”
“How’s that?!”
Sanara sighed like one laboriously explaining to a young child. “I’m no servant, Allen. I’m free. I’m just poor!” She laughed. “But somehow I’ll find a way to get out of this grounded life. I will, you’ll see!”
He shuffled his feet. “If you say so. But I-” Allen stopped as someone yelled for him down the hallway. “Catch you later!” And he left.
Sanara shrugged. She had high hopes for the future, even if he didn’t. This new job, even as a cook, was much better than her previous experiences. She was certainly ready to rid herself of the empty stomach, the seemingly constant hangovers, and the days as a bar maid for a**-grabbing men who chuckled and whistled as she served them their beers. Maybe she’d even find herself a nice girl and they could move out to the country, live off the land, and leave all this low-class living. A new start, Sanara thought cheerfully. A chance to be something more, have a fresh life. No more days as a helpless orphan. Only opportunity.
Sanara stared at the white ceiling, thinking deeply and peacefully of what she might now accomplish. She didn’t have to start work until tomorrow; she may as well take a look around the place.
She groaned and stood up. Not a bad room to be staying in at all! Granted, she had to share it with the other cooks, but it was still better than sleeping in sheds.
“Are you the new cook, then?” A tentative voice from the doorway.
Sanara looked up to see a young girl, about her age, dressed in a long, elegant purple gown with a circle of roses atop her head. She nodded “Yup. If you don’t mind me asking, who’re you?”
The girl blinked in surprise, having probably never been addressed in such a blunt manner. “Why…I’m-” she stopped. Sanara could tell the girl was considering something. “I’m…a maid.”
“A maid? Won’t you get in trouble for wearing that, then?”
The girl glanced at her dress. “Oh…yes, yes I would, since I’m a maid,” she said nervously. “Erm…I was just trying it on.” She changed the subject abruptly. “So, a cook! Where’d you come from?”
“Why do you care?”
The girl blinked once more. Her voice became quiet. “Well, I’m, um, sorry…I just wondered…”
Sanara laughed. “Don’t worry, honey, I was kidding. I come from all over. I’m an orphan, see, so I sorta just wander around looking for work where I can find it. But now with this job I’ve got big things planned! I mean, we’re at the Palace, right? They all say it’s a world of opportunity.”
The girl smiled. “Yes…well, you’ve met your first acquaintance, then!”
“I’m Sanara.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me yours?”
The girl smiled mischievously. “Yes, I am.”
There was a moment of silence. Sanara raised one eyebrow. “Um…well, were you planning on waiting until the end of the century, or were you thinking more like you could tell me now?”
She laughed. “End of the century, most likely.”
Sanara shook her head and smiled wryly. “By then, I doubt I’d even care.”
The corners of the girl’s lips turned up. “Alright, then, if you insist. My name is Aleya.”