#badimagines

You never thought you were anything special. You've always been just an intelligent, conventionally attractive, smart-mouthed serving maid in the king's household. It probably has something to do with the fact that you grew up with older brothers (you just don't get along with girls) who all call you 'little sis' and ruffle your hair.

None of that could have prepared you for what happened next.

King Lear had summoned everyone into the main hall of his castle. You're there, of course, handing out wine and making sure everything is going smoothly. Indeed, everything is until Lear clears his throat and begins talking.

'You all know why I've summoned you here,' he begins, his eyes flitting over his three daughters. They're all impossibly beautiful - Gonerill in the intimidating way, Regan in the alarming way, and Cordelia in the angelic way. Your shoulder length brown hair and green eyes that change shade according to your mood could never compete.

'It's time to divide my kingdom. 'Cos I'm going old and probably a bit nuts,' Lear continues. 'I had thought about making all of you profess your love to me - nothing like a good ego boost, amirite? But then I realised that was insanity.'

The atmosphere in the room is tense. You've been moving between people to serve wine, but now you hold still.

'No, I realised that there was someone far more deserving than my three daughters. Somebody who is loyal, beautiful, and would make an excellent queen.'

Everyone is glancing around now, confused about who he means. If he's not giving it to his daughters, who?

'Your Majesty,' Kent steps forward. 'Who are you talking about.'

'Y/N,' Lear says, looking right at you.

You drop the tray you're holding. Goblets of wine go crashing to the floor, but you hardly notice. You're still in shock.

'Ew, look at her!' Regan complains. 'Daddy, you can't be serious!'

'I am,' Lear says, now advancing towards you. 'None of you noticed her - to you, Y/N was just a serving girl. But I have noticed the woman she has become.'

Still dazed, you take his proffered hand. Does he mean it? Is he really...?

'What do you say, Y/N?' Lear asks, with a tenderness you didn't expect. 'Would you do me the honour of accepting?'

At last, you find your voice. 'Of - of course, my lord.'