The kitchen boy dropped his peeler. It clattered against the marble, rolling until it hit the toe of my boot. I stared at him until he scrambled to retrieve it, his hands shaking.
“Dismissed,” I barked, and they scattered like leaves in a storm, shoes clicking a frantic retreat. Gregory lingered, tablet clutched to his chest like a shield.
“Your father approved the original roster, sir. Prince Sebastian himself did the background checks—”
“Carry on, Mr. Storms.” I’d already decided to go through each staff member’s dossier to weed out any other spies.
What else might Arabesque have orchestrated behind our backs before we arrived? And how had she known we were coming to Evermere beforewedid? To set any of her plans into motion so far in advance?
All I could think was,Father has a mole in the court.
“Very well, then.” Gregory gestured toward the dining room. “Shall we discuss domestic logistics, gentlemen?”
“Domestic logistics?” Zane collapsed into a chair so hard, it groaned in protest. “How did we end up in a Jane Austen flick?”
As Gregory went over to the side board and pulled out laminated schedules, Koa’s knee bounced beneath the table, his fingers twitching toward his dagger, and I took a second to listen.
Sixteen steps up, first door on the right, heartbeat steady, but too slow for consciousness.
“Staff hours are Monday through Friday, eight to four with a paid half-hour for lunch,” Gregory chirped, sliding papers across the glass tabletop. “There are two cleaners who will see to your needs on the weekends. You can, of course, request that the chef, Mrs. Wentzel, leave you prepared dishes for Saturdays and Sundays or fend for yourselves. During the week, your breakfast is served at eight-thirty. Luncheon at noon—”
“Luncheon,” Zane murmured the word with mock reverence. “Are cravats required?”
I kicked his shin under the table.
“Continue, Mr. Storms.”
The estate manager didn’t blink.
“Mrs. Wentzel will leave your evening meals ready for you before she departs each day. Any dietary restrictions?”
“Our beloved requires nutritious, light meals for now. She’s recuperating, so nothing too rich.”
“Ah, yes.” Gregory’s fountain pen stilled. “Your bride. You said she was attacked yesterday?”
“Yes.” Ko’s voice dropped to the dangerous purr that made even Father nervous.
Not surprisingly, Gregory’s pen clattered onto the table.
“We told you about the pup, didn’t we?” Zane leaned forward until his shadow swallowed Gregory. “Cuter than your average wolverine. Still learning not to eat hands that wander where they shouldn’t. Yeah, he’s with her twenty-four seven, FYI.”
The image ofthat animalflashed through my mind, an irritating reminder that our most vulnerable treasure was currently guarded by something with separation anxiety and questionable house training.
“No more surprise absences from staff, Mr. Storms.” Koa’s knee stopped bouncing. “And no unexpected visits byanyoneto our beloved’s room.”
“Understood.” Gregory’s smile stretched tight. “Though if I might suggest—”
“No,” I cut in.
The grandfather clock’s pendulum counted three swings before he nodded.
“Look, Greg, your job’s real simple.” Zane’s boot tapped a staccato rhythm against the table leg. “See these faces?” He gestured between us with a butter knife. “Only four people in this place won’t end up as fertilizer.”
“And three of us already know how to use shovels,” Ko rumbled.
“That’s the kind of intensity I find irresistible,” Gregory murmured, eyes locked on Ko like he was dessert.
Silence crystallized the air. Ko pinched his lips together and looked away. Zane’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. My palm hit the table with a hardsmack!
