“I can tell,” I say, my lips lifting slightly at the corners. “Does that mean you’ll accept the position? We can discuss salary—”
“Pay whatever is fair. I make do as it is. In fact, ever since I started coming around here, I often find quartz chips in my apron pocket by the time I get home to my cabin.” She gives me a conspiratorial wink. At first, I think she’s suggesting she commits theft while she’s here, but the warmth of her expression tells another story. She nods, patting her apron pocket. “He’s a good soul, His Majesty.”
Words are momentarily stripped from my lips. So…hedoespay her. But why do it in secret?
“I imagine you’ll be wanting dinner tonight, Miss Bellefleur,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts. She takes a step back and begins untying her apron. “I’ll go to town and pick up what I need.”
Remembering the envelope clenched in my fingers, I hold it out to her. Dread sinks my gut as the letter trembles in my hand. It takes me a moment to find my voice. “Will you deliver this on your way to the market square?”
She takes it from me, glancing at the address before placing it in the pocket of her dress. “Of course, dear. Anything else?”
All I can do is shake my head, eyes locked on her pocket, breaths shallow. This is it. As soon as she takes that letter to my father, he’ll know. He’ll know I’m employed, he’ll know I’ve gone against his wishes, and things between us will be forever changed.
Changed for the better,I remind myself.
“Very well,” Bertha says. “I’ll be back shortly and have dinner ready by nightfall.” Too soon, she exits the parlor, taking the letter with her. Sealing my fate.
Left alone with nothing but the sound of my beating heart, my dread lifts and drifts away like clouds on a windy day.
It is done.
Another step toward freedom.
15
Hunched over a stack of ledgers at the bureau, I take my dinner alone in the parlor, alternating between bringing spoonfuls of stew to my mouth and flipping pages. Bertha’s rabbit stew is by far one of the most satisfying meals I’ve ever had. Or perhaps it’s simply from how tired I feel, and how hungry I am after such a strange and eventful day. Even though I started my morning hoping I’d be employed by nightfall, nothing could have prepared me for all that I experienced in between.
By the time I finish my bowl, I’ve already gone through the most recent ledger three times, disappointed by what little detail has been recorded. The first page bears nothing more than a scribbled summary of deposits regularly made to the royal treasury, ending in an outrageously large sum—one I can only imagine came from the deal with my father’s quartz mine. The next several pages are tallies of quartz spent, which hasn’t been much. In contrast, the older ledgers—which must have come from when the king had a palace—are far more detailed with numerous lavish expenses recorded. Furnishings. Wine. Servants. Parties. Musicians and entertainment. It seems the king wasn’t exaggerating when he said he likes to spend his wealth when he’s a wolf. It’s strange to imagine wolves having parties, palaces, and servants at all. Surely his musicians and entertainers were nothing like anything I’ve seen. A howling quartet, perhaps? A four-legged cotillion?
I snort a short laugh, then push the ledgers aside and take out a piece of paper on which I list every room that must be made presentable and the furnishings required for each. Just like our townhouse in Bretton, we need not drape the entire manor in luxury. A few key areas will do—the parlor, the dining room, the front hall, the grounds leading to the manor, the front walk, and the back gardens. Everything else can be cleaned and cared for at leisure.
On another piece of paper, I draft a list of positions that need to be filled, both daily and for special occasions. I already anticipate that the king will need to host at least one luxe occasion—a dinner, perhaps—to secure his standing in Imogen’s mind. For that, we’ll need a convincing staff of human servants who are experienced with serving during such occasions. For everything else, the king’s current household will do.
“Oh, you’re still here,” comes the king’s gruff voice.
I turn and find him hovering in the doorway. “I can leave,” I say, preparing to rise from my chair at the bureau.
He waves a dismissive hand and makes his way to his chair by the fire. Hunched to the side, he rests his head on his fist like I saw him do in the chair in my room. A lock of tangled hair falls over his eyes, but he doesn’t bother pushing it away as he glares at the flames roaring in the hearth.
Looking at him sitting like this, seeming so old, so worn, I can’t help but think…is this plan madness? Is there anything in the world that can make this creature desirable to Imogen Coleman?
His throne,I remind myself. He doesn’t have to be handsome, gentle, or kind, so long as he has a kingdom and money. Imogen will be satisfied with that, I know it. But will it be enough to convince her to sacrifice her greatest treasure and break his curse?
I shake my head. That’s not for me to worry about right now. Besides, even if my great scheme proves fruitless and the king’s curse remains unbroken, I have every intention of benefitting from this arrangement whether he lives or dies.
Speaking of…
I put my list aside and return to the ledgers. Then I make a tally estimating the cost to complete my proposed renovations, purchase the king a decent wardrobe, and hire staff. The sum is nothing better than a guess, and yet even if I were to double it, triple it, it would hardly put a dent in the king’s wealth. I clench my jaw, wishing I’d demanded higher compensation from our bargain. How could he have dared complain about twenty thousand quartz rounds when he has a fortune in the millions?
I shake my head and hazard a glance at the king’s chair. My heart leaps into my throat as I find his eyes locked on me, and he doesn’t even flinch when I meet them. Heat burns my cheeks, my pulse roaring as I slam the ledger shut. “You really shouldn’t stare at a woman like that.”
He blinks a few times. “I wasn’t staring.”
“You were.”
Averting his gaze, he returns to face the fire. “Oh, and how should I look at a woman then?”
“Not like they’re prey.” I breathe deeply to steady my nerves and slow my pulse. “I’d say you’d scare dear Imogen off, but she is neither dear nor easily unsettled by the attention of men. She might find your inspection thrilling, but I do not. It’s very…canine of you.”
