I clean the mirrors until they’re spotless. Scrub the tub even though it doesn’t need scrubbing. Fold the towels with military precision and arrange them on the warming rack. Check the supplies of expensive-looking soaps and lotions, making note of what might need replenishing.
The King’s closet is technically part of my cleaning rotation, but floors and walls only, since his personal valet handles the clothes and toiletries with meticulous care. But I can’t help lingering in the doorway, taking it all in. The space is larger than my entire room in the servants’ wing. Rows of clothing hang in perfect order. The silky dark shirts in varying shades of black and charcoal, leather jackets that probably cost more than my car, trousers pressed to knife-sharp creases. Everything is expensive but not flashy. No bright colors, no logos, no unnecessary ornamentation. Just the kind of quality that whispers wealth. There’s a section of more formal wear, ceremonial robes in deep crimson and gold, but most of his wardrobe is surprisingly simple. On a built-in shelf, I spot a collection of worn leather boots, well-maintained but clearly favorites. A wooden valet stand holds tomorrow’s outfit, already laid out. The whole space smells like him, that cedar and smoke scent that makes my head swim.
I quickly vacuum the rug, trying not to stare. What would it be like to live like this? To have someone lay out your clothes each morning and own things that will last a lifetime, or two?
His whole suite feels strangely homey despite the luxury. Lived-in and personal, not like a museum or a showroom, but like a space where someone actually exists. It makes him feel more real, somehow. I finish up and move on before I can think too hard about why that realization makes my chest ache.
While I work, my mind keeps churning though about my brother.
Derek texted me three more times this morning. The messages are getting more paranoid. He’s convinced the vampires are “watching him” now. That Sara’s new boyfriend has “people following him.”
He’s losing it. Really, truly losing it and I’m stuck here, paying off a decanter and trying not to get fired, when I should be helping him. But how can I help if I can’t prove anything? I came here to find evidence that vampires can’t glamour people, and instead I found poetry books and pressed flowers and a king who treats his staff like family. All I can do so far is send back messages of how nice they all are, which Derek refuses to believe.They’re being fake for the new hire,he says.Keep looking until you find proof of how they really are.
Jeez. Why does life have to be this hard?
The sittingroom is already immaculate.
I tidy things that don’t need tidying. Adjust the cushions on the elegant settee. Wipe down surfaces that are already clean. Straighten books on the small side table. Check the fireplace for nonexistent ash.
I’m stalling and I know it. Eventually I run out of things to clean. Only the study remains.
Where he is.
I take a breath, square my shoulders and enter the study. Then I start with the bookshelves on the far side of the room. As far from his desk as possible.
He doesn’t look up when I enter. Good. Maybe he’ll ignore me entirely and I can finish this and escape without any interaction at all.
I dust the first shelf carefully. Pull out each book, wipe down the shelf, replace the book in the exact same position. The silence is oppressive. I can feel him behind me. Not looking, his pen is still scratching, but aware. What must he believe about me? That I’m a snoop. A spy. Someone who rifles through private photographs and pokes through desk drawers looking for... what? Secrets to sell? Valuables to steal?
I want to turn around and defend myself, explain that I wasn’t trying to steal anything or expose anything. I’ve never stolen anything in my life, never been arrested for anything. I’m normally a very law-abiding person who would never do anything like that. I’m just getting a little frantic, trying to change Derek’s mind before it’s too late. Trying to save him from the conspiracy theories eating his mind. But that explanation requires admitting that Derek thinks vampires are monsters. That he sent me here to find evidence of their evil. Even though I don’t believe it, even though I’m trying to prove the opposite, how would that sound to a king who just caught me going through his things?
Oh, don’t worry, Your Majesty. My brother thinks your species kidnaps and mind-controls humans. I’m just here to prove him wrong by snooping through your private correspondence.
Yeah. That would go over great.
I keep dusting.
Chapter Four
Nikolai
“You missed a spot.”
The words come out cold, exactly as I intend them.
She startles, nearly dropping her duster. “I’m sorry?”
“The third shelf. You missed the corner.”
Claire looks at the shelf. It’s spotless because she’s been meticulous in all her work, but she doesn’t argue, just dusts it again with a frown on her face.
Good. Get angry. Hate me. Ask to be transferred to another part of the castle. Part of me was hoping she’d quit already, or at the least would’ve demanded to be transferred to the stables.
But she is here because of me.
Now Claire is in my space, touching my things and her scent is everywhere. Part of me enjoys the idea of having her, here, amongst my personal items. She knows so much about me now, having been in every square inch of my private quarters. If I’d sent her to the stables like I’d threatened, I could think clearly and make rational decisions about how to handle this impossiblesituation. Instead, I find flaws in her flawless work because I cannot admit I want her bent over my desk, naked.
“You’re holding the duster wrong,” I grouse.
