“Yes, sir, things like this have been happening since Emily left.”
“Things like my bedroom appearing as if you haven’t cleaned it or dirty footprints on my floor.”
I wince. “Yes. Once I saw them, I cleaned?—”
He holds his hand up, stopping me. “How come you never came forward?”
Snitches get stitches. We don’t talk. We don’t rat. Not even when someone wrongs us. We’re patient. We bide our time and retaliate. We handle it ourselves. “That’s how I was raised, sir.”
“I see. How you were raised. By your farmer parents.”
I try not to react, and I don’t respond.
“Hmm.”
“Sir, if I may, I’d like to address it myself, if that’s all right.”
He runs a hand along his jaw to the back of his head, and I’ve seen Rowan do a similar move like that, and Jesus fucking Christ, I need tostopwith him already. The sleeping in his bed and the phone calls and the drawings and the freaking boxes that are sitting unopened on my bed are messing with me.
“I’ll permit that. For now,” he tacks on. “But Marcella, this rug is three centuries old, and they ruined it to try to pin you with the blame. That’s not the sort of thing I take lightly, nor is someone doing something malicious in my palace, where my children and pregnant wife are. Do you understand that?”
His pointed words don’t go unnoticed.
A slick oil spill of dread coats my insides, making me feel greasy and all wrong. The king is on to me. I know he is. Why he’s giving me latitude to stay, I don’t know, but I won’t take the risk of sneaking in here again. I’ve been working on a plan, going over the figures in my bank account and my earnings to see what I can afford and what I can’t. At this point, it’s not much, and I have no idea how I’ll get Jaqueline even if I can manage to buy our way out of the country to somewhere safe.
I curtsy. “Yes, Your Majesty, I completely understand that.”
“Good. I expect you to handle this matter quickly, and as part of your handling it, I want them fired and gone from my palace by this evening.”
There go my plans for murder and retribution. Firing her won’t go over well, but fuck it. If anything, hopefully it’ll teach the other two a lesson. “I understand. If necessary, do I have access to the video from the cameras outside the room?”
“How certain are you of the person?”
“Fairly certain.”
“Start with that, and if you need the video as backup, I’ll have Javier get it for you. I also expect you to discuss this matter with Emily, as she’s the one in charge.”
I nod. “Very good, sir, and thank you.”
He rises and heads toward the exit but stops. “I heard about your suggestions for improvements to the palace.”
I don’t reply. I simply wait him out.
“They’re good, and we’re going to be enacting some of them. Thus far, I’ve heard good things about your work. Keep it up, Marcella, and there will likely be other jobs and promotions here for you.”
He leaves, and an odd sense of pride swarms me like a pack of honeybees, tickling my insides and buzzing through me. It’s a sensation I haven’t felt in years. Not since my father or Samil would praise me for a game of chess well played, or mixing up the right combination of chemicals to make an undetectable poison, or flawless execution of speaking another language. I thrived on that praise, on that feeling, even if I didn’t know till much later what they were grooming me to become.
Now I have to fire one of the three stooges.
I’ll speak to Emily about it first.
I head downstairs toward Emily’s suite when my phone buzzes in my pocket. My personal phone. Shit. I pull it out and wince.
S.B.: I will be in Tourin on Sunday at 10 a.m. Meet me at the café in the lobby of L’Hotel Louise, and I’ll give you the drive. We’re close, Marcella. No mistakes or you’ll both pay.
Me: I’ll be there.
I have less than a week to figure everything out and create a foolproof plan. It’s not enough time. But the longer I’m here, the more suspicious the king grows of me. And the closer I get to a prince who seems to be holding on to me with both hands. What he said about the woman at the wedding…about me…
