“Which is it?” he asked.
Nin remained silent.
“Well?” he probed, rounding in front of her.
She hesitated, a crimson blush creeping across her cheeks.
“Do you believe the court will give you the luxury of thinking?”
Lucille pushed herself away from the wall. “Cedric, don’t you think you’re being a little too—”
“Know your place. This is not the moment to interfere,” he snapped. Lucille’s expression tightened as she bowed her head.
Nin turned on her heel in one smooth motion, with each book still precisely stacked. “You can’t talk to her like that!”
“We have little time to waste,” he said, gesturing for her to continue.
Nin remained unmovable with her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m supposed to be the princess,aren’t I?” she asked.
Cedric stepped closer. She gasped, her eyes wide and teary as their noses nearly touched, while his pocket watch ticked in the uneasy silence.
“A princess?” he said flatly. “That’s not what the court will see. They’ll see a mistake—an imposter never meant to walk amongst their presence.”
The books fell and clattered on the polished floor.
Nin didn’t bend to pick them up. Her throat bobbed when she swallowed.
“Get out,” Nin said.
Cedric blinked, taking an involuntary step back.
“I said, get out,” she said, her voice shaky but piercing.
He stared at her, stunned. “You cannot order me out. We have too much to go over in such little time—”
She raised her chin, her eyes blazing. “I can,” she said. “You forget your place. You serveme.”
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The pocket watch punctuated the silence, the time wasting away with each beat, constricting the air between them.
“Go.”
Cedric’s jaw set. He turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing through the secret passages.
Once inside his private quarters, he paced his room, his teeth clenching. The fireplace flickered, the flames casting long shadows as his mind whirled in anger. What had he been thinking? He’d been too arrogant to think he could ever train a pauper into a princess in such a short time.
A knock sounded at the door. “Not now,” he barked.
The knocking continued, and Cedric moved toward the door, prepared to turn the intruder away. However, it was not one of his men; instead, Lucille was standing in front of him.
Her hands clasped in front of her white apron. “May I enter?” she asked.
Cedric sighed, allowing her in. She followed him into the sitting room of his quarters, consisting of blue settees and gilded chairs.
He sank into one of the striped chaise lounges. “How may I help you?” He asked in a dull, monotone voice.
Lucille remained standing. “You’re in a very foul mood,” she said.
