“—out in the parlor is perfect. And if the kitchen has them this morning, His Highness wants extra of those flaky sausage rolls. The swirly ones. I don’t know what you call them.”
“Wyrm eyes?”
“Fucking delightful. Yes, extra wyrm eyes.”
Kazia can’t bear this anymore. He sits up too quickly, forgetting his injuries until pain stretches his skin. For once, the pain is welcome, something physical and normal to ground him in this insanity. Flinging open the curtain, he opens his mouth—
And his jaws click shut again at the servant’s wide eyes.
Nothing Kazia could say would make this better. Lucien looks impossibly comfortable in his rumpled livery. The jacket’s gone, and the white shirt glows against his freckled skin. His hair is tousled.
Not that Kazia has any experience in this realm, but if he ever slept with someone, he imagines he might look as smug as Lucien right now.
The wide-eyed servant clearly has an imagination as well.
“Coffee,” Kazia bites out, and yanks the curtains closed again. Head spinning, he waits for the servant to leave. He waits another minute after that. Getting up feels like a mistake. Better to stay in bed, secluded behind purple velvet. His back won’t hurt if he doesn’t move, and he won’t have to talk to—
“Morning, Your Highness,” Lucien says cheerfully.
Kazia jumps out of bed, flinging the curtains aside. Too heavy, they flump back into place without a satisfying flourish. He jabs a finger towards Lucien. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Lucien doesn’t flinch. “I stayed right where you left me, per several of your orders. Or would you rather I move freely around the place?”
“I never told you to stay in my fucking bedroom!” Kazia waves at the door. “He thought that I—that we…”
Kazia can’t finish the sentence. Not when Lucien’s stupid blue eyes are fucking twinkling. Not when Lucien is wearing shoes, and Kazia is barefoot in his nightclothes.
“Does that bother you?” Lucien asks. “He’s hardly the first to think it.”
Kazia gapes. “Excuse me!”
Lucien runs a hand through his hair, and his smile is blinding. “I’m a fucking catch. Why else would you want me at your beck and call?”
Frozen, empty, Kazia can’t reply.
Because Lucien is at his beck and call. All Kazia has to do now is order Lucien to shut up. To return to his cell, and these appalling words will stop. But misusing orders is the problem.
How many people think Kazia is fucking a man who can’t refuse him?
“That’s not why I wanted you,” Kazia says eventually.
Lucien’s smile drops. “It doesn’t matter what they think, as long as they think something. Better than your household wondering what other reason you might have for not locking me up last night.”
Of course, Lucien would take the horrible conversation somewhere worse.
“I don’t want to talk about last night,” Kazia says.
“Sure. But only if you let me look at your back.”
Absolutely not. Kazia won’t survive that pain and tenderness again. “It doesn’t matter. Aliza will heal me.”
“Whenwill she heal you?” Lucien asks, far too reasonable. A little exasperated—as if he cares. “It’ll hurt until then.”
Kazia scowls. “You’re going to be annoying until I agree, aren’t you?”
Lucien just grins. “You’re so insightful, Your Highness.”
Agreeing will be quicker than arguing. Ordering Lucien out would be quicker still, but Kazia doesn’t want to abuse his power more than he has to. Worst of all, Lucien’s right. His back hurts, and Kazia can’t reach everything by himself.
