Chapter 12 Pang of Disappointment
Casimir
We slipped into Seri’s room at dawn the next morning, Zane hovering at the door and Koa peering over his shoulder like two restless predators circling a den.
Her chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm beneath the duvet, pale fingers curled around its edge. Brumous lifted his shaggy head from the footboard, eyes tracking our movements with far more perception than a normal wolf possessed. Maybe some of his dire intelligence lingered, after all.
“Shoo, animal!” I whisper-hissed at him, earning a low growl.
“She’s still out?” Zane whined. “Damn! I was hoping she’d be awake.”
“Quiet, pest.” Ko elbowed him. “Let her sleep. She needs it.”
I didn’t argue. They were right; Seri needed rest more than anything else, but that didn’t stop a pang of disappointment from settling in my chest. I wanted to see her eyes, hear her voice again, even if it was just a few words.
“Later,” I said, more to myself than to them. “She’ll be up later.”
Retreating to the hallway, Ko’s shoulder bumped mine as he craned for a final glimpse before I pulled the door mostly shut, leaving it open a sliver in case that animal needed out.
“Two hours,” I said. “Then we check again.”
“Three,” Ko negotiated. “She needs three. She’s exhausted.”
“Three,” Zane and I agreed in sync.
As we went downstairs, several people in smart black uniforms were swarming the place like termites discovering rotten wood. One woman was cleaning windows. Another by the front door arranged calla lilies in a vase large enough to hide weapons.
We’d heard the first of several vehicles approaching about thirty minutes ago.
Z and I had weaponed up and stood guard at Seri’s door while Ko drifted down the stairs as silently as a ghost. We’d heard doors open and close a few times, and he’d returned to report that our missing staff seemed to have decided to earn their pay.
I didn’t trust that one bit.
Which was why I grabbed one man’s shoulder before my brain registered that I was moving.
“Who’s in charge here?” My fingers dug into the guy’s collarbone hard enough to feel the joint grind. The silverware tray in his hands rattled a staccato beat against his ribs.
“Cas.” Ko’s murmur held an edge of reproach.
“Mr. Storms, sir.” The man’s throat bobbed. “Gregory Storms handles—”
“Point him out.”
After I released him, he led us to an office, where a brown-haired man stood up as we entered, his tailored suit screaming management.
“Ah! The Cimmerian princes! I’m Gregory Storms, your estate manager. How may I—”
“Why wasn’t this circus performing yesterday?” My thumb found the stress point between my eyebrows. Already pulsing.
“I received explicit instructions to vacate the premises.” Gregory’s eyes flicked to each of our faces, a hint of confusion in his brown eyes. “Lady Arabesque Harrow explained that the bride required privacy on her first day here.”
“Privacy?” Zane barked a laugh sharp enough to slice glass. “Yeah, I bet that fang-rotted bitch didn’t want anyone around yesterday.”
Arabesque had orchestrated this perfectly, cleared the battlefield, leaving our beloved unprotected, alone, vulnerable, with no one to help her while Amabel and Eluned sunk their claws into her. My knuckles itched to hit something, preferably Arabesque’s smug face.
“Bullshit,” I said. “She wanted Seri defenseless. And you went along with it.”
Gregory’s composure faltered for the first time, his brow furrowing.
“I— I had no reason to question it. Lady Arabesque is—”
“Not in charge here,” I interrupted, stepping closer. “You answer to me, Koa, Zane, or our wife. No one else. Understood?”
“Of course. My apologies.” He nodded quickly, almost too quickly.
My vision tunneled until all I saw were security gaps: unmanned gates, unwatched corridors, strangers with access to Seri’s meals…
Too many unknowns. Too many variables.
“Assemble the staff, Mr. Storms,” I snapped. “Foyer. Now.”
He opened his mouth, looked at my face, closed his mouth, and picked up a slim tablet from his desk. Thirty seconds later, “Westminster Quarters” played through hidden speakers.
We headed to the foyer, and the staff arrived quickly: Three women smelling of cleaning products, the silverware man from earlier, a chubby old chef wiping her hands on a white apron, and a teenage boy still clutching a potato peeler.
I assessed each face as a potential threat while Gregory recited roles like an auctioneer listing livestock.
“Two groundskeepers are at work outside,” he said last. “Shall I call for them?”
“Later.” I raised my voice a fraction as I addressed the staff. “New protocols effective immediately. You take orders from four people only: the three of us and our wife, Serafina. Any directive from another source is reported to one of us within five minutes. Failure means termination. Questions?”
Gregory cleared his throat. “Might I suggest—”
“No.” Koa stepped forward, eyes scanning the staff with his usual unsettling intensity. “Our beloved was attacked when she arrived here yesterday.”
He paused as the four female staff gasped, and the kitchen boy’s eyes widened, his lips parting.
Gregory didn’t react. Not so much as an eyelid twitch.
Damnation. He’s Arabesque’s.
“She is recovering in her room with her pet wolf,” Ko went on. “You don’t approach her, you don’t disturb her, you don’t so much as walk by her door without express permission from one of us. Otherwise, you’ll lose your head.”
“Also known as permanent termination,” Zane added with a toothy grin.
The kitchen boy dropped his peeler. It clattered against the marble, rolling until it hit the toe of my boot. I stared at him until he scrambled to retrieve it, his hands shaking.
“Dismissed,” I barked, and they scattered like leaves in a storm, shoes clicking a frantic retreat. Gregory lingered, tablet clutched to his chest like a shield.
“Your father approved the original roster, sir. Prince Sebastian himself did the background checks—”
“Carry on, Mr. Storms.” I’d already decided to go through each staff member’s dossier to weed out any other spies.
What else might Arabesque have orchestrated behind our backs before we arrived? And how had she known we were coming to Evermere before we did? To set any of her plans into motion so far in advance?
All I could think was, Father has a mole in the court.
“Very well, then.” Gregory gestured toward the dining room. “Shall we discuss domestic logistics, gentlemen?”
“Domestic logistics?” Zane collapsed into a chair so hard, it groaned in protest. “How did we end up in a Jane Austen flick?”
As Gregory went over to the side board and pulled out laminated schedules, Koa’s knee bounced beneath the table, his fingers twitching toward his dagger, and I took a second to listen.
Sixteen steps up, first door on the right, heartbeat steady, but too slow for consciousness.
“Staff hours are Monday through Friday, eight to four with a paid half-hour for lunch,” Gregory chirped, sliding papers across the glass tabletop.
“There are two cleaners who will see to your needs on the weekends. You can, of course, request that the chef, Mrs. Wentzel, leave you prepared dishes for Saturdays and Sundays or fend for yourselves. During the week, your breakfast is served at eight-thirty. Luncheon at noon—”
“Luncheon,” Zane murmured the word with mock reverence. “Are cravats required?”
I kicked his shin under the table.
“Continue, Mr. Storms.”
The estate manager didn’t blink.
“Mrs. Wentzel will leave your evening meals ready for you before she departs each day. Any dietary restrictions?”
“Our beloved requires nutritious, light meals for now. She’s recuperating, so nothing too rich.”
“Ah, yes.” Gregory’s fountain pen stilled. “Your bride. You said she was attacked yesterday?”
“Yes.” Ko’s voice dropped to the dangerous purr that made even Father nervous.
Not surprisingly, Gregory’s pen clattered onto the table.
“We told you about the pup, didn’t we?” Zane leaned forward until his shadow swallowed Gregory. “Cuter than your average wolverine. Still learning not to eat hands that wander where they shouldn’t. Yeah, he’s with her twenty-four seven, FYI.”
The image of that animal flashed through my mind, an irritating reminder that our most vulnerable treasure was currently guarded by something with separation anxiety and questionable house training.
“No more surprise absences from staff, Mr. Storms.” Koa’s knee stopped bouncing. “And no unexpected visits by anyone to our beloved’s room.”
“Understood.” Gregory’s smile stretched tight. “Though if I might suggest—”
“No,” I cut in.
The grandfather clock’s pendulum counted three swings before he nodded.
“Look, Greg, your job’s real simple.” Zane’s boot tapped a staccato rhythm against the table leg. “See these faces?” He gestured between us with a butter knife. “Only four people in this place won’t end up as fertilizer.”
“And three of us already know how to use shovels,” Ko rumbled.
“That’s the kind of intensity I find irresistible,” Gregory murmured, eyes locked on Ko like he was dessert.
Silence crystallized the air. Ko pinched his lips together and looked away. Zane’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. My palm hit the table with a hard smack!
“Mr. Storms,” I growled, and Gregory’s manicured hands trembled. “That’s our wife you’re disrespecting by speaking to any of us like that. Do that again, and you’ll sign your resignation in your own blood.”
“Certainly, sir.” To his credit, Gregory only blinked twice before standing. “Shall we tour the amenities?”
“Proceed,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
He led us through the manor with a flourish, his voice dripping with enthusiasm as if he were giving a tour of a museum rather than our new home.
The gym was impressive. Mirrored walls, state-of-the-art equipment, and more than enough space for sparring. Zane whistled low, already eyeing the heavy bag.