Chapter 3 #2
King Nikolai is seated at his desk in the study, papers spread before him, a cup of something steaming at his elbow. He wears a simple dark shirt today, no leather jacket, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms.
He looks up when I enter. Our eyes meet.
Even from this distance everything I felt yesterday floods back in a rush. The confusing, infuriating pull toward a man who insulted my entire species. He’s just as handsome as I remember. My body is such a traitor.
I lick my lips and shift on my feet, trying to relieve the heat that’s grown again between my thighs.
His expression is unreadable. Cold. He looks back down at his papers.
“You’re three minutes late.”
How can his deep voice carry so clearly across the space? Is it a vampire thing? I glance at the clock on the wall. I’m one minute early. I triple-checked the time before I left my room.
But I don’t correct him. I can’t afford another confrontation. “I apologize, Your Majesty. It won’t happen again.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t acknowledge me further. Just keeps working, his pen scratching against paper.
So this is how it’s going to be.
I’m going to have to clean his entire suite while he’s here, watching me.
Great.
We’re enemies, I remind myself. This is how enemies behave.
Accept it and do your job. I remind myself again why I’m staying—the pay is good, this will look great on my resume, the staff here are wonderful and I’d like to make new friends.
This is a great place to work and live. A once in a lifetime experience.
It’s just this one arrogant, devastatingly handsome vampire who thinks I’m either a criminal or an idiot.
Why doesn’t he just ask for me to be reassigned somewhere else? The kitchens. The guest wings. The stables he threatened me with. Why keep someone he clearly despises — someone he caught snooping — in his most private spaces?
Unless he wants to catch me again.
Fine. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I’ll be so professional, so meticulous, so utterly beyond reproach that he won’t have a single legitimate thing to criticize.
I start with the bedroom. As far from him as possible.
I make his bed with obsessive precision.
Hospital corners so tight you could bounce a coin off them. Six pillows, each fluffed to mathematical perfection. The black silk sheets smoothed until there isn’t a single wrinkle.
I dust every surface twice. The nightstands, the windowsills, the ornate headboard. I wipe down the tall windows overlooking the snow-covered mountains. Adjust items by millimeters. Triple-check everything.
The whole time, I’m hyperaware of that sexy vampire in the next room. The scratch of his pen. The rustle of paper. The soft clink of his cup against the saucer.
My body refuses to stop reacting to his presence. Even through walls, even angry, even knowing he hates me — I can feel him, like there’s some invisible thread connecting us.
This is ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous.
I move to the bathroom.
The King’s bathroom is as luxurious as the rest of his chambers. Dark stone walls, a massive soaking tub that could fit four people, fixtures that look like they cost more than my yearly salary. There’s a separate shower with multiple heads and what appears to be a steam function.
I wonder what Nikolai looks like in here. Water streaming down those broad shoulders and that naked body. Steam rising around his—
Stop it. Stop it right now.
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 sitting room 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.