16. Baron #2
I didn’t comment on his volatility even once.
From past experience with my father, I knew it was best to let tempers burn themselves down when possible. No angry man wanted an answer. They only wanted a target.
Prince John cast several aggravated glances at me, as if he was irritated that I refused to give him a reason to direct his anger at me, but I calmly ignored the glowering and continued writing out list after list of supplies needed before my men would be battle-ready, from weapons to armor to emergency rations to carry with us.
Prince John huffed and leaned over the parchment to inspect my list. “You wrote down wooden beams twice.”
“So I did,” I said, adding additional notes to each entry. “The first set of wooden beams is to build barricades and fortify our stronghold. The second set is to create catapults.”
Prince John grunted just as a knock sounded at the door and a woman called, “Maid service.”
“Come in,” John snapped.
A girl entered the room. She had curly blonde hair and a round, pleasant face.
Her clothing was the same as that worn by the other serving girls, except she had added little pink bows to the corners of her apron pockets.
She curtsied quickly, then began moving about the room with a feather duster, keeping her head lowered and her movements careful.
I recognized her only vaguely as one of the maids who tended the private rooms. She might have been the same one Laurel had mentioned, the one who could not read and whose work Laurel had offered to help with. The thought made me glance at her again.
“You didn’t include enough iron fittings,” John said, jabbing a finger toward my parchment.
“I have that on the next list,” I answered, turning the page to show him.
He leaned closer, trying again to find fault, and the maid passed behind him to dust the bookcase. She moved too quickly, likely anxious to finish and be gone. Her cloth swept across the shelf, and a small cloud of dust drifted down from above.
Some of it landed on Prince John’s hair and shoulder and he immediately exploded.
He shot to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor, and struck the maid across the face.
The sound cracked through the room as she cried out and stumbled backward, one hand flying to her cheek as she began apologizing over and over, but apologies did nothing to cool him.
He advanced on her, shouting foul names and oaths as he struck again, at wherever he could reach.
I rose at once, intending to put myself between them, but before I could reach her, John stopped. His chest rose and fell with sharp breaths, and his face was flushed with fury.
“Out,” he shouted. “Get out!”
She didn’t need to be told again. The maid held both arms up near her face, where the red mark of his hand was already visible. She fled for the door, still apologizing through her tears.
“Never come back,” he bellowed after her, then slammed the door shut.
For a few seconds, Prince John did nothing but breathe hard and brush at the dust on his shoulders. I forced myself not to look toward the door or follow the maid and most of all, I didn’t let any of my disgust for John show.
After a few more angry huffs, John smoothed a hand over his hair and turned toward me.
There was no remorse in his expression. There wasn’t a shred of guilt or embarrassment over what he had done.
Instead, there was an unspoken challenge in his eyes, and I understood his intention almost immediately.
He wanted to see how I would react. He wanted to know whether I would object, or whether I was truly the sort of man my father had raised.
He needed to know if I was the sort of man John could trust to carry out his will without flinching.
The sort of man who saw violence against the powerless as discipline instead of cowardice.
John would never confide in me unless he thought he could trust me implicitly.
My stomach turned over, but I smirked. “Serves her right,” I said.
The words came out with sickening ease. “No one should ever treat you with anything less than the dignity you deserve. Anyone who does otherwise deserves to be beaten and dismissed immediately. I had to confine a servant girl to the pillory because she slighted Duke Leopold’s son recently. ”
Prince John’s face twisted into a cruel smile. “I’m glad to see we agree, Sheriff. I trust you will carry out punishing the maid for her impudence?”
I bowed my head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
He returned to the table as though nothing of consequence had happened. “Good. You can take care of that now.”
I inclined my head and walked out of his quarters with the same controlled stride I had used to enter. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could sit still and watch the cruelty in front of me. Any outrage on my part would only expose me and Laurel too soon.
The maid had vanished and no one lingered nearby, though I caught sight of two servants peeking from the end of the hall before they quickly vanished. Good. Let them hide. Let them fear me, if fear kept them away from John’s temper.
I sighed. I’d have to punish the maid before ordering the housekeeper to dismiss her—that was unavoidable. It pained me to know that her wages likely were a large contributor to her family’s financial security, and now they would struggle.
When I’d first begun working for my father, I’d dreamed of becoming just like him and serving Prince John, but now I despised every second. And I hated most of all, that Prince John had smiled at me as if we were the same. I was earning his trust, but at what cost?