Chapter 13 – Marcella
MARCELLA
This entire week, there have been small sabotages.
Minor things that build and are designed to ruin my day, get me in trouble, or have me fuck something up.
I don’t have access to the cameras. Not anymore.
After I broke into the palace system, did what I had to do in order to alter my face from the chalet and change the facial recognition, and made my background check go through without a hitch, I pulled myself out.
The last thing I wanted was for Javier to notice someone had infiltrated, which he would have. It wouldn’t have taken him long to figure it out.
So I can’t know who’s fucking with my trolley or creating a mess in the king’s study that looks like either I created or left behind.
They also cut up my uniforms. All of them.
I can’t exactly tattle that someone is intentionally doing these things because they’re petty fucking assholes, because it’s, quite frankly, a bad look, and snitches get stitches and all that.
Except the ones to get stitches might be these twats if they continue to fuck with me. I want to retaliate so badly, but I don’t want them to know they’re getting to me, and I don’t want it to backfire. I have too much riding on this.
The master key dangling from my waist bangs into the side of the wall as I turn into the family quarters.
Shit. I stop and make sure I didn’t leave a divot.
Another thing that needs changing around here?
The key system. I understand that the palace is old, perhaps even ancient, but actual keys?
They’re not the small kind that fit on a regular old ring either.
These are the kinds you see in horror films that take place in the nineteenth century.
I’m in a foul fucking mood today, and it’s not the kind of mood I enjoy being in.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” comes a voice from down the hall that I’m positive is Esme’s. “I don’t know what to say. She’s obviously new at this and is still learning. I suppose we just have to be patient.”
“Patient?” the king echoes. “You’re telling me to be patient with the fact that my bedroom is in total disarray? How could this have even happened?”
“I’m not sure, Your Majesty. Marcella is responsible for your quarters now. I understand this would never have happened under Emily, but I’m sure there’s an explanation for this other than incompetence or oversight.”
That fucking cunt.
“Find her and tell her to get it fixed. Now!”
Heavy steps storm down the hall in the opposite direction, and I round the corner, after blood, except Esme isn’t here anymore.
The hall is completely empty. I go into the king's bedroom that I already tidied this morning and gasp. The clothes from the dry-cleaning hamper are strewn everywhere, the bed is unmade, drawers are open that shouldn’t even be touched, and some of the queen’s personal items are on the floor.
Bitch is going to die. I’ve killed people less deserving of it than her.
Jesus Christ, I don’t have time for this.
Yesterday, two completely different versions of the schedule were posted to our board—the one I posted and the one someone else posted from last week.
It was total chaos in the morning as I had to remove one and redirect people.
I’ve had to restrict people’s posting to requiring approval now.
Unfortunately, I don’t have proof that it’s the three of them other than their obvious dismay over me getting the position instead of one of them and their threat.
Dammit, I can’t fuck this up. I need this position for more than one reason.
I set to work cleaning up the mess and making sure everything is as perfect as it was this morning, the first time I did this. My mind drifts, thinking up delightful revenge schemes to get back at the three stooges, when I snag on one of the photographs on top of the king’s dresser.
The children each have one, there’s one of the king and queen from their wedding and one of the king with Rowan on what looks like a yacht, and that’s the one I get stuck on.
The king is extremely good-looking. Fiercely so. All hard lines and rough edges, whereas Rowan has a softness to him that the king lacks in the form of full lips and cheek dimples. Those stupid bastards never fail to disarm a girl when she least wants it.
Maybe that’s why the king is labeled a beast and Rowan a charmer.
Maybe it’s more about appearance than demeanor because Rowan has not been charming this week.
Not at all. If anything, he’s been an ass.
Regardless, I can see why the queen fell for the king.
Unfortunately, I already know why women all over the world are endlessly eager to spread their legs for Rowan, myself stupidly included.
I was like a blushing schoolgirl the other day by the pool, all because the man was shirtless and wet. Pathetic. I’m not one of those women. Not again. I hate the way he looks at me. I hate the way it makes me feel like a woman—a beautiful woman. Argh!
Stop thinking about him and get back to work!
I finish off the king’s room and lock the door. I’ll unlock it later this afternoon, but I want to make sure no one else fucks with it.
My personal phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see it’s from Signorina Batorini. Awesome. Because this day hasn’t already started off like shit.
S.B.: I’ve been informed you have a new position there that should further our agenda. Give me an update on your progress.
Fuck. Antonia was all up my ass last night, talking about how they need something concrete to work with and how they’re losing patience, etc. I had to give her something and told her about my new position.
Me: My plan is to hack the king’s system when I’m able to. I need direct access to it, though, so it doesn’t trigger anything. That takes time, and I just started with this new position on this side of the palace. Once I figure out all of the cameras and triggers, I’ll move in.
S.B: Get it done. I don’t have to remind you of what he did to your brother. Or what it means for you and Jaqueline if you don’t follow through with this.
Me: I’ll get it done.
I leave it at that. Maybe that’s the best way to do this.
Get what I need on the king, plant the things Signoria and Antonia have been working on onto his computer, and get the fuck out of this palace.
Nothing good will come of my staying here.
Rowan will figure it out eventually. I’ll get fired, I’ll literally kill someone, end up in prison for what I’m plotting to do, or all of the above.
Now that all of the bedrooms and studies are done, I get going on the long hallway outside the royal bedrooms. I start with the duster, going over gilded frames holding paintings with eyes that follow me as I jump from one to the next.
When that’s all finished, I set up the large mop with the microfiber head.
The children shouldn’t be back here for a couple of hours, giving everything plenty of time to dry.
I can’t wait to be done with this so I can take my walk along the path that leads through the back of the palace grounds and into a wooded area.
It’s quiet and peaceful and is the only place where eyes aren’t always on me. Where I can find some freedom.
The silence of the vast hall wraps around me, broken only by the distant tick of a grandfather clock and the soft swish of microfiber on stone floors.
A melody flows through my head, and I follow it, singing the words.
I don’t listen to music while I’m working.
I don’t have headphones or wireless earbuds the way everyone else does.
I don’t have music apps or decent cellular or internet on my phone—it’s old and functional.
I don’t have luxuries. Hell, I barely have the basics, and this is the first time I’ve ever earned a paycheck.
So singing whatever song is in my head is the best I’ve got, and most of my songs are old Italian croons the Signoria likes or more modern angsty rock that Samil used to enjoy. I end up morphing into his favorite song, the words flowing effortlessly past my lips as I swish the mop back and forth.
“That’s beautiful.”
Startled, I whirl around, the mop dropping from my hand and clattering to the floor.
Princess Sabrina and Phaedra are standing before me, holding a large box between them.
Arthur is by their feet, peering curiously at me with his glowing eyes.
I’ve never been a fan of animals, truth be told, but there’s something adorable about the ferret.
Probably because he’s always with the children—their loyal guard.
I instantly dip into a deep curtsy.
“Your Highnesses, I apologize if my singing was too loud.”
“It wasn’t loud at all,” Phaedra states.
“I liked it,” Sabrina chimes in. “We got our chess game from our room. Aunt Althea is going to teach us how to play.”
My face lights up. “I love chess. It’s my favorite. My brother taught me how to play.”
“Are you good?” Phaedra questions.
I shrug. “I think so.”
“Girls, here you are,” Althea exclaims from behind me. “Zayer is asking for a snack, so perhaps we’ll play later.”
Both their expressions fall.
I twist toward her. “If I may, I’d be happy to teach them while you tend to the prince.”
Althea studies me, and then after a long beat asks, “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all. I was about finished here anyway and was going to go on my break, but I’d be happy to play chess with them instead.”
“If you’re sure, that would be great. I sent Bellamy for a nap. She ran around with them all morning, and I don’t want her to overdo it.”
I nod. “Of course. I understand. Truly, it’d be my pleasure.”
“Yeah,” Sabrina chimes in, jumping up and down. “It’s her favorite game.”
“Is it? Fabulous. Marcella, if you could take them to the playroom and get started on the game, that would be a huge help.”
“Absolutely.” I curtsy to the princesses. “Lead the way, Your Highnesses and Arthur.”
This makes the girls giggle, and they happily take me along. I remove the box from their hands, carrying it for them, and once we reach the playroom, I set it down on the large coffee table bracketed by two sofas.
I open the box and pull out the board while the girls eye the pieces.
“My brother told me that if you can master chess, you can outmaneuver and out-strategize anyone.”
Sabrina scrunches her nose, not fully understanding, but Phaedra gets me.
I start explaining each piece as they touch and examine them. “The king is the most important piece on the board, the one you’re trying to protect, but the queen is the most powerful.”
Phaedra, who is set to become queen one day, definitely likes this.
“My favorite is the knight.”
Now Sabrina’s in on it. “I want to be a knight when I grow up.”
“Sabrina, we don’t have knights anymore.”
She pouts. “Then a warrior.”
“I love that. Chess will help build your thinking muscles, which any knight or warrior would need. Also any queen.” I wink at Phaedra and show them how to set up the board.
Arthur is on a soft cushion in the corner under the window, basking in the streaming sunlight, taking a nap as we begin our game.
Phaedra picks white and Sabrina black—thankfully no fighting to be had—and I help them with their moves, talking strategy and how each move will affect the board and other pieces on it.
“This is hard,” Sabrina whines, pouting when Phaedra takes one of her bishops.
“I know. It takes a lot of practice. Don’t get discouraged. You’re doing such a good job for your first time.”
Playing with them makes me miss Jaqueline even more. She’s had it so tough, but so have these children. At least they have each other and their family and are swaddled in love.
The sound of someone clearing their throat from the door startles all of us. Rowan is standing there with the queen, and he doesn’t look happy I’m here with them.