Chapter 7
seven
Kas pours a glass of water.
As a child, Kas explored his pursuits as and when they struck his fancy.
After taking on the title of Earl of Kabuvirib at age eighteen, he’d had to get a grasp on the balance of managing an estate, while pursuing an education, and fitting in his amusements on the side.
Then he’d added “Duke” to his responsibilities, following the carriage accident that claimed his parents’ lives.
In the three years since joining the double-titled of Selwas, Kas had found a rhythm that worked well enough for him, barring obstructions.
Now he’d gained a prince, a princess, a tutor, and endless opportunities for distraction.
With a sigh, he sent out a wisp of wind to nudge his letters to the edge of his desk. There was one to his overseer in Kabuvirib, one to his steward there, too, a note to his local steward, and a hasty letter to his good friend, Isahn. If only the man lived closer, Kas could really use advice.
Even with his expert delegation and much of the work being funneled through his stewards, Kas had to parse his time out fairly, and if he let himself chase after every new topic that caught his attention, he’d never get any of it done—public or private-facing.
He had just found some semblance of focus, trying to finish work he’d been at for months, when she walked by his office. It was getting absurd, not even a week into her stay at Stormhill, and he could already pick out Miss Kiappa’s footsteps from the twins’ and any others on his staff.
Reading before bed. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was nearly half-past seven, and his stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t stopped for dinner. Soon, Kas promised himself, inclining his head again to focus on the scattered papers, notes, and books spread across his desk.
Outside, the downpour was torrential, muffled slightly since his windows faced a covered entrance, but he could tell it was a significant storm nonetheless. Perhaps things would dry out by tomorrow, in time for Miss Kiappa to instruct the children outside rather than in. He hoped so.
She really wasn’t all that interesting . . . but enough he wanted to learn more about her, about her magic. It was mostly the magic that intrigued him, certainly.
A great crack of thunder rent the air, and the tutor yelped.
Better weather seems unlikely.
If they were forced to study indoors, their boisterousness would keep him from his work.
Outside, though, that provided a whole new set of concerns .
. . Perhaps it was best if things remained dreary for a few days.
Poor weather would ensure no sneaking off to liaise with that slimy guard beneath the willow tree.
It would mean no hiding how slimy that guard was from her.
It would mean no more swimming in her bloody shift.
To be fair, Kas shouldn’t have been out there to witness any of that in the first place, but he was.
He’d gone out for a walk after a light lunch and found himself ambling toward the back of his property, subconsciously veering toward the clearing where Miss Kiappa was so fond of teaching the twins.
He’d only intended to stay for a few moments, to learn a bit about being a naughtbirin.
But he was drawn in, and the lesson was over.
Kas watched from afar as Nesrina—Miss Kiappa—and the children waded into the creek. He should have left then, and could have left. There was nothing for him to learn. Not about their magic.
Instead, he’d remained in the trees when the younger nanny came to collect the twins.
Kas stood, frozen, as Miss Kiappa stripped off her blue and white dress.
In nothing but a thin muslin shift covering her soft curves, she’d waded out into the creek.
When she dunked down, and the fabric clung to her pale, freckled skin, he panicked, turning and bolting through the woods.
Out of breath, he’d ducked into the formal gardens to play at taking an afternoon walk, hoping to catch a glimpse of her again as she made her way back inside.
He did. But he also caught Rihan Sarma, in the roses, with his tongue down a dairy maid’s throat.
And now Kas was an arsehole who knew about a bigger arsehole and couldn’t say anything without admitting he’d been watching her go out to the trees with Sarma daily.
With a ragged sigh, he ran his fingers through his already tousled waves.
Guilt crept in as he considered the unsavory nature of his actions.
What in the gods’ names is wrong with me?
Why had he skulked around, hid behind trees, and sprinted away from her like he was a damned burglar rather than the bloody duke?
He wasn’t going to learn anything about naughtbirins or Nesrina by hiding in the trees.
He simply needed to speak to her— No. He needed to free up time, then speak to her.
And once he’d accomplished that, perhaps he could hang around.
Another frustrated run of fingers through his messy hair helped distract Kas from thoughts of her for a moment, long enough for him to realize he needed a haircut.
Standing at his desk, he angled his ear toward the vent to hear her better.
She puttered around, sliding tomes in and out of their slots.
A dragging followed by a creak indicated she’d climbed on the step ladder to reach a high book.
How high was it really? She was quite small.
If he was in there with her, would he have been able to aid her by pulling it down from the shelf?
Work. His work. Kas needed to be focused on his project, not wondering what Miss Kiappa was up to during her personal time. He was nearly done, a final pass, a few tweaks, and then he could send it off.
Nesrina sneezed, then coughed, then sneezed again, before a fit took hold of her in earnest. Annoyed, Kas shoved his chair back and rose. In three steps, he’d rounded the desk with a glass of water in hand and stomped off to the library.
If that guard hadn’t betrayed her by kissing another woman, Kas might not have gone to help.
But as it was, he felt bad, and supremely guilty for being .
. . a little bit happy Sarma wasn’t wholly taken by her.
At the same time, what sort of fool was the guard to not see how fantastic she was?
Intelligence sparkled behind her eyes, far more interesting than her body—marginally more interesting.
More interesting, that was the key point.
Dressed in pink, she sat in his corner, one he’d stuffed a chaise lounge into to make it that much better. It was a perfectly cozy spot to get lost in a good book. She’d tried, it seemed.
A two-hundred-year-old text on Karova’s ten clans lay discarded on the floor. The dusty old thing was the likely culprit of her coughing fit. An interesting choice. He had newer books on the same topic.
Nesrina flapped her hands around as she gasped for breath, and Kas sent over a soothing wave of crisp, dust-free air to envelop her as he approached. Looking up with bleary eyes, she wheezed, and he stuck out his hand, offering the glass of water he’d brought for her.
When she accepted it, he savored the way her soft fingers brushed his, sizzling goosebumps up his arm.
Blinking, Kas willed himself to get in and get out, to get back to work.
He couldn’t afford to be away from his desk any longer than necessary.
Counting each of her sips, he called it data collection, making sure she was feeling better before retreating.
She tipped her head up and met his gaze. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely.
Shit. Something about her eyes . . . the sound of her voice . . . it hit him hard in the base of his stomach, sending a not unwelcome aftershock coursing to his groin. Kas wanted to kneel before her, take her beautiful face in his hands, and plant a kiss on her delectable rosy lips.
No. She’s not that interesting.
He truly needed to return to his project, already running a few days behind schedule.
The delays were all due to his distraction, his infatuation.
Whatever she was, he didn’t have time to consider it at the moment.
When his stomach growled, he was reminded of yet another task to be handled.
No matter where his feet took him, he desperately needed to refocus elsewhere—for the time being.
If he could free up some time, he might be in better shape.
With that final thought, he turned and stalked away.
“Have you eaten supper today?” Her cough-strained voice rasped out after him.
He chuckled, pausing, considering returning to her side. Gods, Kas. To what end?
“Kalalitani,” distraction, he grumbled, before leaving the room.