Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Hazel
“ T wo braids, please.”
“Two braids it is.” I work the brush gently through her dark curls, careful with the tangles. Lily sits very still on the little cushioned stool in front of the vanity, watching me in the mirror. She holds Max in her lap, his floppy ear half tucked under her chin like always.
“Are you going to brush Max too?”
“Of course,” I chuckle. “Max needs his hair done if you need yours done. That’s the rule.”
Her lips twitch.
I start the first braid, weaving slowly, pausing every few inches to make sure I am not pulling.
Lily watches me in the mirror with those serious dark eyes, and then she yawns, and I catch the tiny gleam of her baby fangs on her lower lip and I have to look away for a second because that darling face is going to kill me.
She is the cutest small “vampire” in the whole world.
I’ve learned that Krovenians don’t really like being called vampires and that this is an entirely human-invented word, they preferred to be called by their species name, which is Krovenian.
It’s hard though for me to stop secretly calling them vampires in my head.
“Hazel?”
“Yes?”
She watches me in the mirror. “Hazel, do you have a mama?”
The question is so small and direct. I keep my face neutral and answer truthfully. “I did have a mother, but she passed away when I was little.”
Lily’s expression doesn’t change. She just keeps watching me in the mirror. “Mine too,” she whispers. “She died two years ago.”
“My mommy died of a long sickness at the hospital when I was in Kindergarten,” I explain, because I figure she wants to know more.
She nods quietly but doesn’t continue the conversation, so I don’t say more, just let her process what she’s learned so far.
I finish the braid and tie it off with a little white ribbon, then I move to the other side and start the second one.
I adore spending time with this girl. This really doesn’t feel like a hard job at all, more like pleasant time spent with a small child I want to help blossom into a confident, chatty, little girl.
I’ve grown to care for her deeply in just the last five days and I want her happy, and not just because this is my job but because I have a huge soft spot for this little Krovenian with the fancy title.
Finally, she asks, “Did she brush your hair?”
I think about it for a sec. “Yeah, she did. My mom was really good about making sure it didn’t hurt when she did my hair.”
Lily smiles. “It doesn’t hurt when you brush my hair.”
I grin. “That’s because I know that it’s possible to be careful and make sure it doesn’t hurt.” I tie off the second braid, then bend down so my face is level with hers in the mirror, and I smile at her, gentle and warm. “There. Two braids.”
She studies herself in the mirror with the serious, considering expression of a tiny queen. Then she nods once, decisively. “Good.”
I let out a small breath I didn’t know I was holding, then I open my notebook and jot down two quick observations with date and time.
Engaged in reciprocal conversation. Referred to her mother, asked me about my mother.
Eye contact sustained for full conversation.
I close it before she asks what I am writing.
I’ve been keeping notes since day one. Sleep patterns.
Food intake. Words spoken. Emotional moments. It helps me keep track of progress.
“Hazel?”
“Yes?”
“Is papa back home yet?”
She asks this question often, letting me know she misses her father greatly when he’s gone, but I know that he calls her each night and Madam Petrova helps her with the tablet so she can facetime with him.
But she’s always eager to see him back home, at the castle with her.
This little girl obviously loves her father, which is sweet.
I force myself to respond with an almost flat affect.
“I think so. I know he came home last night.” But inside, my body heats up again, literal butterflies flittering in my belly as I think of that moment when I met her outrageously handsome father in the kitchen.
His dark eyes roaming up and down my body.
Remembering how he told me to leave. And he said to call him Viktor?
“Maybe he’ll be downstairs for breakfast?” I comment.
Her grip on Max tightens just a little, and she looks down at the floor.
“Should we go down and find out together?”
She nods.
I take her tiny, cool hand in mine. Krovenian children run a few degrees cooler than human children. Their bodies don’t generate as much heat. Her hand in mine feels like she has been holding a cold glass — not unpleasant, just different. Like everything else here.
We head down to breakfast together, Lily holding my hand, Max held firmly in the other.
Viktor does not come to breakfast.
Lily doesn’t say anything about it, just eats her food. But I’m devastated. I have to admit I was hoping to see him as much for myself, as for his daughter.
We both eat quietly in the fancy, echoing dining room with the long table, huge stone fireplace and the wall of windows.
I do my best to hide my irritation. This is fine.
Viktor has important work at the Defense Ministry and a thousand demands on his time.
And I am thenanny; it is not my place to have opinions about whether the Crown Prince of Krovenia joins his daughter for breakfast. Stay in your lane, I tell myself firmly.
Afterwards, we start back toward the nursery, Lily and I, walking hand in hand down the long stone corridor.
It’s time for her studies. The morning light pours through the tall windows in golden columns and the rain from last night has left everything washed and bright.
I try very hard to focus on what a beautiful day it is and not on the small tight knot ofdisappointmentsitting in my chest.
We pass the open door of Viktor’s study.
I do not look in. They told me at orientation that I am not to disturb the Crown Prince at his work. The study is off limits. I keep my eyes forward.
But Lily stops and turns very small and quiet, and peeks around the doorframe into her father’s study.
Uh oh.
I freeze beside her, prepared to gently guide her on and then I hear his deep voice from inside. Warm in a way I have never heard before. “Good morning,Lily . ”
A small smile breaks across the little girl’s face. She lets go of my hand and skips forward. “Good morning, Papa.”
I look in. Viktor is at his desk, wearing a crisp dark shirt with the top button undone, sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm.
His dark hair is tied back at the nape of his neck.
A tablet rests in front of him, files stacked beside it.
In daylight, he is somehow more handsome.
Last night he was rain-soaked, feral and dangerous, and my brain at least had the clay mask and the pajamas to anchor the moment in absurdity. This morning is different.
The Dark Prince in the sun.
His eyes are on his daughter. The corner of his mouth has lifted into something I would not call a smile exactly but is the closest thing to one I have ever seen on his face.
I want to take a picture and lock this image in my mind forever, this small, half-second softening of the hardest man in Krovenia, looking with love at his daughter.
This is the version of the Crown Prince that the staff loves.
And then his gaze shifts to me. For the briefest moment his eyes are thankful, which causes me to think he’s been told that Lily has been making progress already.
But the longer he looks at me, the more his expression changes.
My breath catches.
His pupils darken and his jaw tightens.
I amfully dressed in a perfectly modest blue sweater and comfortable dark pants.
My hair is down and I have a little bit of makeup on, but not too much.
I’m dressed professional this morning, but in clothes I’m not afraid to get a bit of paint on and that will allow me to move easily on and off the floor.
“Good morning, Hazel.”
He said my name. Oh wow. With no honorific, no title, no buffer of formality.
My brain short-circuits. “Good morning, Your—” I start.
His brow lifts.
My cheeks burn. “…Viktor.”
The tiniest curve of his mouth. There and gone.
And then his eyes drop for the briefest, slowest sweep, from the top of my head down the length of my body, lingering for a half-second on the soft V-neck of my sweater, the slope of my hip, the bare line of my ankles above my flats, and then up, snapping back to my face.
It happens in less than a second.
My entire body lights up like a struck match. I am completely and immediately wet and there is no way to pretend otherwise to myself. My thighs press together involuntarily.
“We’re on our way for her studies,” I croak.
He nods. “Good…Good. Have a nice morning.” And then his tablet chimes and he picks it up.
I steer Lily out of the doorway and down the corridor. I do not look back.
I do not breathe properly for about fifteen feet.
Lily holds my hand and trots along beside me, perfectly happy, completely unaware that her nanny is having mental breakdown.
Holy hell.
How am I to be expected to behave like that male does not affect me in the least for the next year ?
I take a deep breath, square my shoulders and keep walking.
It is late afternoon when I find out the real reason why Viktor did not show up at breakfast that morning.
While Lily is napping I wander down to the kitchen to refill my water, eat a lovely snack, and chat with the staff.
Madam Petrova is at the long wooden table, sorting silver into a cloth-lined drawer.
I pull out my notebook, pretending to be highly concerned with Lily’s schedule. “Can you please remind me what time dinner is?”
She does not look up from her sorting. “Princess Lily’s evening meal is at six o’clock in the nursery.”
“In the nursery?”
She glances over at me, puzzled. “Yes. As you’ve been doing.”
It’s true that for the last five days Madam Petrova has been bringing Lily’s meals up on a small wheeled cart at six o’clock, and Lily and I have been eating together at the small lacquered table in her playroom. I had assumed this was a temporary arrangement until Viktor came home.
“And the prince? When does he take dinner?”
“His Highness dines in his study at half past eight.”
“In his study.”
“Yes.”
I blink. “Why do they eat separately?”
She shrugs. “This is the custom. Krovenian royal children do not share the table with their parents until they are old enough for state duties. Usually around thirteen or fourteen. Princess Lily will join the formal table at dinnertime when she is older. She is eating breakfast in the large dining room only starting this year, so she can begin to learn her manners.”
“But, that means she eats alone, with her nanny and not with her father…”
“And when her mother was alive she didn’t eat with her either. This is the way.”
My lips purse. “But now that her mother has passed, shouldn’t she be allowed to eat with her only remaining parent?”
“Royal customs are not easily questioned. The prince was raised this way. It is how it has always been done.”
I take a slow breath. Well, at least I know now that Viktor is not a man neglecting his child. He is following a centuries-old custom that he was handed at birth and never thought to question, that his family has practiced for generations.
I think about Lily this morning, her face when Viktor didn’t come to breakfast. The little hopeful lift of her chin and then the careful, learned composure when she realized he wasn’t coming. The way she lit up when she heard his voice in the study.
A custom can be wrong, even a custom that was made with good intentions, by people who loved their children, can be wrong for a particular child in a particular moment. Tradition does not get to override a grieving four-year-old. Not on my watch.
I close my notebook, tuck it into my pocket and straighten.
“Thank you, Madam Petrova.”
“Hazel.” Her voice is gentle, knowing. “What are you about to do?”
“I’ve got to do something, even if it’s wrong,” I respond. “I can’t just do nothing.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, her lined face crinkles into the smallest, knowing smile. “Take this with you.” She slides a small plate toward me. On it sits a single buttery shortbread cookie. “He likes them at this hour. They soften the conversation.”
I bite my lip. “Thanks.”
I take the plate with me and march down the long stone corridor toward Viktor’s study, fully aware that the man I am about to confront could have me on a plane back to Ohio by morning. I’ve got to do this now, before I chicken out.
My mouth, I tell myself. My mouth, getting away from me again.
I reach his door and knock once. Hard.
The heavy wooden door opens. Viktor’s eyes lock onto mine, surprised.
I open my mouth before I can stop myself. “We need to talk about your daughter.”