“Do you think the time will come? After Lady Julianna’s father—”
But he shakes his head vehemently. “I can’t hang my hopes on that. That part is out of my control. I have to be happy—enough—with what I have. Then anything else I get is cream, and if nothing else happens, I won’t spend my life feeling I’ve been robbed.”
“An enviable philosophy,” I say, and I mean it. I step closer and lay a hand on Lord Aaron’s arm, itching to change the subject. “Escort me back? I have an appointment with the royal modiste.” I say the words with a lofty lilt.
“A new gown?”
“A new wardrobe. The King took one look at my gown and insisted my current fashions are unsuitable for a King’s consort.”
“Consort?” Lord Aaron says in indignation. “Did he say that?”
“Indeed.”
“Ass.”
“Indeed,” I repeat, a smile hovering at the corners of my mouth.
THE DOORS TO the salon just outside the Appartement de la Reine bang open, and it’s all I can do not to fall off the dressing stool, where I’ve been perched for over three hours, being fitted for every sort of gown one could imagine. They’ve only just started on this one, so I’m standing in little more than my undergarments, corset, and stockings, but I refuse to flinch as his eyes find me and appreciation flares to life.
“Ah. Justin,” I say flatly, and a wave of stifled laughter rises up from one side of the room.
His eyes go blank and a hint of color rises on his cheeks as he realizes he has an audience. I invited Molli and Lady Mei to sit in on the fitting—unfortunately, I didn’t select a private enough corner when I asked them to join me, and two other ladies, Rebekah and Lady Seidra, overheard. It’s a high enough social honor to be invited to attend the future Queen that they gleefully wormed themselves into the invitation as well. It’s not that I don’t like Rebekah or Lady Seidra, but being attended while wearing only rather flimsy undergarments is far less awkward when said attendants are one’s more intimate friends.
At this moment, however, I’m grateful for the extra eyes. And reddened cheeks and embarrassed giggles.
“Dani,” he says in mock deference, though I can see the tension in his jaw. “We need to talk.”
I gesture wordlessly at the trappings draped over every piece of furniture in the room.
“You need a break,” he snaps. “They do too.”
“Omniscient as well as omnipotent, are we?” I murmur, for his ears only.
“Don’t you?” he snaps at the giggling group of girls, only Molli looking white-faced and concerned.
“Indeed, Your Highness,” Rebekah says, dropping into a deep curtsy.
“Most weary, Your Highness,” Lady Seidra says in a matching tone, as though they hadn’t been sitting on a settee being served tea and refreshments for the last hour. The King makes a shooing motion and the ladies scurry away. Molli pauses at the doorway and touches the corner of her eye, indicating that I should com her ASAP. She casts one more frustrated glare at the King’s back and closes the door behind her.
The King raises an eyebrow at me, and fire smolders in my stomach. The seamstresses he ignores utterly, despite the way they rush about. He never behaves as well in front of the “help” as in front of subjects. Telling, that. “Come,” he says, snapping his finger as he strides toward my bedroom.
I will not come like a dog at his snap. I remain motionless on the stool, not even looking at him. From the corner of my eye I watch him approach the doors and turn to address me, and I see the moment of confusion when he finds me not directly behind him.
“Darling,” he drawls, and gives me a half-bow. “Won’t you come rest yourself and chat with me?”
There’s really no point in resisting, but I wish I could. I join him beside the door, whapping his hip with the bare cage of one of my panniers just because. “Go ahead, M.A.R.I.E.”
The doors open before us and close as soon as we pass through.
“What the hell were you doing in Paris this morning?”
I react by glancing up at the gilded bit of buttress that holds M.A.R.I.E.’s eye for this chamber.
“Forget that,” His Majesty says, waving his hand in that direction. “I have several rooms programmed to cease recording as soon as I walk in. This is one of them.”
Fear makes my most recent snack rise high in my throat. “How…reassuring.”
“Isn’t it?” A hint of a smile reveals his amusement.
I take a moment to retrieve a silk robe from where it lies draped over a spindle-legged armchair, and I tie it tightly around me. I wouldn’t call myself dressed, but now I’m at least decent. “Who says I was in Paris?” But the indignation is false. I knew I’d get caught—there are too many safeguards on my person to prevent it. Not to mention GPS. But I left my Lens at home, so he doesn’t know what actually occurred, and now I’ll work it into my story.
“The Nav computer on the car you seduced out of the fleet captain.”
“Seduced is a strong word.” A flirtatious smile is as far as it went.