Wednesdays always infect me with an acute case of cabin fever. Except for the more famous walks through the palace gardens, most of the extensive grounds are off-limits to tourists. So for as many Wednesdays as I’ve lived in the palace, weather permitting, I’ve retreated to the outdoors as soon as possible. I’m rather a keen shot at croquet as a result.
Today, my first Wednesday as Queen, everyone apparently wants to be seen speaking to me, so each time I try to get out of doors, I’m waylaid. I pride myself on a fairly slow-burning temper, but by the time afternoon rolls around, my fuse has grown quite short. Molli has been kind enough to stay by my side, but she can hardly keep others from me. A baroness I don’t dare offend has been yammering at me for almost a quarter of an hour with naught but the occasional nod to spur her on, when I sense more than see someone turning in my direction at the end of the hallway.
And nearly sputter in panic.
Saber, cloaked—wearing a feathered cap, even—strolling down the corridor as though he belongs. I can’t tear my eyes from him and am certain that everyone else is the same. Likely all the tourists who buzz around us as well.
“Baroness Sunderly, I’m so sorry,” I say, cutting her off and not even turning my head in a pretense of looking at her. “It appears I’m needed. By the King,” I add, invoking the almighty K word to shut her up. I pull my arm away from Molli even as her fingers grasp at me.
I pivot on my heel, my silk skirts flaring in a circle, and walk as quickly as possible toward him. His expression is amused as I approach, and I can hardly believe he’s nearly smirking over this utter catastrophe. As I draw near, my arm darts out and I grab his shoulder and turn him about to walk beside me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
But rather than answer, he twists away from my hand, stands in front of me, and executes a courtly bow, with his hand outstretched, a trifolded, sealed parchment in his fingers.
I’m so stunned by this gesture—commonplace in the palace—that for a moment I forget what to do. Tiny beads of sweat are forming on my brow, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, deafening me to the noise surrounding us. Instinct plays its part, and my fingers reach out of their own accord to take the parchment. For just a moment he resists, and when I tug harder he whispers, “Calm down,” in a tone that somehow simultaneously both demands I do so and puts me oddly at ease. Which I certainly need; I’ve already said too much while wearing my Lens.
I look down at the seal. Not only do I not recognize it, but it looks…fake. I break it anyway and open the parchment.
Take me someplace we can talk. S.
A note from Saber. My cheeks flush hot in sheer pleasure, and the flutters in my heart are for an entirely different reason now. I call myself an idiot in my head in four different languages as I fold the parchment again. “For my father, of course,” I improvise. “Right this way, monsieur.”
I turn and collide with Molli, who must have been standing directly behind me. I haven’t committed such a clumsy act in at least a year. I’ve got to regain control.
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter to Molli. “Business for my father.” I expect her to be staring at Saber with the same rapt fascination I did upon our first meeting, but she scarcely acknowledges his existence, just looks at me oddly.
“Cover for me?” I whisper, though the request barely makes sense. It’ll keep her here while I deal with Saber; that’s all I need.
I blink rapidly, trying to locate my mother and hoping she isn’t in the family quarters. Thankfully, my Lens tells me she’s decided to head to the great luncheon that’s laid out every Wednesday to make up for the loss of serving-bots to bring meals to individual quarters. My stomach growls at that thought—I missed breakfast, thanks to the great lever débacle.
I steal glances back at Saber as we stroll down the north hallway. He was deliciously gorgeous in his otherworld clothing, but since I was raised in Baroque culture, our style is apparently my preferred mode of dress even for non-Sonoman citizens. What was masculine and appealing is now devastating and magnetic. His breeches cling to lean thighs as he walks, and his fitted waistcoat highlights the subtle triangle from hips to shoulders. I can’t make myself look higher than his neck when my cheeks still feel so flushed, but I can feel his eyes boring into my back and can quite easily imagine the light green surrounded by dark lashes.
Within minutes we enter my father’s study, and I’m surprised to find my father upright and fairly alert. Saber nods politely but says nothing, and I favor my father with my best smile. “Might we borrow your study for a few moments? Alone,” I add when he doesn’t stir.
My father looks at Saber for a long moment but silently acquiesces and treads down the narrow hallway to his bedroom.
“You’re going to use this as your safe room?” Saber asks before I can turn fully back to him.
I hold up a hand and hurry to the bathroom to pop out my Lens. “Always better to be cautious,” I say, coming back and dabbing at my cheek with a handkerchief. “But we should hurry. I’ll have no warning of my mother’s return now.”