Chapter Five
The knockon my door is soft, so hesitant, I almost don’t hear it at first. I’m not expecting anyone. At nearly ten o’clock on a Friday night, the only people I plan on interacting with before I fall asleep are of the fictional variety.
So… who’s standing at my door?
My fingers flex against the pages of my book and my heart contracts with violent hope inside its cage. Before I can stop myself, I find my gaze riveted upon the wall that divides my suite from Carter’s…
Don’t be stupid,I tell myself, shoving the reckless feelings down as deep as they’ll go.He’s out for the evening. And even in the highly unlikely, statistically improbable scenario that Carter Thorne is sitting at home on a Friday night… He hates you, remember? He’d never in a million years knock on your door and ask to chat like old friends.
Assuring myself it’s Lady Morrell with a dress for tomorrow or Simms with a list of nagging demands or a chambermaid with fresh logs for my fireplace, I take a deep breath, set down my copy ofThe Count of Monte Cristo, and turn my attention toward the doorway.
“Come in!”
Despite my best intentions, a bolt of inextinguishable disappointment shoots through me when the door clicks open and I see a young pageboy standing on the threshold, a stack of thick envelopes clutched in his hands. Official correspondence, no doubt. All part of my new duties as ‘the public face of the Lancaster family.’
Joy.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” the page bleats, his face stark white. He looks all of eighteen and seems scared half to death just to meet my eyes. “I’m so sorry to bother you at this hour, but I have some mail here for you. I was supposed to deliver it earlier, except I got held up with some of my other tasks and…” His throat convulses. “I know my tardiness is inexcusable. I promise it won’t happen ever again, if you’ll only give me another chance to prove myself—”
“Hey. Take a breath. It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t. This constitutes grounds for termination, so if you’d like to reprimand me—”
I sigh deeply and hold up a hand to stop him. “That may be my beloved stepmother’s style, but it’s not mine. You made a mistake and you’ve apologized for it. Ratherprofusely, I might add.” My lips twist. “So, if you’ll just set the mail down over there on my writing desk, I’ll go back to my book, and we can both get on with our nights. Sound good to you?”
Relief steals across his face. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows roughly and starts edging toward the desk. “Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you so much.”
I nod and pick up my book once more. Honestly, it’s probably rude not to get up and accept the mail from him firsthand, but the stone floors of the keep are like ice now that winter has us firmly in her clutches. And I’m far too cozy to move, snuggled in my favorite chair by the fireplace with a white fox-fur blanket tucked around me — even if Lady Morrell would consider it a ghastly impropriety.
A sharp sound of alarm from the pageboy makes me abandon my book again. I glance back at him just in time to see Galizia stalking into my room. Before the boy can dodge her, she snatches the stack of letters out of his grip. When she whips around to face me, her expression is a mix of exasperation and disbelief.
“Your Highness. Do you just call ‘come in’ toeveryonewho shows up at your door, or is this a special case of stupidity?”
My cheeks heat. My tongue feels suddenly thick. “I— well—”
“You, well,what?” She shakes her head. “He could’ve been anyone, Princess. He could’ve killed you before you even had a chance to scream.”
My brows arch skeptically. “Him? Are we looking at the same boy?” My eyes slide to the page. “No offense.”
“None taken,” he whispers weakly.
“I don’t care how wimpy or ineffectual he may appear—”Ouch, Galizia, let’s not verbally castrate the boy right in front of him. “—A threat can come from even the most innocuous-looking source.”
“He works in the palace,” I point out. “Obviously he isn’t a threat.”
“How can you know for sure?” she counters. “For all you know, he’s a terrorist who stole a palace uniform and snuck in with the sole intention of killing you while you slept.”
The pageboy looks like he might pee his pleated navy pants. “Honest, ma’am, I’m an employee here—”
Frozen silence blasts the room.
I wince. Calling a badass like Galiziama’amis tantamount to addressing a high-ranking military general asdude. It simply isn’t done. The pageboy seems to realize his blunder, since he turns beet-red and begins stammering out apologies.
“Sorry — I didn’t— that wasn’t—”
“You can leave now.” She dismisses him without ever looking away from me. He bolts so fast, he’s just a blur of navy fabric as he disappears into the hall. Frankly, as Galizia advances on me, I find myself wishing I could follow him out.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t check whether he was an assassin but, to be fair, if hewasan assassin, do you seriously think I’d have a shot at fighting him off? The fact that he’s at my door, in my suite, means he’s already gotten through about a dozen existing security measures. How much can I possibly do at that point to keep him from slitting my throat?”