“Don’t you want to see it first?”
No need. A roof over Piers’ head? Independence at last? He would make do. “No, sir.”
Edoardo smiled and patted Piers’ cheek. “Meet me here tomorrow morning at nine.”
At ten the next day, Piers rented his first apartment, complete with a bed, dresser, dishes, and even a tiny Christmas tree. Edoardo’s wife donated sheets, blankets, and towels, while Edoardo gave his workers a meal during their shifts and silently handed over a takeout tray every night when Piers went home.
He’d shrug and say, “Leftovers. They’ll only go to waste if you don’t take them.”
No, the universe hadn’t once again handed Piers precisely what he needed. Or had it?
CHAPTER NINE
Current Day— Magical Realm
“Prince Wycke, Your Majesty,” the herald announced at the king’s chamber door, almost managing not to sneer.
“Ah, Arrabella, delightful as always, I see.” Wycke pushed past the woman with a flirty smile and approached without being bidden. He wouldn’t show how much the barb hurt. If Saris kept firing anyone who looked down on him, he’d end up making his own bed and doing his own laundry.
The gilt furniture, elaborate tapestries, and rich upholstery in shades of silver and gold in the king’s morning room might’ve impressed someone else.
Wycke wasn’t anyone else.
King Broen rolled his eyes, dropping his napkin to the table. “He’s the queen’s brother and has lived here since he was four. You don’t have to announce him like a visiting lord. At least he came through the door this time.”
Oh, how Wycke loved slipping in through the window, though, scaring his brother-by-bonding while ensuring no one took Saris’s place in the king’s affections. Wycke had never found another in Broen’s bed.
How dull. Great for Saris, but still dreadfully dull.
The horror on Broen’s face when he woke to find Wycke grinning at him? Priceless.
The reaming out the captain of the guards gave his underlings for allowing the intrusion? Also priceless. No matter how the palace guards tried to increase security, Wycke always found another way in. Nothing better than a challenge.
On second thought, maybe he’d earned Arrabella’s ire.
“Ah, but I am a visiting lord, aren’t I? Or rather, a prince.” Wycke dropped into the chair across from his sister’s mate. The king grew more ridiculously handsome every day. How could Saris keep from losing her heart?
Wycke grabbed a heavily buttered roll from a basket on the table. “You wanted to see me? Please be quick. I barely survived a somewhat… busy night.” The essence of which still clung to his skin. Too bad the king’s summons left no time for a bath.
Broen closed his eyes, shaking his head. When he reopened them, he skewered Wycke with a glare designed to send many fleeing. Few looked into the king’s unnervingly piercing green eyes. High King Broen Hanaran didn’t terrorize Wycke one bit. “It’s your nights I wish to speak of.”
“Oh? Tired of getting the information fourth-hand from the servants? Prefer your gossip straight from the source?” Wycke tossed a piece of bread into his mouth. Oh, good. He’d not thought about food yet today.
“I spoke with you about bedding your sister’s lady-in-waiting. Then I spoke with you about bedding the newest castle guard. Last night you bedded both.” Broen’s eyebrows reached for his hairline.
Arrabella scowled from her spot by the door. So much for pretending she didn’t listen to the king’s conversations. Wasn’t she meant to wait outside?
“Neither complained.” They moaned. Groaned. Panted. Cried out a few times. Oh, how they’d cried out. So had Wycke. But never complained.
Even now, last night’s partners lay curled together in Wycke’s bed. Where he’d rather be.
King Broen counted to ten—slowly—before speaking. “How about decorum? You’re a prince. More and more, I hear tales of Prince Wicked. You should hold yourself to a higher standard.”
Wycke snorted. “Have youmetmy brother? Or my father? Or, for that matter, your own father. Spread his wild oats, didn’t he?”
Broen pursed his lips, letting out a noisy exhale. “The behavior of our relatives is beside the point. They are not here to talk to. You, on the other hand, are.” After a beat, he added, “The legendary Prince Wicked. Your parents named you true.”
Wycke narrowed his eyes. “My name doesn’t mean the same in Myrgren as in Dhugach. There ‘Wycke’ means ‘noble,’ thank you very much.”