The two guards abandon the loose stones and charge for our corner, each yanking one of my children away.
Lilou sobs as one rifles through her night clothes and paws at her tiny limbs with rough hands. Mika’s bottom lip wobbles but otherwise, he remains quiet as he is thoroughly searched.
My anger flares, but I bite my tongue. I have yet to meet a gentle soldier when they’re following orders, or a sympathetic one when they’re questioned.
“They’re children,” Corrin scolds, but she doesn’t move. She knows her place too.
“Search the baby,” the one who seems in charge commands, unfazed.
The other casts Lilou aside and reaches for Suri.
I flinch on instinct, turning away from him.
“Everyone is to be searched!” he bellows, grabbing my arm.
Not with those hands, they won’t. “Stop!” I hang on to Suri tight. “You’re going to hurt her!” Or worse, make me drop her.
“What’s the problem here?” a new voice demands.
The guards stiffen immediately, coming to attention.
The king himself enters our bedchamber, a regal presence despite his disheveled attire—his white tunic untucked and half-buttoned, as if he was caught by an emergency while undressing.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. Since when does a king visit the servants’ quarters?
“She refuses to let us search the infant, Your Highness.”
“I haven’t refused. I just … she is a newborn, and you are too rough.”
“When was the last time either of you held an infant?” Corrin waggles a finger at the guards.
Their blank glances at each other answers her question.
“You can’t jostle them about. They need their head supported!”
The king surveys our toppled room and my two children, both crying, though Mika is trying to muzzle it. “Fix the pallet and then move to the next chamber,” he tells the guards. “Corrin, I’m sure there’s something sweet in the kitchen that might soothe them?” He sounds so calm. It’s in such conflict to the chaos his order has stirred. Shouts and clatter come from every direction.
“I’m sure I can scrounge up an apple fritter or two.”
Mika’s eyes light up at his favorite.
With a hand on each child’s shoulder, Corrin guides them out, offering a pointed glare at the guards on her way past. It would be comical if I weren’t so frightened.
“The servant and her infant have not yet been searched, Your Highness,” the larger, meaner of the two declares.
“Thank you. That will be all.”
They stroll out, but the king stays, pushing the door shut, closing out the madness beyond.
My nerves spike with just the two of us in a room together. I’ve found him in my thoughts these past days far more often than any mortal servant should ever allow thoughts of her king. I keep telling myself it was because he was kind to my family when others would not have been. Yet, it is his handsome face and the soft, seductive lilt of his voice when he spoke only to me that I’ve lingered on.
Entirely inappropriate thoughts, and ones I never expected I’d have for any male after what I’ve been through, immortal or otherwise, let alone the king.
Fortunately, the only thing he’s likely to read in me right now is my genuine terror.
“I don’t think I have ever been in the servant quarters before.” His back remains to me, allowing me the opportunity to study his broad shoulders. “It is dark and damp.”
“It’s more than adequate, Your Highness.”
“Is it?” He turns to regard me. The buttons on his tunic gape. Even in the dim candlelight, I can make out the padded muscle around his collarbones.
I drop my gaze before I’m accused of ogling. “When we lived in Freywich with Lord Danthrin, our sleeping quarters were in a small dirt cellar with all the other servants. At least ten at any given time. There were vermin everywhere. Far more than here.” The cats in the castle are plentiful and plump.
“Why am I not surprised to hear that.” His lips curl with disdain.
“This is more private. Quiet. Usually,” I add, and then regret the word the moment it’s out of my mouth. It sounds like a criticism, and I would never want to be accused of such a thing.
“Yes.” He bites his bottom lip. “Sometimes I forget how passionate the guards can be when carrying out orders.”
Passionate. That’s one word for it.
“I am sorry.”
My mouth drops. Did a king apologize to me? “These are difficult times, Your Highness,” I murmur in a stupor.