The hallway between the bedroom and the kitchen was remarkably free of powdered sugar, save for a few white footprints becoming more distinct as I neared the disaster zone. I took a deep breath, bracing myself, and stopped in the doorway to survey the damage.
It could have been worse. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew it was true.
Stale, squished beignets scattered across the counter and fallen onto the floor; the sack of powdered sugar shoved to the back of the counter and tipped on its side, swirls within the sweet spill marking me squirming under Chevalier’s tickling barrage; dirty dishes in the sink; more white footprints on the floor—Chevalier didn’t like me cleaning, but I wasn’t about to leave this for the servants. This was only our fourth day here. I still had to cook in this kitchen.
Fourth day? Already? Half our time here was already gone?
I shook that thought away, along with the unexpected sadness that came with it. Floors first. I’d have to sweep again after cleaning everything else, but I didn’t want to trip on a beignet or slip in powdered sugar and fall flat on my face. Although that would be amusing, the prospect of spending the rest of our time here recovering from a silly injury didn’t appeal to me. At least I didn’t have to start breakfast right away, since Chevalier had gone back to bed.
After an hour of sweeping, scrubbing, washing, and sweeping again, I had the kitchen in an acceptable state for me to stop cleaning and start cooking. That had certainly been a mess.
Mess. Chevalier had said he wanted to mess me up. I’d heard that phrase before, but where…?
“Oh, it was Nokto,” I realized.
“What about Nokto?”
I jumped and spun around, and there was Chevalier, leaning against the open doorway with his arms crossed loosely over his chest and a telling smirk on his face. My cheeks were already warm from recalling that particular memory about Nokto, and the playfulness in Chevalier’s crystal blue eyes made me flush hotter as I recalled the much fresher memory of two hours ago. I’d expected him to stay in bed longer, but he looked wide awake and ready to resume teasing me.
“Nothing,” I squeaked, my voice reaching an unnaturally high octave as I spun quickly away from him. I cleared my throat and tried to bring it down to the normal range. “What would you like for breakfast this morning?”
“I warned you about thinking of other men while we’re here,” he said, his feet padding across the floor behind me.
“I’m not,” I squeaked again, changing directions rapidly to evade him and running right into his arm, hooked to wrap around my waist and yank me against his chest before I had time to throw my own arms up as a barrier between us. “Chevalier—”
“Maybe I didn’t make a strong enough impression,” he said, bringing his hot breath and his shapely lips dangerously close to my face. Lips that held the power to melt me into a deliriously happy puddle with a few murmured words pitched just right, breath that set my skin aflame when he—
“No! No, that’s definitely not it!” I screeched, every inch of me on fire.
He chuckled. “You’re as red as a tomato.”
“W-well, whose fault is that?” I asked, pursing my lips in the best scowl I could muster under the circumstances. I knew from the amusement in his eyes that I failed miserably.
“Answer the question,” he prompted, lowering his voice enticingly. “What about Nokto?”
I swallowed hard. “I-it’s nothing, really. I-I just remembered something he said, that’s all.”
“If it’s nothing, you can tell me.”
“Um…well…” I bit my lip nervously and averted my eyes to Chevalier’s bare chest, which was a mistake. He was wearing a shirt, but he’d left it unbuttoned, giving my fingers free rein to draw imaginary circles over his firm muscles and—
When did I bring my hands up to his chest?
He chuckled again, weakening his hold around my waist by catching my chin in the fingers of one hand, strengthening his hold on my pounding heart by forcing my eyes up to his. “Tell me, and I will allow you to make breakfast undisturbed.” His crystal blue eyes flicked down to my lips and back up to my eyes. “Unless you’d prefer to do something else.”
If my heart sped up any more, it would surely explode. Although there was a good chance I would spontaneously combust from overheating before that could happen.
“Y-you can’t get upset,” I began dubiously.
He released my chin and restored his arm around my waist. “I won’t.”
I swallowed again. “Um…I was still your maid when he said it,” I continued hesitantly. “We weren’t together yet. You know he’s been nothing of supportive of us ever since we became lovers, and he would never—”
“Ivetta.”
I sighed and pressed my forehead against Chevalier’s chest. “I can’t look at you when I say this,” I said weakly.
“Would this happen to be about the day he asked you to get into Clavis’ room?”
The precision of Chevalier’s guess would have startled me when we first met. Now, after nearly a year of experiencing his unparalleled skills of deduction, I just nodded.
“He, um…he said he wanted to take me back to his room and mess me up,” I mumbled. “And I only thought of it because you said the same thing. So, about breakfast—”
“You may as well tell me the rest.”
Darn Chevalier and his mind-reading abilities.
I sighed again and said, “And…he could make me forget your name and where I lived within minutes.”
“And?”
And I wished I’d kept that thought about Nokto to myself.
“And if I took him up on his offer, I wouldn’t be in any state to bring you your tea later,” I relented. “Can I make breakfast now?”
He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “I’m surprised you were in a functional state after he said that to you.”
“Why do you think I was in such a hurry to get away from you?” I grumbled. “But then Theresa got me to tell her, and Licht overheard us talking, and…well, you know the rest.” I peeked nervously up at him. “You’re not upset?”
He smirked, a smug, arrogant expression displaying his complete confidence before he leaned in and breathed in my ear, “I only heard one name from you when we were making love, and it wasn’t his.”
I shoved his chest just as he released me, externally glaring at him, internally telling the butterflies to settle down. “What do you want for breakfast?” I asked, turning my back on him.
“Surprise me.”
“It won’t be much of a surprise if you’re watching me make it.”
“I enjoy watching you.”
And I loved when he said things like but, but I decided to feign irritation as long as I could, barely sparing him a glance when he pulled himself up onto the counter next to my workspace. “There are chairs at the table,” I remarked.
“I prefer to sit here.”
I hummed what I hoped sounded like a disinterested acknowledgment, even as I put together a menu tailored to his preferences in my mind. He liked his bacon crispy, his eggs scrambled with a little cheese, his toast buttered with no jam, and he wasn’t picky about fruit. I wasn’t picky about anything, thanks to an impoverished background where I went without food more often than I cared to admit, and I preferred cooking for others, anyway, so what he wanted was fine with me.
That was what I told myself, but really, I just liked to spoil him as much as he liked to spoil me.
“How long have you been working?” he asked, the simple question marking a transition to a relaxed, casual conversation, much like all the rest we’d shared in the quiet moments of the past few days.
I shrugged. “As long as I can remember. Mother had to take me everywhere she went until I was old enough to stay home alone, and I started helping her as soon as I could. Or I tried to help, anyway. I’m sure I was more trouble than help at first. I guess I worked my first job alone when I was…thirteen, maybe? But it was safer for us to work together when we could.”
Chevalier and I used to talk like this a lot when I was his maid, but his responsibilities as a king and my busy schedule as a princess had limited our time together over most of the past year. Although we’d have more time now that we were married, I realized with a thrill. Waking up by his side, falling asleep in his arms, sharing meals, accompanying him on his travels—it was the little things that gave me the most pleasure.
Like when he leaned in to kiss my cheek after helping me set the table with breakfast.
“I know your mother’s reasoning, but I wish you had come to the palace sooner,” he said, pulling my chair out for me.
“She was pretty nervous about it until Foundation Day, especially after I told her I was working for you. Well, you already know that from her letter. But you should have seen her face light up when I told her about the festival. After that, she was always asking about you.”
“According to that letter, you were always talking about me,” he commented, the corner of his lip pulling up into a smirk.
“Only because I knew how happy it made her,” I said dismissively, trying not to smile.
It was impossible, though. How could I not smile, sitting at the breakfast table, talking and eating with Chevalier, my husband? Any bad memories dredged up in conversation were just that—memories. I would never have to work for a stranger again, never have to fear someone hurting me out of anger or lust, never have to miss a meal because I couldn’t find a paying job. My new life started the day I walked into the palace for the first time. A life of safety and security alongside the man I loved, a man who’d been providing for and protecting me long before I’d realized what he meant to me. What I meant to him.
We finished eating, and I stood and walked over to him. He pushed his chair back, watching me curiously as I sat on his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“What is this about?” he asked, stabilizing me with an arm around my waist and a hand on my thigh.
“Thank you for everything, Chevalier.”
I leaned in and kissed him softly, deepening and intensifying gradually as I felt him responding. He followed my lead, parting his lips for my tongue to catch his, digging his fingers into my waist and thigh when I changed the angle and slid my hands up into his hair. I broke the kiss for a quick breath before I kissed him again, running my hands down to his shoulders and gripping them tightly as I moved to straddle his lap.
And then I heard fabric ripping.
“Oops,” I said sheepishly, looking down at the tear in my nightgown.
“Keep going,” he murmured, his hand leaving my thigh to turn my chin back to him and his heated blue eyes.
A frisson ran through me, overpowering my momentary embarrassment and driving me to kiss him again. His hand explored the length of my exposed thigh, stoking the fire pooling in my stomach, and I let my hands wander down his chest and stomach and back again, feeling his answering arousal. He hooked his hands under my thighs and stood, and this time, I was ready. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, painting kisses along his jaw and neck as he carried me back to the bedroom. He laid me down on the sheets and crashed his lips onto mine, a searing contrast of soft and hard, gentle and fierce, patient and insistent.
“Ivetta,” he breathed.
“Yes?” I asked, a sigh and a moan wrapped up in that one word.
“I need to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
“Oh, Chevalier, I love you so much,” I gasped.
“I love you, too, little dove,” he purred.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkjsi5V0jEL
