by K. S. Thomas
GREER
I tried several things to persuade Katia to leave me and tend to other things, starting with setting Cheese free to roam the suite. It definitely left her unsettled, but not so much so she was willing to abandon her queen-assigned post to watch me like a hawk. Which she did, even when I stripped naked in front of her and spent several minutes walking around completely nude, while chatting to her about the importance of airing out one’s lady parts.
When nudity and TMI did nothing to make her voluntarily remove herself, I got dressed. And then started to sing. Loudly. And horribly. I’m a fine actor. I’ll never make it on Broadway though. Still, she stayed, all the while smiling that creepy smile. I had to forfeit that round too when she decided to compliment my singing. I can accept when I’ve been outplayed.
But I come back stronger. And I did tonight as well, begging her to come sit with me on the sofa so I could take her through my Instagram feed, starting at the beginning. Seven years ago. It was all under the guise of getting to know each other better, of course. At first, she seemed excited, like she’d somehow tricked me into giving her intel she wanted all along. Then she saw what I was posting seven years ago, and the excitement faded. I was really into shoes back then. Not any I wore. Other people’s shoes. Stranger’s shoes. I thought I was on the verge of some massive social experiment, taking pictures of the shoes on strangers and posting them, encouraging the world to ‘walk in someone else’s shoes’ for a change. It never went anywhere, mostly just got me some weird looks from people while riding the subway.
I scroll through a good twenty to thirty pics of shoes with Katia, recalling each pair as best I can, and embellishing when I can’t, but she hangs in there with me. Isn’t until Soren shows up, tells her he has orders from the prince, and she needs to come with him, that she up and leaves. Just like that.
“I’m going to use that,” I mumble to myself. “Anytime she’s up my ass, I’m just going to say, ‘the prince ordered you to back the fuck up’.” Then I laugh at myself and toss my phone across the sofa into the cushions. Even I can’t stand the sight of any more shoe pictures.
I’m still taking my first sobering breaths, relishing my peace and privacy, when there’s a knock at the door, announcing yet another intruder.
But I’m expecting food. So, I jump up from the couch and run to the door.
I’m not disappointed when I open it.
“You’re my favorite new person,” I say, beaming up at the young man with the food cart. Everything is covered so I can’t see what he’s brought me, but I can smell it and the heavenly scent coming from this cart is more than promising.
“Thank you, Lady Greer,” he says, sounding surprised but pleased. “Would you like for me to set this up for you inside your suite?”
“I would very much like that,” I tell him. “I would also very much like to know your name. Unless of course, you’d like me to keep calling you Favorite Person, which I think suits you, but which my fiancé might get bothered by over time.”
“Frederick, miss,” he says, rolling the cart inside as soon as I step out of the way, “and where would you care to dine tonight? Over by the window, perhaps? The moon is full and would make for a spectacular view.”
“I would care for that just fine. Thank you, Frederick.”
It only takes him a minute to secure the cart in place and arrange a chair for me to sit at just the right angle while I enjoy my meal. Then, just like that, he’s rushing from the room again. Clearly, not one of the queen’s favorites.
“If you need anything else, just ring me. I’m on duty until sunrise.” He smiles, pointing at the phone placed on the hall table just feet from the door. I didn’t even notice it before now. “Star seven will connect you with the service phone in the kitchen.”
“Good to know.” I smile back, waving as he scoots backwards out the door, sliding the door along as he goes until it meets gently with the frame again, the lock clicking into place as it settles.
I take another deep breath, this time to inhale all the yumminess. My stomach responds loudly, reminding me just how hungry I’ve gotten since we landed, and Alexa stopped coming around with trays of food every thirty minutes.
Eager to have a peek at everything Frederick brought, I make my way to the temporary dining space so beautifully set up for me. My hand is on the first cover, about to reveal the first dish, when another knock interrupts me.
For a moment, I just stand here, waiting. I’m not expecting anyone. And anyone I’m not expecting, I’m not sure I want to invite inside at this point. Pretending I’m not home probably won’t work the same way here as it does in my apartment though.
“Greer?” Lachlan’s voice is muffled by the door, but unmistakable. “I’d bust in the way you’re accustomed to, but the doors to the suites all have privacy locks on them that require a key from the outside.”
More good information.
“Coming,” I rush to the door and open it. Then, so he doesn’t get any ego-inflating ideas about my hurry to let him in, I spin right back around and run back to where I came from. I don’t even take the time to wait for the door to open and greet him, just yank the handle back and make a run for my food. I’m nearly in position to pick up where I left off in my grand food reveal when the sound of squeaking wheels turns my head away from my dinner yet again. Though, I’m not bothered. “You brought more food.”
“Thought we could eat together,” he says, rolling his cart until it’s even with mine and pulling up a chair to the other side of it, so we can sit across from one another, like at a real dining table. “Figured we could take advantage of the privacy.”
I nod, forgoing a verbal answer until after I see what we’re eating. “Is that oatmeal?” I’m not complaining, but I can’t deny I had higher expectations of the royal kitchen crew.
“It is,” he says, having a seat before he moves forward with unveiling his dinner. Of course, he ordered it, so the element of surprise isn’t there to motivate him the way it is me. “It’s for Cheese,” he adds when he notices me still staring at the small bowl.
“Oh!” Could he be any sweeter? “For a second there I thought that was my dinner.” I laugh with relief, finally sinking down into my own chair. Suddenly, I’m not as eager to find out what he ordered for me. Something about hearing he remembered Cheese’s fondness for oatmeal, makes me certain I want to savor every aspect of this dinner. Including finding out what each cover is hiding.
“Soup.” It’s bright orange and smells of a sweet and savory heaven.
“Butternut squash. It’s a specialty of the chef’s and Chase mentioned you like pumpkin everything, so I was hoping this was close enough to qualify.”
“Definitely qualifies.” I smile, taking another deep breath of the delicious scent before dipping my spoon into the creamy liquid and having a taste. Once I do, I don’t say anything for several bites. It’s too delicious to interrupt with words. Only when I’m halfway through the bowl, do I decide to slow myself down by adding in conversation again. “You mentioned needing a key to get in. I can’t help but notice no one gave me one and that Katia was the one to first open the door and let me in.”
He nods. “Katia will have a copy. It’s not ideal but it’ll be more of a hassle if she doesn’t have a way in and out of this room.” He points across the room toward the door and the small table with the phone. “There’s a small drawer on one end. Extra keys will be in there. You should find three. One for you, one for me and one spare.”
“Do I get a key for your room?” I ask. It’s a kneejerk reaction more than a genuine interest in having access to his private space. If he gets a key, I want a key. It’s a simple as that. And yes, I know it’s not particularly mature of me.
“My room and Monroe’s,” he answers naturally, as if he has no qualms about giving me free access to him and his most personal belongings at all hours of the day and night. “What?”
“Huh?”
“You’re making a
weird face. And your spoon has been resting halfway between your mouth and the bowl for an unnerving amount of time now,” he says, pointing his own empty spoon at my full one, nearly overflowing with orange cream.
I have my soup first. Then I address the expression. “I guess I’m surprised you’re so willing to hand over keys to both your rooms. I mean, you have to know, I’m going to use them.”
He smirks. “I just spent a week with you busting in and out of places without so much as knocking. I think I know I waved all rights to privacy just by inviting you to come to Linden.”
I want quite badly to have a defensive comeback here, but I’m coming up empty. “Fair point.” I slide my empty bowl to the side and examine the next two dishes within my reach, both still covered and a complete mystery to me.
“Go with the left,” Lachlan nudges. “Trust me.”
I have no reason not to. So, I do as he suggests. “What am I looking at?”
“Roasted peppadew peppers filled with garlic and goat cheese and drizzled with the chef’s signature balsamic reduction,” he gives me the formal breakdown like he’s the maître d’ and this is part of his nightly spiel for every guest at the castle. “I went through a mild addiction with these after I had them for the first time. Consider yourself warned.”
“Will this addiction be enabled until I recover on my own, or will I be made to go through withdrawals and suffer?” I ask, holding my first pepper between my thumb and pointer finger, on the verge of popping it into my mouth.
“It will be enabled,” he confirms, grinning as he chomps down on a peppadew pepper himself. “Now,” he says, still chewing. “Since you’re going to be busy with those for a few minutes, and your mouth will be otherwise engaged, I’m going to use this opportunity to say some things.”
I’m in peppadew heaven. But I put that on hold for a second. “Things?”
He takes a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it, smoothing it out on the corner of his makeshift table. “I made a list of things I think we need to cover before we do any more interacting with anyone else.” He holds it up for me to see. It’s long. And his handwriting is a mess. I can only piece together every other word or so.
Already moving on to my next pepper, I gesture with my free hand for him to continue.
“I’ll go over some basic castle information first. You won’t have to remember word for word, and you can’t possibly have anything to contribute, so listening should be easy.” He pauses, like he knows I’ll want to add something here. I do. Or I would. If I wasn’t so thoroughly pleased with how these damn peppers feel on my taste buds. So, I keep my mouth shut, lest any of the yumminess fade if I open it.
Satisfied with my silence, he goes on, “Obviously, there are no set hours during which you may or may not be out and about, but, after ten at night, security does tend to be more sensitive to any unexpected activity. I tell you this only so you don’t think a demon is after your soul, should someone approach you and talk to you in the dark. I know how easily you get confused, even in daylight.” He takes another moment to revel in my silence, which I almost break, but don’t because I put two peppers in my mouth at once this time and opening my mouth could mean risking losing some. And a snarky comeback isn’t worth that kind of sacrifice nor is it worthy of the lasting image that would likely stay with him if stuffed peppadew peppers came oozing out of my mouth.
“Same as there are no hours off limits, there are no rooms you can’t go in.” Then he amends the statement. “Outside of private quarters obviously.”
I nod. That one does seem obvious even to me. Not by my personal standards, but just based on what I now know about the doors being locked from the outside, I probably could have deducted that one for myself.
“Having said that,” he continues, “there are plenty of rooms you will be expected to stay out of. My grandmother’s favorite sitting room on the second floor and my stepmother’s music room which she doesn’t use for music, for example.”
“What does she use it for?” I force out before I eat my last pepper.
“Spying.” He shrugs, like it’s just that simple with her. Apparently, she has no other interests. “The room is centrally located to give her the perfect view of every other part of the castle. A really in-depth view, thanks to the state-of-the-art telescope she had brought in there. She claims it’s for birdwatching, but she can’t tell a blue jay from a cardinal, so it’s hard to even humor her on that one.” He grins again. “Though it is pretty humorous to ask her bird related questions as if you honestly believe she has the answers. Or finds them even remotely interesting.”
“Duly noted.” I rest against the back of my chair. I ate a lot of yummy things super-fast, and I need a moment before I can move on to the next great dish.
Lachlan takes notice. “Alright, your turn to do some talking.”
“What about your list?” I remind him.
“The rest is all questions.” He starts to hand it to me, but I put my hand up to stop him.
“Yeah, I can’t read that. Might as well just ask me what you want to know.”
And he does. All through my pre-dinner break and even through the main course (a delicious Cajun style pasta) and dessert (a bread pudding to die for). We cover birthdays and middle names. We talk about childhood pets and hobbies. He had a dog named Charlie. I played the oboe. And the piano. And the drums. All for a month or less. We discuss traditions and favorite holidays. The places we lived growing up. Growing up without my mother. Growing up on two different continents with two different families. We reach adulthood. First heartbreak. Last relationship.
By the time we’re having after dinner coffee, we’ve reached favorites across the board.
“Favorite movie of all time,” I ask, having just revealed my favorite color is green.
“Don’t judge.”
“I’m like the least judgmental person ever,” I insist, taking a sip. “Now spill. As your future wife, I need to know these things.”
“Fine,” he surrenders, but he looks genuinely uncomfortable about it. “Robin Hood.”
“That’s not even embarrassing. What’s not to love about Kevin Costner?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not that version.”
I get a little more serious. Personally, the Prince of Thieves version is the only one I find worth mentioning. “Which one? Russel Crowe?”
“The one with the fox.”
I get a little less serious again. “Like, the animated one?”
He grins, but not in a way that would lead me to believe I’ve just been had. Just like he’s admitting to something truly ridiculous. And also, like he has no idea how adorable that makes him. “I can’t help it. I was obsessed as a kid. And to this day, I still sit down and watch it anytime it’s playing.”
“I bet you make Mo watch it just so you can claim she’s the reason it’s on,” I tease.
He laughs. “Guilty. Did it just last week. Of course, Abbas and Chase both called me out for it.”
“Even Abbas knows?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. He’s been Chase’s best friend since high school. He’s one of the few people in life who actually knows the before and after.”
“Before and after?”
“Me,” he explains. “The me before I came to live here, and the me after I became a full-time prince.”
“Are the two really that different?” I ask, though part of me already knows they are. I saw it the second we arrived in front of the castle and he stepped out of the car. Everything about him changed. From his smile, to his posture to the very energy coming off him.
“They have to be.” He sounds almost sad, but he forces a smile and tries to shift it. “Or maybe they get to be. I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like a relief to get to go back and hang around Chase and Abbas, and others it feels every bit the honor it is to come back here and do the job I was raised to.”
“It’s a big responsibility,” I say quietly. “I’m sure it wears on
you. It would wear on anyone.”
“Yeah.” He lets out a laugh, but he doesn’t sound at all amused.
“What?”
He starts to shake his head, then stops. “It’s just...I think it’s part of why I haven’t been out there. Dating. Looking for a queen.” He flashes his eyes dramatically at that last part. “Apsel’s wife was born into this world, same as my stepmother. But I don’t think my brother married for love any more than my father did.”
“Why didn’t they?” I ask. It’s something I’ve wondered ever since I met the king and queen. It was easy to see how Lachlan’s father would have fallen for his mom once upon a time, but seeing him with the wife he has now, it’s made me wonder what their relationship is really like when no one’s watching.
“My father did. The first time.”
“With your mom.”
He nods. “He was a lot like me, put most of his time toward what would one day be his work. He didn’t have any younger brothers chomping at the bit to see him dethroned, so there wasn’t much pressure on him to be married.” He smirks at his own joke. “Then he met my mother in the most random way possible – he spilled soup on her.”
“What?” Another story I’ve never heard.
“Yeah.” He smiles and I can tell he’s fond of this tale. “Back then, he volunteered at soup kitchens at least once a month. That one Saturday, that one July, my mother was passing through on her travels, when one unlucky day of having her backpack stolen, her wallet left behind on a ticket counter at the train station – which she later got back – and winding up arriving here in Linden just in time to walk out into a thunderstorm with no money and no clothes beyond the shorts and t-shirt she was wearing that day. With nowhere to go, someone was kind enough to direct her to the nearest soup kitchen for a meal and a chance to get dry.”
“The soup kitchen your father was volunteering at,” I surmise.
“Yep. The very one. Of course, her unlucky day seemed far from done with her when she held her empty dish out to be filled and instead wound up with scalding hot lentil soup being poured down the front of her shirt.” He laughs. “Apparently, my father took one look at her, and got too dazed to focus on anything but her. Thankfully, the soup mostly just ruined her shirt and left a mild burn on her stomach for a day or two. Nothing she couldn’t easily forgive once they started talking. Apparently, his sense of humor was quite charming.”