Curse of the Wolf King - Tessonja Odette Page 0,37

makes me wonder if he and his ambassador were—or are—lovers. Because it couldn’t possibly be the sight of me that put that look in his eyes, not after everything he’s said about humans. This, of course, sends my stomach roiling as I consider just how invasive my presence and actions might have been. “I can stay in another room and fetch my own clothes from home—”

“Don’t bother,” he growls. “I’m not making up another room for you.”

“Fine,” I say, swallowing hard and hoping my flustered air goes with it. “In that case, I’ll need the bedding cleaned, the room dusted. Do you have servants? A cook?”

He shifts his stance, planting his leg more firmly beneath him, and stares down his nose at me. “We keep after ourselves.”

“You’re a king without servants?” I shake my head. “This won’t do. But don’t you worry; as house steward, I will see that all necessary positions are filled. It would be best that all daily tasks are given to those you can trust, so we should probably put your wolf pack to work, don’t you think? As for the position of cook…who made the bread I was given?”

“That’s Bertha,” he says with a grumble. “A bear from nearby who insists on feeding us.”

“A bear?”

“In her unseelie form,” he amends. “But she’s seelie through and through, always baking us bread and pies and—”

“Perfect.” I clap my hands together. Yet another asset to tally in my imaginary columns. “I’ll need her contact information at once.”

“Contact information?”

“Address, location, you know. Or the perfect pitch to howl when you need to summon her.” The last part is said in jest, but he doesn’t seem to catch my humor; he simply stares at me, perplexed.

“She comes along whenever she likes, uninvited like the wind,” he says.

“Great, then I’ll speak to her at her next visit. Come.” I turn and head for the door.

“Did you just…order me to follow you?”

For a moment, a wave of fear strikes me. Beneath the false confidence of my outer persona, it’s easy to forget when I’m getting carried away with the act. Still, I maintain my composure as if no misstep was made. “This is a business partnership, Your Majesty,” I say as I reach the door handle. “I’m simply continuing our business. And now I’ll need a tour of the manor. I must have an understanding of what I’m working with here.”

“You have some nerve,” comes his gravelly voice, followed by the sound of his footsteps and staff pounding behind me.

I pull open the door and bite back a yelp as a cluster of bodies all but tumbles through the threshold, their pointed ears having been pressed to the door. Leaping back, I nearly lose my footing beneath me before a strong hand closes around my arm at the elbow. I meet the king’s gaze as I regain my bearings, surprised at finding him so close, his face just inches from mine. My breath catches, my heart racing at the sudden proximity.

He releases me, shaking out his hand as if touching me had scalded him, then charges toward the group of fae who eagerly shuffle away from the door, feigning nonchalance. “Don’t bother pretending you didn’t listen in on the whole thing.”

I recognize Blackbeard leaning against the opposite wall, scratching the side of his head while the elderly female examines her nails with keen interest. Finally, I catch a glimpse of Micah, peeking between the legs of two unfamiliar fae. “She’s staying?” the boy asks. “We don’t have to eat her?”

“Not today,” the king says dryly. “Meet our new house steward.”

Most of the fae make themselves scarce as soon as I enter the hall to follow after the king, while a few others trail behind us. The latter group includes Blackbeard and the female, who the king calls—again, most uncreatively—Gray. The king leads us through the halls of the manor, which unfortunately proves as unkempt as my room, if not worse. Dust lines every surface, cobwebs gathering in each corner. I take note of it all, feeling daunted by both the immensity of the manor and its sorry state.

As I consider the task at hand, my pulse begins to race, but I remind myself I’ve done this before. I’ve masked poverty and made it look like wealth. I’ve hidden darkness and desperation and made others see only luxury and light. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. Especially if it ends with my freedom. Independence. A chance at a life