Maid for the Royal Prince

by Winter James

  Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. Her tongue slides against my thumb.

  it would be the law if I ordered her to her knees right now to service my cock. It would be well within the bounds of my authority. Fuck, I want to use that power now, and on her.

  Only her.

  Tessa holds still while my hand is against her skin, my thumb making contact with a lip that has seen some balm lately. I want to know what it would taste like more than I have wanted most things in the world. How sweet would she be? The way she trembles tells me she’d be too sweet for a man like me. I’d ruin her. Of course I would.

  What I want to do is tilt her head back until she has to look into my eyes, until she has no other choice, and kiss her until she can’t breathe. Until she begs for mercy. Mercy is the one thing I wouldn’t give her. My thumb on her lip is not nearly enough. I could burst into flame with wanting. A hundred lewd images flash into my mind, one after the other, all of them featuring Tessa—what kind of name is that, so plain, so sweet—in various states of undress. Tessa naked. Tessa bent over my bed. Tessa’s wrists pinned against the headboard, don’t move, don’t move or I’ll have to punish you, darling...

  I pull my thumb out of her mouth.

  It causes physical pain, putting that space between us and stepping back.

  If I were to take her, fuck her, use her, then that would make me no different from my father.

  My father was the kind of man who had no boundaries. Or, if he had them, he let them erode year after year until they were worse than useless. He would fuck maids into pregnancy the same as he would fuck countesses. There are at least twenty royal bastards roaming the country now, most of them of an age when they could begin to cause trouble.

  I cannot cause my own trouble in this way. It would make me the same as him, and I fucking hate what he’s done to this country. Before now, before yesterday, I never even thought of the maids. There was no reason to track their presence other than a cursory glance around my private spaces to ensure my solitude. That was it.

  Tessa is different.

  She’s tempting.

  And I am not the kind of man who can be tempted. It’s possible, yes, but ultimately the most dangerous thing I could do for Belleza and for my own reputation.

  I take another step back, as if widening the distance will make me want her less. She watches me like a deer frozen on the royal hunting grounds, waiting to see if I’ll attack. If she stands here much longer I might.

  “Go.” The sharp word spurs her into motion. “Go now,” I shout after her. Tessa is already leaving. As she reaches the door, she lifts a hand to her mouth and touches her lips as if I’d kissed her after all. As if she can taste the salt of my skin.

  Chapter Five

  Tessa

  I’m spending all my time holding my breath.

  Obviously that’s not possible, because I’d die, but I wake up every morning tense about the moment I’ll have to go back into Prince Sebastian’s rooms. The palace-provided housing is spare and utilitarian—a closet I can barely fit my wrist inside for my small collection of uniforms, a bed with a thin mattress, and a tiny bedside table. It was slightly awkward having to explain to the head housekeeper that I didn’t bring any toiletries with me, but it’s the royal palace of Belleza—they have a plan for this kind of thing, even if they don’t like to admit it. So now I own five maids’ uniforms, a pair of sensible shoes, and a flimsy plastic bag with a comb and a toothbrush, along with a bar of soap. One of the other maids slipped me a nude lipstick the other day. “You can’t go up there without some kind of armor,” she’d said.

  I still don’t feel like I have any armor. Even if I did have it, Prince Sebastian would be able to dissolve it with a touch of his hand. It’s been three days since he put the pad of his thumb on my lip and I swore he would pull my mouth open right then and god knows what.

  Three days, and I haven’t taken a full breath. I’m also no closer to getting access to the Prince’s laptop. And it’s getting more and more awkward to carry around the phone they gave me in that basement. The maid’s uniform has one pocket and I’m constantly rearranging the apron to hide it. Security, as they say, has never been tighter.

  It rings while I’m swiping on the lipstick in a bathroom that’s more of a closet on the maid’s floor. I’m not complaining about the bathroom—I’ve seen worse in more than one place I’ve stayed. It’s just that my elbow hits the wall every time I brush my teeth or work the comb through my hair. The phone startles me, and once again—bang. My elbow is going to be non-functional by the end of this.

  I fumble it out of my pocket and press it to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Update me on the prince’s laptop.”

  It feels like someone might walk in on me at any second, so I test the lock one more time. The doorknob and lock set is old and it moves under my hand when I jiggle it.

  “I’ve...seen where it is. He keeps it close.” He keeps it in his bedroom. That’s what I should say, but it still feels so wrong to be doing this at all. “I haven’t been able to access the contents, though, he’s—” He’s usually there. He’s putting his arm out in front of you and touching you and looking at you in a way that makes you feel like you’ll burst into flame. “I haven’t been able to do that yet.”

  “You don’t have much time. I’m sending you a message now. You have three days to locate the file and send it to that email.”

  I twist the phone to look at the screen. The filename is gibberish to me, and so is the email—but they’re both things I should be able to look up by virtue of reading. It’s only that three days doesn’t seem like a lot of time. I’ll have to go faster. I’ll have to take the risk that Prince Sebastian will find me. And if he finds me snooping through his computer...

  My entire body heats at the thought of his hands on me. His eyes. He looks at me like I’m a mystery he can’t solve, which is crazy—he’s the mysterious one. He’s the one who has a whole palace full of people to do his bidding but ran his thumb over my lip like I’m a precious object.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “You don’t have any choice,” says the voice on the phone, and then the call disconnects.

  What I really don’t have a choice about is meeting with the head housekeeper to begin the day. Now, thanks to the phone call, I might be late. The phone goes back into my single pocket with an ungraceful shove and I hurry back out into the hallway.

  The housekeeper isn’t in her office, which isn’t a good sign. That’s where she usually starts the day. Kitchen or upstairs? If she’s already gone upstairs, then I’m screwed. She shouldn’t be up there already, though. That’s not her schedule. I’ll take a chance on the kitchen.

  The palace kitchen is not one of the old-fashioned kitchens of years past. It’s been gutted to the bone, everything replaced with brand-new stainless steel appliances and sleek countertops that gleam in the overhead lights. It looks like one of the kitchens I saw once in a recycled airplane magazine. Something in a millionaire’s house, I think. Like that, only three times the size.

  The housekeeper isn’t here.

  There’s only the kitchen staff on the other side of the space, moving between ovens and stoves. Spoons ring against their pots, water boils—it would almost be homey, if it weren’t for the sharp black uniforms they all wear and the military precision of it all. This is a Kitchen.

  I catch movement at the corner of my eye and stifle a gasp when what it is comes into focus.

  A little boy, his head only a few inches above the prep tables. He’s not one of the staff children, that’s obvious from the first glance. His face is too pinched and his eyes too determined. Plus, all of those children would be on their way to school in their uniforms. This little boy hasn’t seen a school uniform in his life, or if he has, it was a long time ago. His pants are too short by several inches. He raises chubby hands, not chubby enough to be a toddler but not long and thin enough to be ten, to push down the scruffy curl
s on top of his head.

  I feel like I’m watching a deer. Deer can’t see you, don’t see you, until you move. Or until the wind blows, carrying your scent along toward them. It only seems right to stay perfectly still. As long as the cook and her assistants don’t turn around and see me standing here like an awkward statute everything should be all right.

  The boy watches me for what feels like minutes but is probably thirty seconds or so, then takes one light-footed step toward the big counter that runs down the side of the kitchen. That’s where they store the bread and a couple of trays of cut meats. A fruit assortment. It’s the most advanced cooling station I’ve ever seen and somehow this boy sought it out for himself. He keeps one eye on me as he rises up on tiptoe and tugs a cloth bag out of his pocket at the same time. One hand flashes up, and up, and up, and the bag bulges.

  Oh, this is a bad situation.

  I can’t move, and suddenly I can. If he’s caught here, then there’s no telling what Prince Sebastian will do. I’ve heard from the other maids that he’s been overseeing more and more treason hearings lately, trying to get the country back in line, and I’ve seen for myself the cruelty in his eyes. That need for control. He won’t let this child off without consequences. I move toward him, blocking the door with my body. “Go,” I hiss down at him. “Take this back to your family and go. Run right now.”

  He stares up at me, dark eyes like saucers, frozen. Shit. If he’s like a deer, then I’ve just startled him into the wrong response. If he stands here much longer we’ll have a real problem. If he drops the bag of food on the floor and leaves it behind, then he’ll be going hungry. Nobody in Belleza would steal from the palace unless there was no other choice.

  The boy must not have another choice.

  “Shoo.” I raise my hands the way I would for a real dear and try to wave him off without looking too wild to the people in the kitchen. “Seriously, shoo. Go. I’m not going to do anything about the food. Just get out of here before somebody catches you.”

  “But you saw me,” he says, and his voice is so nervous and childlike that it shocks me. His eyes don’t look childlike at all. “Why would you let me go?”

  “Being hungry isn’t a crime.” Never mind that it’s not my palace and not my freedom to offer. I’m already doing bad things for the sake of a bad deal to save myself. I’m not going to let a child suffer just because I have to.

  But have you really suffered? The question begs itself in the back of my mind like a traitor. Fine. No, I haven’t. I’ve had to withstand the gaze of Prince Sebastian and stop my heart from exploding when he enters a room. That’s not exactly suffering. That’s just surviving. Surviving, and something else, too, something I can’t think about when I’m trying to get this boy out of the kitchen. This little boy, who’s probably more courageous than me. He snuck onto palace grounds and past the kitchen staff, and he’s already going after his goal while I tremble and worry that the prince will catch me opening his laptop.

  “I’ll cover for you.” I’ll probably have to say that I stole the food, but that’s not the best plan given the circumstances. What other choice do I have? I can’t put this hungry kid on the chopping block. “Go.”

  The boy turns and ducks his head, scuttling toward the door that leads out to a delivery dock in the back. Even palaces have delivery docks, and a truck waits at the end of the one outside the kitchen. Maybe that’s how the boy got in. They’re about to close it up and drive away. Maybe that’s his ticket out, too. He’s almost there, he’s almost there. The light from the kitchen door catches on his curls and a hand comes down on my elbow in a death grip, whipping me around so fast my hip bumps against one of the prep tables. Shit. That’s going to leave a bruise.

  But the worst part isn’t the slingshot ache in my hip.

  It’s the furious face of the head housekeeper, who I’ve never seen show an emotion other than a blank determination. Her face is red, eyes burning into mine. “Who was that, running for the door?”

  “It was no one.” Adrenaline forces the words out in a quick rush. Too late to take them back. “A boy from the city, maybe. I didn’t recognize him. I told him to get out.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Her eagle eyes take in everything. I can almost see her tallying the missing breads and meats and, yes, apples. “You gave away the palace’s resources.”

  “To a hungry boy,” I shoot back, and I know it’s a mistake the second the words are out of my mouth. “It’s not much. Listen, I’ll replace it. You can take the money out of my wages. Just please don’t—”

  “The prince doesn’t tolerate theft. You’ll answer to him, not me.”

  This can’t be happening, but it is. The housekeeper’s iron grip tightens on my arm and she drags me bodily toward the door of the kitchen. There’s no resisting it but I try anyway—what else can I do but try? In the hall I dig my heels in and she doesn’t even miss a stride. Damn, this woman is tough. I want to be tougher. But Sebastian has his claws even down in the kitchens. Maybe especially down in the kitchens.

  “Please, we don’t have to do this.”

  It makes no impact. She doesn’t blink or turn her head at the sound of my voice. The head housekeeper marches toward the back stars. I trip over the first one but I don’t fall. I can’t fall. That’s how much of a death grip she has on me. There has to be something else I can say, something to make this stop, but deep down I know there is no magic combination of words that will make her release me. I should be in Prince Sebastian’s rooms right now, making up his bed and trying not to think of how good he smells. That place isn’t a sanctuary but it feels like one. But if the head housekeeper takes me there now, and he’s it here—

  “We don’t need to interrupt the prince for this.” I pull back on her forward momentum with all my strength but this woman is ready for it. “Whatever he’s doing, he won’t want to deal with something as small as—”

  “As a thief in his own palace?”

  “I didn’t take anything.” Lies bubble to the surface, frantic lies. Because I am a thief in truth, trying to steal that file from him. “The boy didn’t take anything, either.”

  “Then explain the missing food.” She doesn’t wait for me to explain. “There is no explanation, other than you aiding and abetting a thief. People have been charged with treason for less.” My god, there’s a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. This is the head housekeeper’s moment. She’s been waiting to catch someone in the act. I might not even be the first person.

  We take a sharp turn, then go up another flight of stairs. If I fell backward she might come with me, but then we might both end up with broken necks. And also, this isn’t the way to Prince Sebastian’s rooms.

  “Where are you taking me?” My stomach drops, a hard fall. I don’t want to discover now that the rumored dungeon below the palace is real. I don’t want to discover any of this. I just wanted to spend a few days playing tourist in Belleza until the money ran out, then wait tables at a cafe for a ticket out. A sunny semi-vacation. That’s what this was supposed to be. “Stop. Where are we going?”

  She opens a door and we tumble out of the servants’ hall at top speed into the shining main hall of the palace. This hall is all polished hardwood and soaring ceilings, all of it with modern lines and huge windows to light up all the riches on the walls—the art, the priceless statues, the objects on display from the royal vault. This is a hallowed space.

  “Don’t be foolish,” the housekeeper snaps. “I’m taking you to the prince so he can decide your fate. I don’t expect him to be merciful, but it’s in his hands now.”

  If she’s not taking me to his private space, then she must be taking me to a public one. My face heats and keeps heating as she exchanges quick words with two guards outside a set of doors twice the size of the ones that lead into Prince Sebastian’s rooms. These doors are meant to be seen, which means people are seeing them, which means—oh, sweet jesus—

  The guards open the doors and the head houseke
eper yanks me inside.

  A group of men in suits surround Prince Sebastian’s desk, and at the interruption they all look up. The head housekeeper is saying something, I can’t tell what because the sound of my heartbeat is too loud, but it’s bad, it’s really bad. Words like thief and accomplice filter in through my terrified haze. One by one the men around the desk disperse, brushing past me, not a single one stopping to help. And then I hear Prince Sebastian say, “Go back to work. I’ll deal with her.”

  Chapter Six

  Sebastian

  Tessa, the maid who’s blushed and stretched her way into every waking second of my life, tries to stand tall in my office. The deep pink of her cheeks gives her away. One hand is twined inappropriately through her apron, wrinkling it, and in this moment I don’t believe she’s a maid at all. She’s trying, sure, but this woman was never meant to make beds and scrub countertops.

  I want to drag this out for an eternity.

  “Explain to me what happened in your own words, Tessa..” She jumps at the sound of my voice but gets herself back together. “You let someone steal from the kitchens?”

  There’s not much to explain, really. The woman in charge of the household staff wouldn’t take the chance of making a mistake. If Tessa is standing in front of me then she’s guilty as they come. But watching her lips part as she struggles with what to say is too delicious to pass up. She’s been here less than two minutes and I want out of my clothes. I want her out of her clothes. I want to see what will happen when a woman brazen enough to steal from me is allowed to be brazen in my bed. Or across my desk, as it were.

  “I found a little boy when I went down this morning. He was—” She meets my eyes with a steely compassion. “He was hungry and he was taking food. I didn’t stop him. How could I? He’s a child. If you want to punish me for that, then do it.”

  I should be furious with her—furious that she’d let a thief run rampant in the household, furious that her first instinct wasn’t to protect the good of the Crown. Instead, I’m...impressed. Tessa, from the way her skirt trembles, is weak in the knees and trying to hide it. She knew the risk she was taking when she let that child, whoever he was, run away with food he outright stole from the palace. And my fury, if it were with her, would be sorely misplaced. That fury belongs to my father, for letting our country come to a point when children find themselves in such desperate straits that the royal palace is the only place they can think of to find food.