“Are you ready?” Alyssa asks.

A week has passed, and I am going to start my actual position today. Sylas hasn’t noticed my presence and I’ve done well, so she claims.

“No, but I’ll manage,” I reply.

Alyssa always has a calm and unreadable expression, but her actions speak of kindness. She carefully adjusts the collar of my uniform like a guardian sending their child to the first day of school. Beneath that collar rests my necklace, the one Sylas gave me and never took notice of when I arrived. A voice tells me to show it off, let him see it every day, and another says why bother?

“Remember, wake His Majesty at noon. If anything goes wrong, seek myself or Harvey. Good luck.” Alyssa pats my shoulder and descends the stairs to return to work.

The wall clock tells me I have two hours before I wake Sylas. During this time, I prepare new linens for his bed, retrieve his washed clothes from the laundry, shine a pair of dirtied shoes, and ensure breakfast is being prepared.

When the cook sets the tray on the counter, the contents are startling. There’s a deep glass of blood and a bowl of soup with so much spice that it makes my eyes water and nose run. I expected more though, some of his favorite peppers sprinkled in alongside an overflowing plate of sweets. Technically, vampires don’t need food, but Sylas told me he preferred eating. He liked spicy and sweet flavors, and since Lord Sarraze was human, they could eat dinner together.

Heaving a long breath to steady my nerves, I grab the tray and make my way to his room. There, I wait outside the door, watching a nearby clock tick time away until the handles strike noon.

This is it.

My shoulder presses against the door, urging it open. A dark room greets me. The only light comes from the hall to illuminate the sitting area where I had spoken to Sylas a week ago. A coffee table sits at the center, where I place the tray and make way to the large window leading to a balcony. Alyssa said this was the only curtain to open in the morning, more to allow me to see than for Sylas.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” I call, flinging open the drapes. The abrupt sunlight makes me squint. After adjusting, the chamber becomes clear.

Sylas’ room is four times the size of mine, with sophisticated furniture, albeit muted in color. Everything is either a deep burgundy or dull silver, including the wide bed where an angry king sits. His movements are too swift to catch. He places an item in his bedside drawer. I want to ask if it’s the necklace. Harvey said Sylas has the matching piece, but the frustration in his pointed gaze tells me not to risk angering him further.

My traitorous eyes drift over his muscular figure and the dark trail of hair below his navel slipping beneath the covers around his waist. When he stands, the fabric of his trousers strains over his thighs. He is all power and well-developed muscles that would make most turn tail and run. To say he grew up would be an understatement.

Swallowing hard, I force my attention away from his far too attractive physique to gesture toward the tray on the table. “Breakfast is ready. If you have any ideas on what you may like for lunch or a snack, please let me know and I will inform the cooks.”

“You were ordered to leave,” he says, returning my attention to his crimson gaze. Those eyes made my heart flutter when we were kids, and my heart continues to flutter now.

“I was.”

Sylas grabs the black robe by his wardrobe to tug over his bare shoulders and half heartedly tie at the waist. I tell myself not to be disappointed by the loss of a good view.

“Then why do you remain?” he asks.

My lips curve into a biting smile. “Well, my curiosity hasn’t been sated yet, Your Majesty.”

“Are you giving me attitude, Mr. Laywell?”

“Of course not. I would never do that.”

“You have always had far too much attitude,” he snaps. Surprise dances over his features and disappears as swiftly as it came.

“You used to like my attitude. I made you laugh all the time.” I wish that evoked another reaction if purely to convince me that he cares as much as he once did, as much as I still do for whatever reason.

“It doesn’t make me laugh anymore.”

“Maybe it would if you weren’t so crabby.”

He runs a hand through his curled hair. “You and that bastard Harvey are truly testing my patience.”

“We are merely trying to ensure that you perform well under pressure,” Harvey calls from the open doorway. He struts into the room as if Sylas’ angered gaze hasn’t practically set the air ablaze. “Good morning,” he says to me with a tip of his hat. “And a good morning to you, Your Majesty.”

“What do you want?” Sylas asks.

“Oh, I wanted to check in and make sure the new attendant survived breakfast.”

“The one you should be concerned about is yourself.”

“Please do not get upset with Harvey,” I say, earning Sylas’ sharp glare. “Last week, he intended to escort me home, but I refused.”

Sylas’ lips open a smidge, then he repeats, “You refused?”

“Yes, just as I am refusing to leave now, even if I am not wanted or needed.” I let the pain seep into my voice because, apparently, I am desperate to get any reaction out of him, but silence follows.

Sylas’ focus never wavers, as if he is reading every thought that has ever passed through my mind. Makes me wonder if he would care about any of them, if he would show something other than apathy if I told him about every nightmare I’ve had of that fire and my desperation to find him. Then I fear what he may see, the choices I’ve made, the people I’ve known, and my cowardice. How disappointed would he be?

His attention wavers and I can breathe again. He falls onto the sofa, an arm set on the back while the other takes hold of his drink.

“You may stay,” he says. My heart leaps until his foot pushes the tray off the table. The soup soaks into the rug and Sylas looks at me, grinning with all his vicious teeth. “But know if you continue to be so defiant, then I will be as well.”

His words are a lit match that catches my stubbornness aflame. I don’t know why, but I have the urge to remind him what I’m capable of. An easy incantation and the tray levitates into my open palm, followed by the bowl.

“How is your memory, Your Majesty?” I ask.

“Superb, why?”

“If that is true, then you should remember how I feel about challenges. I will show you defiance, sir. Shall we see who gives up first?”

Now the curve of his lips is genuine, wide and taunting. “Yes, let’s see.”

When I walk by, I make sure my elbow hits the back of his head. He curses, Harvey chuckles, and I stomp my way toward the kitchen.

Sylas and I had our fair share of challenges in our youth, but they were always in good fun. Sylas often used my stubborn nature to help teach me. He would remind me how many books he read in a week and I’d want nothing more than to beat him. Before I realized it, I was out reading him, and when I tried to tease him with that fact, he was not upset or annoyed, but proud. When he complimented me, I felt on top of the world, and I wanted nothing more than to be praised by him again.

“How are you the same person? I know people change, but you are ridiculous,” I spit as if he could hear me.

“Who is ridiculous?”

A curse escapes my lips and I nearly drop what’s in my hands. Tristan reacts quickly. He clutches the tray to press into my chest and his opposing hand grabs my waist. I enjoy the touch far more than I should. Heart, we had this conversation already.

“Sorry.” Tristan chuckles. “Didn’t mean to startle you, but we were intrigued when we saw you muttering to yourself.”

Jasmine smiles, peeking her head out from behind his shoulder. “Do you do that often?”

“No, usually only when I’m irritated,” I answer, feeling lighter already.

Tristan looks good in his full suit. It accentuates his shoulders and the thinness of the waist. A rag hangs over his arm and Jasmine carries a bucket of cleaning supplies.

“Ah…” Jasmine gives a nervous glance over her shoulder, then back at me. “Is it already off to a poor start?”

“You could say that. His Majesty doesn’t want an attendant, so he is being,” I roll my eyes, “defiant.”

“I hope things get better,” says Jasmine.

“Things will probably get worse before they get better,” Tristan mumbles. Jasmine gapes at him. He shrugs apologetically. “I’m only being realistic. Maybe you should request another position?”

“Absolutely not. I will not lose!” I flinch at how loud my voice was.

“Lose?” Jasmine repeats. She walks, and I follow her. “Are you really treating this like a game?”

“He started it, but I will finish it.”

Tristan snorts. “You are braver than me.”

“Than all of us,” Jasmine adds. “I do my best to steer clear of His Majesty. We all do.”

“Is Harvey the only one who speaks to him, outside of work matters, I mean?” I shift my attention between Tristan and Jasmine.

“There’s also Lady Violet,” Jasmine replies. “None of us really know what she does, though.”

“Spy work,” Tristan sings and wiggles his fingers.

“Work we are not privy to, and she isn’t here a lot.”

My attention drops to the floor when I mutter, “That sounds really lonely, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. He seems to enjoy being alone,” Tristan counters.

That could be right, but everyone needs someone, don’t they? A friend, a similar soul to speak with about anything and everything. I know what it’s like not to have that and what one may do when they’re desperate.

“Being alone and being lonely are very different. One may like being alone, but does anyone like being lonely?” I ask, and neither of them replies.