Tomas

I collapsed into a chair, bone weary from another day as Bennett’s valet. Working under the prince was the absolute worst. Every day I wished I’d been born in a different family, under different stars.

It wasn’t anything I’d done. Bennett was simply hell-bent on making my life miserable—he was bound and determined to be displeased with everything I did. If I laid out a blue robe for him, he raised a fuss about the green one not being ready, even though he’d previously screamed at a maid for hours for daring to put the green one out. I remembered that lecture perfectly, because he’d compared the color to “cat vomit” and “sewage runoff.” If I fastened his cravat just a hair too tight, he took the opportunity to backhand me across the cheek. He might show a good face in public, but in truth he was a cruel, merciless tyrant.

I should be used to it by now. Bennett had been using me as a punching bag since we were children, ever since I’d entered his service as his personal valet. It had been the worst when we were both teens, and I’d often dreamed of escaping, of starting a new life somewhere new.

When I’d first met Bennett, the unfairness of my situation had rankled. I hated every second of his abuse. Why me? I’d scream into my pillow at night, hoping against hope that someone would hear me and whisk me away to somewhere better. But the thick walls of the palace absorbed my pain, and no one came. Soon I stopped wishing for such useless things. I got used to my lot in life.

Some people were born to be princes, and others were born to be their valets. That was simply the hard truth of it.

But only the valet had had the distinct pleasure of spending time in the company of Veronica de Vernsey. A deep flush crept over my cheeks as I remembered the supple curve of her waist, her strong, warm thighs. But it wasn’t just her ample physical charms that had so enthralled me. It was her strong sense of justice. Her kindness toward those who were of lower social status than herself.

The maid isn’t to blame at all—the first mess was all the marchioness’s fault.

Veronica had come to Lynette’s defense without even blinking an eye. She hadn’t cared that the prince was there. She hadn’t even stopped to think about what the marchioness—her peer—might think of her afterward. I’d been at the palace long enough to see what a rare breed Veronica was. The De Vernseys were filthy rich. Even I knew that. And despite her unbelievable wealth and status, she still protected Lynette and propositioned me, a mere valet, as if we were her equals.

Veronica hadn’t used her power to force me into a compromising situation, even though she could have. Veronica had flirted with me—because she’d wanted me. I couldn’t remember the last time I was really wanted by anyone.

But, I thought with a smile, I can think of at least one person who really, truly loves me.

I checked my watch. If I left now, I might still have time to check in on Lucy before Bennett called for me again. With a groan, I forced myself out of my comfortable chair and teetered over to the adjoining room.

My daughter’s room.

As soon as I stepped through the threshold, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. The pale pink walls, the soothing clouds and rainbows painted around the windows, the gossamer curtains and ruffled pink bedspread—everything was designed to be as cheery as possible. Dozens of different toys were scattered around the room. It was a child’s version of paradise, but not even the sunny colors could hide the fact that this was more of a sick bay than a regular bedroom.

“Papa!”

“Lucy!” I held my arms out wide as she jumped into them, giggling madly. I swung her around a few times, holding her tightly to my chest. Her hair smelled sweet, like sunshine and peaches. “How are you today, my darling?”

“Feelin’ good!” She beamed, but I could tell that wasn’t entirely the truth. She was pale—well, paler than usual, anyway—and she was limping a tad, favoring her left side heavily.

I’d previously planned to take Lucy on a walk to the rose garden, but it soon became clear after a few minutes that she wouldn’t really be up to it today. Her legs, while always weak, were especially bad this afternoon, crumpling like a piece of paper after a few steps around the room.

I managed to keep up a smile around her, but the second she looked away, my face fell into a familiar worried frown. Her illness was progressing fast. The disease whittling away at her very bones was woven into her genes, and there was no cure for it—unless you were a member of the royal family, of course.

Lucy tugged me forward, intent on showing me the painting she had worked on all day. I watched her carefully as she pointed to the different parts of her flower, like the wobbly green stem and the uneven petals and the crooked smile in the yellow center. My adorable, precocious, terminally ill daughter.

She looked far too pale to keep staying in this room. I made up my mind. Even if she was too weak to walk, I would bundle her up and wheel her out in her pushchair. She desperately needed the warmth of the sun on her face, the fresh wind on her hair.

And I needed to bring her somewhere else. To someone else.

“Where are we going, Papa?” she asked, her voice chipper despite how frayed she was at the edges.

“It’s a secret, darling,” I said, kissing her on her too-cold forehead. She nodded and clambered onto her pushchair, refusing to allow me to help. By the time she finally got settled, she was even whiter than before, and sweat was beading on her brow, but she collapsed into the cushion with a proud smile.

“Did ya see that, Papa?” she panted, her eyes glittering.

“I sure did,” I said, ruffling the top of her head, careful not to press too hard.

Instead of heading to the rose garden as I’d originally planned, as soon as I had dressed her in warm clothes and covered her in a comfortable blanket, I wheeled her out the balustrade and onto the hidden ramp below. Then I took a sharp left turn, toward the dog track where I’d met Veronica last night.

I perked up as I spotted a figure in the distance just as we passed the first old wooden fence. As the figure drew closer, I realized my instinct had been correct. Bennett was outside, heading for the dog track, just like I thought he’d be doing at this time of day. The man rarely deviated from his schedule unless absolutely necessary.

“Benn—”

The prince shot me a glare so cold it nearly froze me to my core. “I mean, Your Highness!” I corrected hastily.

“What do you want?” he asked, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. He glanced longingly at the kennel. “Is something the matter?”

I nudged Lucy, who was uncommonly quiet. Normally I couldn’t get her to stop running up to strangers, but she seemed almost scared of Bennett. “Are you going to say hello, darling?”

I helped her down from her pushchair, and she executed a perfect curtsey. I watched her, proud of my little girl.

She tugged at my sleeve, pointing at the little patch of flowers next to the track. “Can I?” she asked, her eyes huge and pleading.

I laughed and waved her off. “Go on, then.”

Despite the pain she was in, she practically skipped over to the dandelions, giggling in delight at their butter yellow centers. She picked one and rubbed it against her cheek, marveling at their velvet softness.

“What are you doing here? And with her in tow?” Bennett scowled.

I hesitated for a moment, choosing my next words carefully. “In all the years I’ve been your valet, I’ve never once overstepped. I’ve known my place, and I’ve done my job perfectly.”

Bennett scoffed. “Perfectly?” He rolled his eyes.

My hackles rose, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. I couldn’t let him get a rise out of me. Not now. Not while I still had something so important to discuss with him. “You must agree that I’ve done my job without making a fuss. I’ve kept a low profile, just as you wished. So I hope that you will take what I’m about to say seriously.”

“What is it? Spit it out already! I don’t have time for this.”

“Please, Brother,” I begged. “Help me save my daughter.”