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Granted, the staff in the palace caught on quickly to the way the court will run while I’m in charge, mainly due to the king’s valet’s efforts as my liaison. The staff prefers his approach to mine, or the king’s, for that matter.
“Where do you want the menu?” Benoit asks from the door.
“The what?” This fine morning, Benoit walks into my office with stacks of papers dealing with my king’s affairs, my prince’s affairs, Fleur’s business dealings, my own affairs, as well as the palace guard’s affairs, along with all other affairs that I had no idea even needed sorting.
For example, the planning of the royal dinner for the Spring Court’s royal family as a way of welcoming their new family addition, the very princess whose body I wish I could unsee.
“The menu. A selection of meals we serve.”
“Nowhere. Take it to the chef.” Our event master should handle the affair I refuse to attend. Sadly, Taliant is still in the Winter Court screwing fates know how many Unseelie fairies while arranging the palace for their crazy king.
“Joel is on vacation.”
We employ seventeen chefs. “Take it to the other sixteen.”
“Joel is the only one who picks out the meals for the royal family.”
“The royals aren’t here so…” I flick two of my fingers, shooing him away.
Benoit drops the stack of papers right atop my hand-drawn maps of the reconstructed Winter Court.
I look up, expressing displeasure in my gaze.
He slams the thick blue leather-bound menu atop them, then tucks his hair behind one ear. “You cannot dismiss me. I’m the king’s favorite property.”
I sigh and pass him a tissue from the pocket of my uniform. “Someone smeared your lip gloss.”
“Oh, thank you.” Benoit sits on the corner of my desk and props himself up with a boot. “It was Ness.”
“Who’s Ness?” Knowing everything that’s happening in the palace and the court is my job. Information is currency, and gossip is gold.
“The new fire marshal, who is also one of El’jah’s toys, is threatening to leave the court if the prince doesn’t show up soon. I’m having to whore myself out for people to stay on staff.”
He dabs his eyes as if he’ll cry. “It’s been hell without Fleur,” he cries out dramatically. “The cooks are quitting, the maids are drinking themselves silly, and I’m running around the court doing everyone’s work like I’m some sort of superfairy, and not one”—he eyes me as if he’s about to deliver a mortal blow—“not one person asked if I need a release.” He pauses, waits.
Knowing which kind of release he’s jesting about, I indulge him. “Do you want release?”
“Yes, Commander.” He folds both hands over his heart. “I always wanted to hear you say those words. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
As graceful as a siren sliding off a rock, he slips off my table and fixes the lapels of his yellow jacket. “Jokes aside, you and I aren’t enough. We need more staff. We need the royals back. At least the king.”
I steeple my fingers. “The king does nothing around here.” King Et’enne rules the court and is involved in world affairs and our foreign policies. The queen takes over some work, but the running of the court is all Fleur and El’jah.
“I know, I know, but if he were here, surely he’d take on some of the burden. At least these dreadful meal selections.” He lifts one paper. “Seared lobster in white wine and bacon. What? Why are we searing lobster? For fucks and fates.” He tosses the paper in the unlit fireplace. “Help me.”
I scan the menu. “Corammens in sesame oil. What are corammens?”
He snatches the paper. “Not you. You don’t get to help me, primarily because if you did, we would all eat grits in water, and that’s only after we run up and down the endless shores singing about how much we love discipline. We need more staff.”
“We only need one person who will direct the staff we already have. Someone with authority. Someone who knows the courts.”
“And who would that magical unicorn be?” he asks.
You, I want to tell him, but if I place him in that position, I might collapse his already distraught system. Benoit serves the king exclusively, which means the king makes decisions and leaves him to execute the orders. The decision-making process, on the surface, appears easy, but is not. “I’ll find you someone.”
Benoit’s shoulders droop, and he sighs. “I was hoping you’d say that. When?”
