Page 30 of A Fragile Enchantment

“The problem?” There came the sharp sound of palms slapped hard against a hard surface. “The problem is your attitude. Such arrogance and ill temper are not becoming of a man of your station.”

“I don’t care.” Kit enunciated every word.

“I thought your time away would have given you some perspective, but I see that was naive of me. We both must deal with reality. Your choices have led you here, Christopher, and I cannot protect you from the consequences any longer. You’re an adult, and by God, you’re a Carmine. Now do your duty.”

The door flung open, and Niamh stumbled backward in surprise. Kit stormed out of the room, his face flushed with anger and his hands clenched in fists at his sides.

“And do not think for a second that I will not find this girl,” Jack called after him, “if you insist on carrying on this way!”

Jack appeared in the empty doorframe, his eyes glittering with cold rage. But as soon as Kit was out of sight, all of the fight bled out of him. He sighed exasperatedly and dragged a hand down his face. It fell back to his side, revealing an expression that struck Niamh with a bolt of pity: a crumpled, remorseful exhaustion. She had half a mind to turn back now to avoid handing him yet another problem to deal with. But before she could retreat, Jack noticed her standing there and visibly startled. He stared at her with slow-dawning horror.

Niamh wished she could disappear, if only to spare them both the discomfort. Seeing him again made her feel oddly uneasy. She’d half expected the misfortune wished upon him to hang over him like a shroud, but he looked as he had on the day she’d first met him: balanced on that knife’s edge of harried and composed.

He cleared his throat, and she watched as he neatly filed away every emotion that’d spilled across his face. “Miss O’Connor, what can I do for you?”

He sounded astonishingly pleasant, all things considered. Somemasochistic part of her wanted to ask why he’d hired her—to find out if she’d truly earned this honor, or if she was merely his token Machlishwoman. But even if she were bold enough to ask, why court more suffering? “It is nothing important, Your Highness. Shall I come back another time?”

“Nonsense,” he replied briskly. “You’re here now. Come in.”

Tentatively, Niamh followed him inside. There were books and papers stacked intimidatingly high on his desk, and a collection of candles burned down to stubs cluttered the windowsills. A portrait framed in filigreed gold hung in the center of the room. The man glaring out at her looked uncannily like Kit and Jack, save for his green eyes. He had a cruel set to his mouth and an expression fixed forever in disapproval.

KING ALBERT III, the plaque below the frame read. Niamh shuddered. She did not know how Jack could bear the weight of his father’s stare all day.

Behind her, the latch clicked ominously in the silence. Her throat went painfully dry.

“Please,” Jack said. “Sit.”

She obeyed.

Jack settled into the chair behind his desk and regarded her coolly. Sunlight caught all the gold thread in his coat and sparkled on the signet ring on his thumb. Where Kit bristled with thorns, Jack presented an exterior as smooth and inaccessible as stone. It made her feel horribly self-conscious. She’d been so rattled by Lovelace’s column, she’d forgotten to put her hair up properly. She tucked the strand of silver behind her ear and folded her hands in her lap.

“What troubles you?” he asked.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. “I am terribly sorry to disturb you, sir, with something as trivial as this, but I did not receive my pay this week.”

For a moment, she believed she must’ve spoken in Machlish, orperhaps not at all, for he looked back at her with an entirely blank expression. Then he recovered with a shake of his head. “That is not trivial at all. I’m terribly sorry that happened, and I shall speak with Mrs. Knight immediately about the oversight.”

Niamh tried to keep her shock off her face. Was that really all it would take? With admirable efficiency, he procured an envelope and a quill. “Check?”

“Cash, if you please.” After a moment, she added, “Your Highness.”

“Of course.” He pulled out his own coin purse, retrieved one shining coin, and placed it in her palm. She closed her hand around it, but she swore she saw its brilliance shining through the grooves in her fingers.

“Thank you, sir,” she said breathlessly.

“No, thankyoufor coming to me with this.” He somehow sounded both sincere and impersonal. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, that is everything. Thank you again, sir.”

As she made to rise, he said, “Hold a moment.”

She all but collapsed back into her chair. “Sir?”

“I want to apologize for what you overheard earlier.”

Oh. Surely, he did notactuallywant to apologize. This had to be a test of some sort. “I’m sure you have nothing to apologize for. I did not hear a thing.”

“There is no sense dancing around it.” He sighed wearily. “I understand the nature of your work has given you and my brother an opportunity to become acquainted. I’ve noticed you seem to have a certain sway over him—and my wife, for that matter.”