Page 11 of Fit for a King

He must’ve had a very relaxed relationship with the duke to take it upon himself to be so opinionated with me.

Maybe it was his lack of years that made him so audacious. Most footmen of the king were older, had served several men. But Noah was by far the youngest I’d seen. It made me wonder what Baxter had been thinking when hiring him.

Perhaps I should’ve taken the time to vet him myself.

Clearly unaware of his misstep, Noah lifted the silk between his fingers and stepped toward me. If I hadn’t been on such a tight schedule, I might’ve taken the time to school him in all the things he’d done wrong since Baxter had left him here in my chambers, but I had meetings to attend and it wasn’t my job to teach this man his place.

I nodded once, choosing to get this over with and report to Baxter later. “Proceed.”

I had been assisted by staff my entire life. Stood through fittings of uniforms and robes, medals and sashes and gloves. The hands of strangers and those I barely knew had adjusted my sleeves and brushed lint from my shoulders.

Never once, though, had I paid attention to a man adjusting my collar.

Noah moved in close, straightening both ends of the tie, and then began to loop it. I watched him, his attention focused on the task, and realized I’d been right when first I’d seen him—his eyes were a soft shade of hazel.

As he continued tying the blue silk, his knuckles brushed lightly against my throat, and my entire body went still. It wasn’t anything. It was a nothing touch, one that had probably happened thousands of times before, but for some reason, my body noticed anyway.

“That’s enough,” I snapped, irritated by my body’s inappropriate reaction.

Noah’s head jerked up, his hands stilling where they were on the tie. “Yes, sir.”

He took an immediate step back and dropped his hands to his sides, and a sudden wave of guilt washed over me. I felt as though I’d just kicked an overeager puppy.

“It’s just done, that’s all,” I found myself explaining, then shook my head, wondering why I bothered. He understood his position. I didn’t owe him an explanation.

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

His words weren’t anything out of the ordinary—he was polite to a fault, mostly saying all the right things. But something about his easy capitulation grated on me.

Jesus. The day must’ve worn me down more than I realized. But that was bound to happen when you’d barely had two hours’ sleep since finding out you were ascending to the throne about twenty years earlier than you expected to.

This new footman—Mr. Bennett—didn’t deserve my surliness, but I didn’t have time to worry about his feelings. Not when I was expected to tamp down my own. The best I could manage was to remember he was there at all, and considering the last two days of chaos, I’d say I was doing a pretty good job at that.

I moved over to the chaise longue where my shoes waited, each of them polished so well that I could see my reflection in them. As I took a seat, about to reach for them, Noah was there, down on one knee, beating me to it.

“Your Majesty, let me.” His eyes were on mine as he said the words, my shoe in hand, and when I gave a clipped nod, he smiled.

It was a simple gesture, a slight curve to full lips that showed his appreciation, his happiness at my approval. But his smile in that moment made the weariness I’d been feeling shift. It made the heaviness ease a little.

I lifted my foot, and as he slipped it on and started to tie the laces, I stared down at his thick hair. It had a slight wave to it, and I had the sudden urge to reach out and run my fingers through it.

“You came from the Duke of Ashford’s house, I’m told?” I said, feeling the need to fill the silence. Something that never happened. But clearly I needed to do something if I was sitting here thinking about touching his damn hair.

Noah raised his head, his eyes full of confusion. “Yes, sir. We spoke of it the other night.”

The other night? That couldn’t be right. I hadn’t met him until right now, this very moment. So what was he⁠—

Gabriel. That shit. He’d interviewed my footman.

Menace was too kind a word for my brother. He was a troublemaking bastard, that’s what he was, and Noah, with his habit of speaking out of turn, suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense.

So did his familiarity with me.

Lord only knew how Gabriel had acted with him. But one thing was clear: Noah was under the impression that he’d met me—the king—two days ago and struck up some kind of rapport.

As he began tying the laces of my other shoe, I couldn’t force my annoyance down.

“That’s impossible because you and I have never met,” I said, and Noah’s head snapped up. “It seems my brother thought it would be wise to take a meeting with you and pretend to be me, for reasons I can’t fathom, but let me assure you, this is our first introduction. Consider me less than impressed.”