Page 16 of Fit for a King

My cheeks instantly heated as I realized exactly how that sounded. “I didn’t mean— I…”

“Yes…?”

“Are you sure he won’t get too hot in here with that fire?”

She placed the book on the nightstand and the glasses neatly on top, then came around the end of the bed. “Are you sure you’re not getting too hot?”

“You’re crazy.”

“And you’re blushing.”

“You’re talking about the king in bed.”

“Something you’re about to have to deal with in”—she glanced at the antique clock on the wall—“five minutes. So that’s my cue to leave.”

She turned away with a cheeky grin, and it took everything in me not to reach for her and beg her to stay.

“Scotch is on the bar in there.” She pointed to the seating area of his living quarters. “You’ll want to get that on his nightstand before he arrives.” She reached for the door and pulled it open. “Good luck!”

The second the door clicked shut, I rushed over to the bar cart, where a crystal bottle of scotch sat beside two matching glasses. I poured a finger into one and then had a slight panic attack over the fact that I hadn’t asked Violet how much scotch the king liked.

Oh well, guess I was about to find out.

I’d just placed the glass on the nightstand, beside the book of poetry and glasses, when the door to the room opened and King Nicholas stepped inside.

He was early, by at least two minutes.

The plan had been to greet him when he stepped into his living quarters, not be caught standing beside his bed. Not that I was doing anything I shouldn’t. But when he walked into the center of the room and the door shut behind him, I straightened like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

I knew I should say something, greet him, let him know I was there, but I suddenly found myself breathless. As if the second he’d stepped into the room, all the air had been sucked out of it.

Then, as if he sensed another’s presence, he turned in my direction, scanning his bedroom until his eyes finally landed on me and I made myself speak.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.”

He inclined his head, but said nothing as he reached for the button of his jacket and started to undo the garment.

Refusing to let myself be rattled—again—I hurried around the end of his bed to where he was now shrugging out of his jacket.

“Let me take that for you,” I said, and when he handed it over, those blue eyes of his found mine.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.”

His attention shifted past my shoulder to his bed, and I wondered if he was checking to make sure everything was in place. The curtains were drawn, the lamp on, the bed turned down, his book, glasses, and scotch on the nightstand.

“Did you do all this yourself?”

I could say yes—I was sure Violet wouldn’t mind my taking the win—but that didn’t feel right.

“No, sir. Violet helped me ready your room tonight and explained the way you prefer things.”

“Violet?”

Oh, right, the staff didn’t have first names. I didn’t have one. That wasn’t something I usually forgot, but I was so discombobulated after everything that had happened, it was surprising I remembered my own damn name.

“One of your housekeepers,” I told him as I folded his jacket over my arm.