Page 7 of Fit for a King

One of the guards stationed there opened the door and Baxter stepped inside.

“Mr. Bennett, Your Majesty.”

I followed, bowed my head, and tried hard not to look like a man who had recently trespassed in the head butler’s office. Like an idiot.

“Your Majesty,” I said.

“Ah. The lost footman.” The man’s voice was warm and a little amused.

Confused, I lifted my head, expecting to see someone other than the king, given all the talk of him being so void of personality.

But the man standing by the windows was indeed Nicholas Valemont. I’d seen him in so many photographs, and on television, that I easily recognized the sharp line of his jaw and the dark sweep of his hair. Broad shoulders filled out the black suit he wore; a blue sash across his chest was pinned with a silver broach.

The photographs hadn’t told the full truth, though, because the man standing in front of me didn’t come off cold at all. Tired, yes. There were shadows under his eyes that spoke to the grief he had to be feeling, but there was also an open curiosity in his face that had my shoulders relaxing just a bit.

Or maybe it was just the fact that he was so incredibly striking.

Mr. Baxter didn’t look my way, but I could feel the glare in his words as he said, “Mr. Bennett was found in my office, sir.”

“I got turned around,” I said—without thinking, because if I had been thinking, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth.

Mr. Baxter’s head turned slightly in my direction, a silent reminder that I’d spoken before I should’ve.

The king noticed, because of course he did, and grinned. “Baxter, if you glare at him much harder, he may combust before I’ve had the chance to ask a single question.”

“That may save time, sir.”

A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it, because Mr. Baxter wasn’t wrong, and both men looked at me.

Oh God. I wished the floor would open and swallow me whole, but the king’s eyes only sparkled with interest.

“Well, that’s promising,” he said.

Mr. Baxter frowned. “Is it?”

“I think so.”

“Your standards are generous today.”

“My standards are mine,” the king said with ease, almost playfully, but there was something deeper beneath the words.

Mr. Baxter inclined his head. “Of course, sir. You know best.”

“Yes. I do.” The king looked back at me. “Mr. Bennett, do you require Mr. Baxter in the room to answer my questions honestly?”

“No, sir.”

“Excellent. Then that will be all, Baxter.”

“As you wish, sir.” I could feel the man’s disapproval and the warning to behave as he turned to leave. He gave me a look that said just as much and then closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with the king.

The King of Valoria.

My God.

I stood still as a statue, breathing only when necessary, as he started toward me. His strides were sure and purposeful until he stopped in front of me.

“Do you have a first name, Mr. Bennett?”