Page 8 of Fit for a King

Of all the questions I’d expected to be asked, that was most definitely the last. First names were not important when it came to the staff. But maybe he thought it necessary in case he had to file a police report for rogue footmen entering rooms they shouldn’t.

“Yes, sir. It’s Noah.”

“Noah,” he said like he was testing out the word to use, but that couldn’t be right. Under no circumstance would the king ever use my first name. “Noah Bennett.”

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction and he nodded. “I like it.”

I wasn’t sure how he expected me to respond to that, and luckily for me he turned and walked back over to the windows, allowing my silence to speak for me. The truth of the matter was that he could call me whatever he liked and I would answer. That was the job.

“I understand you worked closely with the Duke of Ashford.”

“That’s correct.”

“And what are your thoughts on the duke?”

My thoughts? I wasn’t supposed to have thoughts. That wasn’t what I was paid for. But when the king glanced over his shoulder, an expectant look on his face, I straightened my spine and wiped my hands against the legs of my trousers.

Was this a test? It felt like one.

I’d worked for the Duke of Ashford for several years, and learned how to deal with his many idiosyncrasies. But to say he was an easy or kind man would be a lie, and one thing my father had always taught me when it came to dealing with nobility—anyone in life, really—was if you didn’t have anything nice to say, it was best not to say anything at all. You never knew who could be listening, and in a palace this size, there were many ears.

“Mr. Bennett?”

“Yes, sir, sorry. My time working for the duke was integral to my growth as a footman.”

The king smiled, not the response I’d expected, as he turned back to face the window. “And also to your growth in diplomatic answers, I see. But that’s not what I asked. What are your thoughts on the duke?”

Never under any circumstance would I make disparaging comments about my former employees, especially when they were so high ranking. But when the king—the actual King of Valoria—asked a question, you didn’t deny him.

“He was a man set in his ways.”

“He was difficult.”

“He—” I took in a deep breath, then admitted, “Yes. He was difficult at times. He had very particular likes and dislikes, and could be a bit of a curmudgeon.”

“Yet he sent you to me with a glowing report.” The king spun around to face me. “So, you must be good at handling…cranky old curmudgeons.”

“Three things you are clearly not,” I rushed out before I thought better of it. “Sir.”

“What if I am?”

Not sure what exactly he was asking, I just stood there.

“Cranky?”

It wasn’t my place one way or another to tell him how to behave. But if this interview was any indication of his demeanor, I wasn’t too concerned.

He had every reason to be sullen and moody today, but I’d yet to see any kind of that behavior.

“Then I’ll adapt and accommodate whatever mood you might be in. My job is to serve you to the best of my ability. Not judge you for it.”

The king narrowed his eyes a fraction but said nothing, and for a moment I thought I might’ve gone too far, especially after being so honest about the duke. But then I caught the corner of his lips twitch.

Maybe the cold demeanor he was known for was just for show. Maybe behind closed doors he was completely different, and the poised, non-smiling version of him was a mask he put on for the public. A show of strength for those around him.

“That’s exactly what I’m after,” he said, walking back over to where I stood. “Someone who can adapt to any kind of mood or situation. This job isn’t easy.”