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Chapter 12
Jonathan Varenthrall
Ican barely contain my anger as I exit my ungrateful daughter’s room. Pausing to adjust my suit, my gaze catches—once again—on the lock of her door.
Someone was in my home last night. In the short hour I was gone, someone unlocked the girl’s door.
I make myself breathe deep. Think.
It could have been the staff, but I very much doubt it. It’s taken a few years, but I’ve finally assembled a staff competent enough to leave unsupervised. There are no second chances in this house, and they know it. One mistake, and they’re gone.
Permanently.
No one has dared to cross me since the maid who snuck Idril food when she was on rations. When she disappeared, I ensured the entire staff knew she was no longer with us. That was the point.
The current staff have lasted years without incident. Mara especially. She’s been with me since I Bonded Annalise—Idril’s mother—and brought her here as my wife and Mate. She allows Idril her little rebellions, and I let the girl believe she has an ally.
Just like her mother.
It kept them both compliant. Predictable.
By the time I arrive at my study and close the door behind me, I have myself under control.
Yet, as I cross the room toward the bookshelf, something makes me hesitate. My eyes narrow and flick around the room. Something… isn’t right.
I pivot toward the door. The door—
It wasn’t locked.
I always lock it. The only items of importance in the entire house, outside of the girl, are in this room. It isn’t something I simply forget.
I scan the room with a critical eye. Everything looks untouched, exactly as I left it. The desk is organized, the books are aligned, and the window is shut.
I can sense it, though, like a disturbance in the air. Someone was in here. It wasn’t the staff. They know better. They’re only allowed to clean in here when I’m present to watch them.
Whoever was in here was careful. Precise.
Someone with training. Which means—
Someone is targeting me, specifically.
I stalk to my desk to the phone, nearly tearing the receiver off the cord. I call down to the main guard station and wait for one of the men to answer. It rings for half a second before someone picks up.
“Why,” I ask, keeping my voice deadly calm, “was I not informed of a break-in last night?”
“S-sir?” The guard on the other end of the line stutters. His voice cracks. He sounds scared, and that pisses me off even more.
“Are you deaf?” I slam a hand down on my polished maple wood desk, ignoring the pain that radiates up my forearm. “Someone was in my house last night. In my study. In my daughter’s room. Explain to me why I have security if someone can walk right past you?”
“I’ve been here since 5 a.m., sir. I promise, no one has made it past my patrols, and the night shift didn’t report—”
“I want the names of every man who was working last night between 9 p.m. and 10:30 p.m.”
“Absolutely, Sir. I’ll send someone up—”
“No. You’ll come yourself.” I check my watch. “I expect you to be here in ten minutes.” I hang up without waiting for a reply. He’ll comply, or he’ll join the maid.
Another slow scan of my study doesn’t reveal anything obviously missing, but that doesn’t mean anything. The only thing in here worth protecting is hidden. And if they found it—
