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It eases me a little, but a tremble is still sunken into the bones of my fingers and I have to fight to not shake the tray any more than I already am.
“That will be fine,” she says. “Just avoid the bed, walk along the wall and around to the desk, put everything in its right place, pour him a serving of tea—he likes it cool before he takes it—and open the curtains to the balcony. After that, leave. Walk back along the wall to this door, and I’ll be here on the other side, waiting for you.”
For a moment, I wonder what I’ve done to have earned such a good friend in a short amount of time. But then I remember that this is all on her, too. She’s responsible for teaching me to replace her as a house slave. So ifIfuck up, it falls back on her, too.
We’re both simmering in the hot water, just hoping one of us can build a ladder to get out before it turns boiling.
I take one more steadying breath before I nod at Sira, gesturing fo her to open the door. She just arches her eyebrow at me in answer.
Again, I gesture to the door, this time with a jerk of the head and a meaningful look.
Sira folds her arms over her full chest. “You’ll have to learn how to open it yourself.”
My mouth puckers and, for a beat, I just watch her.
She makes no move to help me, so—defeated—I turn to the door. Its handle is a plain brass knob, stained around the edges and in desperate need of a good polish.
My teeth come down on my lower lip as I slide the weight of the tray onto one tucked arm, holding it to my chest, then reach out with a shaky hand to the knob.
It turns without the groan I expected. At least it’s been oiled.
Sira takes two quiet steps back, making space for me to readjust the tray into both hands and a steadier grip.
Throwing an uncertain look back at her—which she answers with a reassuring smile that twists her scarred face into something grim—I dip through the door ... and tangle myself in thick, heavy drapes.
My face is a grimace as I push and glide myself around the curtains to the gap down the middle. I slip out with only a slight rustle of drapes to betray my entry.
As Sira told me, the bed is pushed against the wall directly opposite me. And the prince is in it, beneath the black silk sheets.
What I’m not prepared for is that he’s very much awake—and looking right at me.
The prince is sat up against a pile of feathery pillows, the sheets slipped down to his waistline, and one of his knees hiked up beneath the black silk.
With a parchment scroll unravelled in his loose grip, it seems as though he was reading in the faint candlelight before I came in. But he’s looked up, and now watches me from beneath those long lashes of his that cast dark shadows down his sharp cheekbones.
Tousled hair falls over his forehead and brushes his eyebrows, adding a silent ferocity to his already dangerous look.
White candlelight flickers over his inked chest, tracing the curved and sharp lines that mark his skin, all the way down to a faint V-shape at the start of the sheets.
I swallow back a lump in my throat, then tuck my gaze down to the tray in my hands. Cheeks burn crimson.
Silently, I pull away from the drapes and follow instructions—walk down the wall to the desk that faces the curtained balcony doors.
The tray rattles as I set it down on the desk. I bite down hard on my bottom lip at the loud noise that shatters the soft silence in the room.
But the prince says nothing.
I don’t chance a glance over at him and instead, carry on with my task.
The silver candlestick is to my right. I carefully stack the letters and parchment messages at its base, then pour a steaming cup of tea.
For a beat, I hesitate with the teacup. Am I supposed to leave it on the tray or set it on the desk?
With a panicked breath, I scrape through my memories with Sira, all that information she threw at me—and I come up with a side note she offered me when Hilda was attacking my hair with a brush.
Place the cup beside the gaslamp. And so I do, feeling the itch of a frosty gaze on my burning cheek.
He’s been watching me this whole time from across the chamber. Without looking at him, I know it—Ifeelit.
