Page 114 of King of the Crease

If Alfred keeps patting me like this, I may accidentally brandish a certain weapon. He stands back up before this gets too awkward and gives Nick a confirmed nod that no, I am not a sleeper agent.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Nick says.

“Is it my turn?” I ask Alfred. It’s hard not to crack a joke around someone so serious.

“Your turn for what?” Alfred asks back, blank-faced. Agnes lets a smile slip from her stern exterior. At least someone here finds me kinda funny.

“Nothing. Can I call you Alfie?”

“No.” He steps back behind Nick.

“This is Agnes, my personal secretary,” Nick says.

“Mr. Rush, a pleasure.” Her warmth is an unexpected treat considering her schoolmarm appearance. She shakes my hand while holding a tablet in the other. “I’ve scheduled a welcome tea for you to meet the staff in the castle, as well as give you a tour. Then, you’ll meet with the head of the Ardenian archives for a talk on the history of our country, to get you acclimated to your new home.”

“Any room in there for a nap?” I ask.

“A nap, sir?” Agnes quirks her head.

“Agnes, the man has just traveled halfway around the world. Surely, he’s tired,” Nick says, offering me a supportive wink.

“Right,” she says. “We can adjust your schedule as needed.”

“Is there a part of the schedule where the royal highness and I can have some private time?” I ask. Alfred and Agnes’s eyes ever-so-slightly bulge from their heads. “Not—I mean, just time where we can hang out together and talk. I wasn’t talking about sex. Unless that is something we have to schedule.”

“It is not, sir,” Agnes says.

“Oh.” I rub my head. “Great, you just met me and now you’re probably thinking about me naked. Shoot.” I’m an instant royal disaster. Although if they’ve met other Americans before, chances are this isn’t the first time they’ve stumbled into inappropriate conversation.

“Don’t worry, Hank. We will have time to catch up. I’ve missed you.” Nick reaches for my hand, steadying my heart.

Well, one person on this tarmac likes me. Perhaps I should tape my mouth shut for the rest of the trip.

Am I cut out for the royal life?

Up until I stepped foot in Nick’s castle, the nicest building I’d ever been inside of was Sourwood’s local library. This place is nice. Cheesecake Factory-nice.

Like legit fancy. We’re talking chandeliers and those couches that look old and expensive but you can’t actually lounge in.

People mill about through long corridors and into rooms with high ceilings. Places to go. Important things to do.

My boots feel too loud against the polished floor. My jacket feels too cheap. I keep my hands shoved in my pockets so I won’t touch anything and accidentally break something that probably costs more than my house.

“This is normal,” I mutter under my breath, even though it very much isn’t.

Everywhere I look, there’s something else to remind me I don’t belong here. Gilded frames. Oil paintings of people who definitely never worried about missing a rent payment. Massive windows spilling in pale light. It’s beautiful in a way that feels untouchable, like a museum exhibit I somehow wandered into without a ticket.

Nick fits here.

That thought hits harder than I expect. I can picture him in this space too easily—sharp suit, easy confidence, that way he carries himself like he’s meant to be wherever he stands. Like rooms bend around him instead of the other way around.

Me? I’m trying not to scuff the floor.

“Mr. Rush, can I help you find something?” Leslie asks, a polite young woman assigned to be my liaison at the castle. I have a sneaking suspicion her main role is making sure I don’t touch anything.

“I’m just exploring. Is that okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says hesitantly. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”