Page 17 of Fit for a King

“Right.” He took off his cuff links and handed them to me. “She did well,” he said, and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt as he walked over to where I’d laid out his clothes for tomorrow.

“She’ll be pleased to hear it, sir.”

He nodded but said nothing as he looked over the one part of tonight’s turndown service I’d done on my own.

“The royal crest is missing.”

I frowned, sure I’d put that out along with the rest of his medals. “It should be beside your military medals.”

I was across the room and looking down at the bureau where I’d laid out his tie, polished cuff links, and medals—and it was right there.

“I’m sorry, I thought this was it here,” I said, gesturing to the beautiful gold pin.

He picked it up and placed it across his palm, where it looked so much smaller than all it represented. “This is the crest of the crown prince. I am the king.”

Oh God. This couldn’t be happening to me. Not again.

“I… I wasn’t aware⁠—”

“That I’m the king?”

“Yes, sir. No— I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t realize there was a different crest.”

“Now you do.” He placed it back on the bureau, and as he stepped around me and walked away, I closed my eyes, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me.

Instead, a delicious, seductive scent wound its way around me, and I found myself turning in its direction, only to find the king by his bed and tugging his shirt from his pants.

I stood frozen, unable to move as he started to unfasten his buttons. When he finally shrugged out of it and his broad shoulders came into view, my cock jerked involuntarily.

He was stunning—the back of him, anyway—so magnificent in his regal stature and masculinity that I didn’t even realize he’d looked over at me until he said, “That’ll be all.”

I averted my eyes as heat flooded my cheeks, and I clutched the jacket close to my body to cover whatever the hell was going on below my waist.

Who did I think I was, standing there ogling the king?

The king.

I must’ve really been hoping to be fired, because that was the only reason I could think of for allowing myself that moment of weakness, that moment of indulgence to look at the one person I shouldn’t even breathe near.

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, hardly believing what an absolute ass I’d made of myself today, as I made for the door as quickly as possible.

And just as I was about to step out—and possibly go and find the nearest balcony to jump off—I bade him goodnight.

6

NICHOLAS

SEVERAL DAYS PASSED with Noah Bennett doing exactly what I’d told him to do. He was punctual and respectful, and most of all, he kept his mouth shut…for the most part.

Every day he entered my chambers when summoned and performed his duties efficiently, keeping his eyes lowered and forgoing unnecessary conversation.

He no longer asked how I was. No longer offered opinions on my clothing. He’d honored my request not to mention my brother, the interview, or the fact that he’d met with a more agreeable version of my face and then been stuck with me.

He behaved exactly how I expected a footman in my household to behave.

It was grating on my nerves.

Not because he was doing anything wrong. That would’ve been easier, if I could correct his mistakes, but Noah made very few now. He’d learned the palace quickly, according to Baxter—who seemed reluctantly impressed by that, though he’d never say it out loud. He learned that the prime minister preferred coffee over tea on their visits, and that Gabriel came and went through whatever doors he pleased, whether they were intended for him or not, and those included dropping in unannounced downstairs.