Page 89 of Fit for a King

Okay, maybe hate was a strong word, since the reason for all the changes had nothing to do with them. It was my own fault. I wanted to blame someone else, even Nicholas, but in the end I’d made my own decisions and had to live with the consequences. I’d always known that deep down, but for some reason I’d carried a secret bit of hope that somehow things could be different.

Ridiculous. I knew that. Kings couldn’t love footmen. Not in public, anyway.

It would be easier if Nicholas were cruel—if I could be mad at him, hate him, anything to get over the sick feeling in my gut that came from knowing then losing his love.

Instead, in the handful of times I’d seen him, he’d been formal and polite enough, reminiscent of the cold man I’d met when I first started my post here.

It had been thirteen days—not that I was counting—since the last time he’d been Nicholas and I’d been Noah, when I was sent up to the council tea. Apparently, half the footmen were busy with preparations for the upcoming coronation meetings, which was why I was tasked with carrying the tray into the council chamber that afternoon.

Nicholas sat at the head of the long table with Prince Gabriel, Gilbert, and several other esteemed men and women, while Baxter stood nearby awaiting any instruction. Lord Chamberlain was speaking, my presence not something to even notice, the way it should be, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Nicholas stiffen.

I tried not to look his way, to not notice the composed expression on his face or the dark suit and tie he wore, or the way his fingers inched toward his fountain pen like he was itching to fidget.

But I failed. My gaze traveled to him like it always did, but before I could look away, he glanced up and those beautiful blues locked on mine.

For several foolish heartbeats, it was all still there between us: the secret passage, the warmth of his bed, Whitefall Cliffs. His telling me he loved me, even though it was the last thing he should’ve said.

Then Gilbert tapped something on his open laptop, and the sound snapped me out of my trance.

I bowed my head. “Your Majesty.”

“Mr. Bennett.” Nicholas had already schooled his features again, and I made myself do the same.

Mr. Bennett. Not Noah, not even Bennett in that low voice that always wrapped around me like a caress.

The tray felt heavier as I moved around the table to pour the tea. When I reached Nicholas, I willed my hands not to shake. If they did, I would fling myself off the balcony from shame.

I already knew how Nicholas took his tea: one sugar on a normal day or when he was tired or stressed, but none if he was angry. A splash of milk only if he hadn’t eaten all of his breakfast and I wanted to pester him into having something more.

I reached for the sugar, but then realized that was too intimate, too presumptuous, especially in a room full of people.

“Sugar, Your Majesty?”

Nicholas didn’t look at me again, only shook his head. “No. Thank you.”

I poured his tea plain, and this close I could see the faint shadows beneath his eyes and the tension in his jaw.

He wanted sugar today. I knew that, and he knew that I knew that.

Still, I set the cup down as though I knew nothing about him at all. When our fingers nearly brushed, he jerked his hand away, and it was like a stab to the heart.

“Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?” My words came out polite, professional, not shaky at all, which was a miracle considering I thought my knees were about to buckle.

“No, Mr. Bennett. That will be all.”

I bowed my head and continued around the table, refilling each cup to their preference while they carried on with their meeting like I wasn’t there.

Then I looked at Nicholas and bowed, even though he wasn’t paying attention to me, and had started to leave when Gabriel called out, “Actually, Mr. Bennett?”

I stopped and turned. “Yes, Your Royal Highness?”

His eyes traveled to Nicholas before coming back to me. “Would you have Mrs. Stuart send up some of those delicious Jammie Dodgers? The ones that even Baxter can’t resist?”

Baxter’s expression didn’t move as he said, “I can resist, sir.”

Gabriel grinned. “See that face? He’s weak for them.”

A few of the men and women at the table chuckled…but Nicholas didn’t.