The sound of my boots echoing down the long halls makes me uneasy. Every step I take feels heavier than the last, my nerves crackling beneath my skin.
I turn left, remembering the directions the lead house staff gave me earlier. East wing, second floor, third door on the right. That's where I'm headed.
That's where Prince Caspian's quarters are.
When he said my duties where going to be revised, I thought maybe a permanent spot at the kitchens. Doing the dishes or something mundane.
But heck no. That's definitely not what I got.
I was assigned to his room instead...to be his wait-on maid?
Who the hell thought of that? Heck...
It feels strange. Strange because I don't know why they'd pick me of all people. Strange because I don't know what to think of it.
I'm not sure if I should feel insulted, honored, or just plain confused. One thing I do know is the tension sitting in my chest.
It's an uncomfortable knot, pulling tighter with every step closer I take.
And yet, deep down, beneath the unease, there's a flicker of something I don't want to acknowledge. Something I shouldn't feel.
A tingle, faint and traitorous.
Caspian hasn't been around since the day after he left my hospital room. That was two weeks ago. It explains why Cassidy never mentioned him in any of her endless updates.
There was nothing to mention—he wasn't here.
Spain, apparently. Meeting with his parents. He's supposed to return in two days. Which means I have two days to… prepare his room.
The east wing feels different from the rest of the pack house. Even the air here seems lighter, like it's been purified just for the royal family.
The walls glimmer with crystals embedded into them, catching the light in ways that make them sparkle like stars.
Golden-rimmed mirrors line the hall, their intricate carvings reflecting my uneasy expression back at me.
The doors here tower higher than the others, tall and imposing, reminding me exactly who lives behind them.
When I finally reach his door, I pause, staring up at the intricate design carved into the dark wood.
A prince's door.
I fumble with the key in my hand, the cold metal slipping against my clammy fingers before I finally manage to slot it into the lock. The door swings open, and I step inside.
The first thing that hits me is the scent. Roses. Rich and heady, it envelops me the moment I cross the threshold. It's familiar now, a scent I've come to associate with him.
My eyes scan the room, taking in the warm tones of brown and cream that dominate the space.
It's not what I expected.
For some reason, I imagined something colder, more rigid—something that matches his personality. But this… this feels cozy, almost intimate.
I step further in, noticing the subtle messiness. At first glance, it looks scattered—papers strewn across the desk, books piled haphazardly in corners, a jacket draped over the back of a chair.
But the more I look, the more I realize it's not chaos. It's deliberate. Organized, in its own way.
I let out a small sigh and roll up my sleeves. This is my job now, after all.
I start with the desk, carefully gathering the papers into neat stacks. Most of them are handwritten notes, some in a language I don't recognize.
My fingers brush against the edge of a leather-bound journal, and for a moment, I hesitate.
It feels personal. Too personal. I move it aside without opening it.
The books are next. They range from thick tomes on ancient pack laws to thin novels with worn spines.
I arrange them neatly on the shelf by his bed, trying to ignore the curiosity nagging at me. What kind of man reads books like these?
The jacket on the chair smells like him, the faint scent of roses clinging to the fabric. I fold it carefully, placing it on the edge of the bed.
The bed.
I glance at it, then quickly look away. It's massive, with soft cream-colored sheets and a dark brown comforter that looks like it costs more than my entire wardrobe.
The pillows are fluffed and perfectly arranged, but I can't stop myself from wondering what it's like to sleep there.
Stop it, I scold myself. You're here to work, not fantasize.
By the time I've finished tidying the main area, my arms ache from all the bending and lifting. I glance at the clock on the wall. It's only been an hour, but it feels like so much longer.
I move to the windows, pulling the curtains aside to let in more light. The view from here is breathtaking—a sprawling garden, its paths winding through vibrant flowers and towering trees.
It's peaceful, serene.
Too serene.
The quietness of the room starts to press down on me, my own thoughts filling the silence. My hands still on the curtain as my mind drifts.
What's he doing in Spain? Is he enjoying himself? Has he thought about me at all since that day in the hospital?
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts aside. It doesn't matter. He's a prince, and I'm… me. A rejected rogue with no place here.
But why did he agree to make me his personal maid?
I rub my temples, trying to ward off the headache forming behind my eyes. The air feels heavier now. Seems that even tidying his room is no small work.
I glance at the bed again. It looks so inviting, so soft. Surely a quick rest wouldn't hurt.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress sinks beneath my weight, cradling me like a cloud. I lie back slowly, letting my head sink into the pillows.
Just for a minute, I tell myself.
The scent of roses surrounds me, wrapping me in warmth. I close my eyes, the exhaustion of the day pulling me under.
"Ah yes," I moan in pure satisfaction and my eyes close on their own accord.