These Gilded Seas

Chapter Seventeen: Propositions at Breakfast

The next morning, I pick Eero's breakfast up from the kitchen before the sun rises. Josef passes it to me with his trademark smile and wink and then goes back to work preparing food for the rest of the palace.

As I walk up the main staircase, padding across the carpet noiselessly in my thin servant shoes, I munch on my own breakfast: leftover bread with slices of grilled fish piled atop.

It feels strange to be walking on the second floor without Madam Amaia. The guards glance at me from their stations, eyes narrowing slightly. They're probably wondering the same thing—where's the matron? Do I look like I don't belong here? Are they worried I might break one of their master's rules? I want to scream at them, tell them they wouldn't stand a chance, but that would get me kicked out faster than I could say "you deserved it."

Play the part. Complete the mission. Go home.

I'm a servant, not a warrior. Not right now, anyway.

Two guards in partial uniform stand outside the study doors. My stomach drops. Normally, the entrance is unguarded because Eero's not awake yet. Their presence means he's awake. Blessed Divine.

I start to push past them, keeping my eyes on the plush navy carpet, but one of the men holds an arm out to stop me. My entire body stiffens. I glance up and find the narrow face of the blond guard from my first night here. He's one of Eero's closest. His dark green eyes glint with devious intent.

"You're late," he whispers, leaning slightly towards me.

"I'm not, though," I say.

"But you are." He winces slightly. "The prince is already in there."

I grit my teeth. Of course he is. The Divine couldn't take it easy on me on my first day, could she?

And what a wonderful first impression.

"It's not my fault he got up early," I snap grumpily. "He should have stayed in bed."

The guard chuckles. "You tell him that for me, would you?" He glances at his partner and lowers his arm. "Go on, little maid."

I relax a bit as he knocks for me and, at the prince's mumbled command, pushes the door open.

Sitting behind a massive desk is Prince Eero. The piece of furniture in front of him is so large that it makes him seem like a child playing at an adult's desk. Its dark black wood matches his loose onyx hair. Some strands are still wet and reflect the pink sunlight that streams in from the window behind him.

I take a careful step into the room, eyes traveling to the bookshelves. Madam Amaia and I come in here every day, and time after time, I'm blown away by the prince's library.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves cover two of the four walls. They're packed with a rainbow of books, some muted, some vibrant. Some boast of golden letters and others have hand-sewn leather bindings, untitled and bare. Little knick knacks clutter the empty spaces—a tiny wooden fish, a miniature dagger made from black onyx, unused candles in colors that match the books around them, braided ribbons of thread, and potted plants that grow along the shelves. I could spend all day studying the books and little things Eero has used to "clutter" his space. It's a burst of color and personality in an otherwise cold palace.

Two stiff, high-backed chairs sit directly in front of the desk, but to my right, a more comfortable-looking couch has been placed. It's black, like the shelves and the window. A single pillow is propped against one of the arms, and there's a silvery blanket thrown across the back. When the sunlight hits the satin threads, the fabric dances like stars.

It's hard to imagine Eero lounging on the couch with a book in his hand, but the cushions are well-worn. In some spots, the fluff is beginning to poke through; their seams are worn and fraying. A lot of time has been spent perfecting his space. So, it must mean something to him.