Forbidden Honor (Dragon Royals #1)(3)

But probably, I was going to end up fired in the next hour.

I stopped and turned toward him. His eyes still blazed with anger, but he leaned against the railing opposite me.

“You’re awfully sure-footed for a servant.”

“And you’re awfully tender-feeling for a king,” I shot back.

I stuck my tongue out at him and sauntered into his friend’s room.

The second I was out of his sight, I ran through the room and careened out into the hallway.

But the prince didn’t chase me.





Honor



By the end of the day, I still hadn’t been fired, which was surprising, and a relief, and a disappointment, all at the same time. I needed this job, but that didn’t mean I wanted it.

“Almost adequate work today, Honor.” The Head Housekeeper said as I was stowing my cleaning equipment that afternoon in the bay. All around us, the dozen other maids that worked together to keep the academy spick-and-span were putting away mops and buckets and dusting cloths.

“Thank you, Head?” There was a question mark in my voice.

She sniffed, her wide nostrils flaring. We called her Head because it was short for Head Housekeeper. But I called her Head because her head was enormous, truly disproportionate to her slender body. She looked as if the weight of a hat might finally cause her neck to snap completely.

“When are you going to come stay at the dorm with us instead of just visiting?” Calla asked, tucking her arm through mine as we headed toward the showers. I preferred to clean up in the servants’ dorm, because I never knew what kind of mood my stepmother was going to be in when I went home.

“Once I get Hanna settled in at school,” I answered.

My father and his first wife had adopted me. She died not long after Hanna was born. She’d loved both of us with a fierce adoration, the kind of love that I hoped would last us both a lifetime.

Because now we were alone in that house.

My father had died soon after his second wedding, and we’d passed to the loving care of my stepmother Alis. She sometimes said it took a special woman to love children who weren’t one’s own.

Turned out, she wasn’t actually special.

“Such a fancy boarding school for the little sister,” Calla said, since she knew my plans. “If she’s anything like you, she’s probably going to get kicked out.”

“If she’s anything like me, she’s definitely going to get kicked out.”

I’d attended Posselbaum Academy, a posh boarding school for young ladies where they were trained in etiquette, the fine art of flower arrangement, and the even finer art of driving a pen through an opponent’s eardrum.

The last part was a secret.

But I’d never had the chance to graduate, because when my father died, so did my tuition. Hanna would graduate, though. She was almost old enough to attend, and once I got her out of my stepmother’s house, I was leaving myself. Since I couldn’t store Hanna under my bed at the dorm—she insisted, twelve-year-olds are so picky—that was the best I could do for the moment.

I’d saved over the past year to pay her tuition, which was due soon. If I lived in the dorm, I’d lose part of my paycheck, but I’d be free of my stepmother—and if I subsisted mostly on pilfered cake, I’d be able to save enough money to pay Hanna’s tuition for the following year. Once Hanna graduated, I’d use my salary to start a better life for myself, too.

“I should really be more careful not to piss off any princes,” I muttered.

Calla glanced around, making sure the Head was out of earshot. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. He was just surprised to find me in his room.”

“I can tell when you’re lying,” she said. “Also, you lie a little too easily for someone named Honor.”

“I don’t think Prince Jaik brings out my best self.”

She snorted. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. He brings out your horniest self.”

“Okay, that’s just not necessary,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster, given that it was true.

I didn’t want to have a conversation with the self-involved jerk, but I wouldn’t mind sex as long as he kept his beautiful mouth shut.

“How’d you get to be so cheeky, anyway?” Calla teased me. “No one else would want to risk the ire of the prince.”

“I don’t want to risk his ire. I just don’t care.” I turned, lifting my hair from my neck, and Calla started to unbutton the dress I wore. Even maids’ clothes had to be uncomfortable, apparently; I missed the pants of my childhood, before my stepmother, before I was sent away to school. My father had loved my recklessness.

Maybe that was part of why I couldn’t quit a certain carelessness. Even if it might cost me my job—or my life—one day.

I tapped my fingers to the side of my head, giving Calla a meaningful look. “Head injury, or so my stepmother says.”

I didn’t remember anything before I was nine years old, so maybe that was true. My father had told me about a terrible accident. But he’d never sniffed at the end the way my stepmother did, as if the scar that my bright red hair hid was a personal affront.

As soon as I’d washed away the lemon-and-vinegar scent of cleaning solvent and left my maid’s dress folded—okay, stuffed—in my cubby, I waved goodbye to my friends and started for home.