Page 3 of Reckless in Ruins

“Sable,” he grinds out. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m…”

My stronger self urges me to gather my senses: Speak, Sable. You know exactly why you came here. You’re not intimidated by anyone.

“I’m just trying to get your measurements. I-I knew you’d be here.”

Uther’s nostrils flair. My nipples tighten.

“This is a restricted site.”

“So you’ve said,” I say softly.

“I’m supposed to be sweeping the area for security breaches.”

“I know that, too. And, in turn, why won’t you let me do my job? What I need requires so little of your time.” It feels good to challenge him. I’m slightly braver than I was a second ago.

Uther’s eyes widen as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Why don’t I let you do your job? Madame. You cannot be serious. You have done nothing but interfere with my duties for weeks. You send email after email to my office. You make appointments without checking with my staff…”

I huff, pushing against his hold on me that might as well be a steel girder. “Because you don’t respond to my questions, so I had to be more proactive.”

“You follow me around the palace, follow me to all the queen’s appointments, staring at me, watching me, trying to break me down…”

“Break you down?” Now I’m confused.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know what you think of me and my shabby, old-fashioned uniform. I know I didn’t grow up with money and connections to the palace. I know when I open my mouth, I sound exactly like I came from. I’m a simple man with simple needs, and I don’t need to fit in with the aristocracy, if it’s all the same to you.”

I let out the breath I’m holding as I process all of this.

“Sir. The conclusions you jump to are truly breathtaking. I don’t care where you’re from.”

“Your snobbery says otherwise.”

“My…snobbery?”

“I’ve seen the way you look down your nose at me.”

I can’t control the bewildered laugh that escapes me. “That’s a mean feat, considering I’m barely eye level with your chest.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I really do not, Captain.”

“You taunt me. You pester me. You spend every waking hour attempting to get a rise out of me, up to the point of stalking me at a sacred site and forging a letter from the queen!”

Oh. That.

Maybe this is wrong of me, but I feel oddly satisfied that I’ve rankled this man so thoroughly. Well, I learned how to act out for attention the honest way: from childhood trauma.

“The queen sent that letter yesterday. That’s why I’m here today, to finish the job, so I can get started on the new guard uniforms.”

“Quit. Lying.”

The standoff feels like an eternity, though it lasts scarcely more than a few seconds. “Fine! It was me who sent the letter.”

“Do you have any idea the consequences for impersonating a monarch?”

“Actually, I don’t. Because in no way is it possible that a law exists about something so preposterous.”

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