Page 13 of King Among the Dead

“I noticed lots of books about King Arthur.” It felt bold expressing an observation, something she was unused to.

But he didn’t punish her for it, no. Blinked and refocused on her face, smiling. “I’m afraid I’m a bit of an enthusiast. Do you know anything of the legends?”

“That the table was round?”

“It was, yes, good.” His smile didn’t grow, but seemed to soften. “Those texts are of course available to you as well.”

She nodded. “Thank you. And – I wanted to thank you again, for today. For everything. Everything you’ve done for me, and are doing for me. I can’t – I can’t thank you enough.”

He shook his head. “I meant what I said before, about not having to deserve anything.” His head tilted, and his eyes caught the glint of the lamplight, bright as a cat’s, twice as bemusing. “But I do greatly appreciate your thanks.”

Kay’s words from before came back to her.Sometimes white knights need saving, too.

It struck her then that he was lonely. She had no evidence – beyond this big, rambling house, and the money he’d spent on her, and the inscrutability of his face – but sheknew, suddenly. He had Kay, but there was a void. A sadness there, beneath the beautiful veneer.

Good to see you up and about, the sales associate had said. If he’d been sick, he didn’t look it now, with his strong, gilded forearms, and his brilliant hair; the strength of his gait, silent steps that had brought him all the way across the room and to the chair in front of her without her even noticing.

Regardless of what he’d said, she didn’t feel worthy of the gifts he’d given her today. But if what he wanted was company; ifshecould somehow be of some help, then she would give of herself without reservation.

His smile shifted, another enigmatic twitch.

She smiled back, wide enough that she felt the pull in her cheeks. Happy again, so happy, beyond her wildest imaginings.

His lips parted, sharp teeth again. The most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

FIVE

Beck offered her a whole list of book recommendations: wrote them out on a pad and tore off the page for her so she could consult it later, if he was busy and she’d forgotten any of them. He encouraged her to search out what struck her fancy in any given moment, too.Different books catch us at different moments, depending on what we need that day.

He bid her good night when she started yawning, and by the time she’d reached her room, she realized how draining the day had been – but in a good way. It was a healthy sort of tiredness, and not the pain and exhaustion of overwork. She showered, pulled on a pair of new pajamas, the fabric heavenly soft against her skin. But before she climbed into bed, one of the day’s bags caught her eye: the small one from the jewelry counter.

She’d barely dared to look in the store, too overwhelmed, but now, alone, behind a closed door…

She carried the bag over to the dressing table and sat down on the stool there. Drew out the velvet box and opened it with trembling fingers.

There were the simple studs he’d picked, and between them the necklace she’d glimpsed only as a bit of shine before. She studied it now with wonder.

It was simple, too, a perfect match for the earrings. A pendant strung through with a white gold chain: a tiny gold crown set with diamonds.

She passed a finger over the smooth warmth of the gold, wondering why, of all the shapes and designs, this was what he’d chosen for her.

Hewasfascinated with King Arthur, though, he’d professed just downstairs. Perhaps it was that; an affinity. Perhaps, like with books, it was the thing that had caught his eye in that moment, and nothing more.

She felt like a queen, though, when she fastened it around her neck. She stared at her reflection a long moment, after, the bright, brilliant gleam of it against her chest.

Not a queen, but, just maybe, worthy in her own way.

~*~

A routine developed over the next few weeks. Breakfast at seven sharp, dinner at seven-ish, depending on when Beck emerged from his study; lunch somewhere in the middle, when hunger all drew them into the kitchen. Under Beck’s tutelage, Rose built on her meager culinary skills, learning new recipes, cooking new dishes with ingredients she’d only ever dreamed of. Vegetables and fruits always too expensive to have before, like tomatoes and cucumbers and melons, now waited for her in the fridge. Beck had a deft hand with the knife – with more than just produce, she knew – and he instructed her in it until her cuts looked nearly as clean and precise as his own. When she glanced up at him for confirmation, he always had a smile for her, soft, fond, and secretive.

She washed dishes with Kay after every meal, and soon was helping with laundry. Doing her share of vacuuming and dusting and polishing. Cleaning took her into rooms as of yet unexplored: bedrooms decorated according to color schemes: pink ones, and blue ones and green ones.

“Yours is the rose room,” Beck explained. “It seemed fitting.” There were delicate roses in the wallpaper pattern, a rose garden depicted in the painting above the bed.

She saw his study, finally, a week into her time at the townhouse, when she was dusting. “Just knock and go in,” Kay said, cigarette bobbing from her lip as she scrubbed the downstairs bathroom sink. “If it were up to him, he’d be in dust up to his ears. If he’s got a problem with it, send him to me.”

Her knock on the polished oak door synced with the fast thump of her heart, a flutter of nerves in her belly.

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