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The words are innocent by themselves, but the heat in his eyes speaks to something else entirely.

“Just something to consider, Your Grace,” he tacks on. “I shan’t bring it up again. I am and always will be your friend and dutiful servant.” He releases me and retreats down the hall.

I’m left standing with my hand still outstretched and my breath caught.

That was an invitation if I’ve ever heard one.

But from Kyros?

It’s not that I’ve never taken notice of his attractiveness. But he is my servant and relies on me for his income, or rather, he did before Eryx showed up. I would never have thought to overstep.

But is it still overstepping when I’m not the one suggesting the arrangement?

I could be happy with Kyros, I think. Isn’t friendship the perfect foundation for a romantic relationship? The fact that he’s my servant is actually preferable. I will always be the one with the power, the money, the security. That actually makes Kyros a perfect candidate.

He could never really hurt me or control me, which I find extremely appealing.

I will think on it. Practice seeing Kyros in a new light.

IT SHOULDN’T SURPRISE MEat all that Eryx is a terrible listener, even when it comes to lessons he is paying for.

“Sit up,” I instruct.

“I am sitting up.”

“No, you’re slouching.”

“There’s only one way to sit in a chair,” he says.

“No, there isn’t.”

We sit across from each other in opposite chairs, no table or anything between us. Argus and Dyson, as usual, stand in the corner of the parlor, watching the exchange.

Good thing, too, because I might murder Eryx right here if he doesn’t start to cooperate.

I stand and walk over to the man. Looming over him, I place my hands on his shoulders and force them against the back of the chair.

“Back straight. Shoulders against the chair. Legs together.”

“Legs together? That can’t be right.”

I tap his boot with my slipper to scoot it where it’s supposed to be. “No one wants to see a man with his legs spread open.”

He crosses his arms. “I would argue that—”

“Uncross your arms. And for gods’ sake, do not lean back in your chair.”

A cheeky expression crosses his face. “You mean like this?”

He tilts the chair back on two legs.

But he should have known better with me standing right there. I place my slipper under the seat and tilt the frame back far enough for gravity to do its job.

Eryx’s arms windmill, but he can’t right himself in time. Both he and the chair slam to the ground.

“Oh, you’re dead!” he says, scrambling to his feet, and that thing happens to his eyes again. They lighten to amber as they zero in on me.

There you are.