Page 24

“WHAT, YOU STALKING us now? Humiliating us once wasn’t enough for you?”

Karl looked around at the general disarray, trying to find the familiar voice.

The front garden wasn’t as overgrown as the back, simply because the driveway dominated the space.

From the gate, wide enough to drive a carriage through, the driveway went straight for about fifty yards before curving into an oval around a currently dry central fountain and more overgrown shrubbery.

On the far side, the oval’s curve flattened adjacent to the four grand marble stairs—currently brown with dirt—leading to a front door made of wood ornately carved with geometric shapes.

The paint was chipped, but the lock looked sound.

To the left were what Karl could only assume were gardens, given the massive overgrowth of bushes and flowerbeds left to go wild.

To the right, along the fence that led behind the house, were outbuildings.

What looked like an empty stable for maybe two horses, a gardener’s shed, and a handful of other buildings, which Karl couldn’t identify, were neatly tucked there.

They had also once been painted and well cared for, but the paint was almost completely chipped away, leaving behind raw wood, starting to rot from exposure.

In front of the gardener’s shed, the kid leader of the ineffectual group of thugs stood, glaring at Karl and Ama.

“You’re denning here?” Karl asked, gaping at them.

In all his years of being a street kid, he never would have dared come near a noble’s house, even to steal from it.

He certainly wouldn’t have had the gumption to make his den there, and if he had, the noble would have sent him straight to jail for daring to try.

“Noble’s dead,” the kid scoffed. “No one lives here strong enough to order us off.” His lip curled as he looked at the house. “Just some servants.”

“I see.” Karl glanced at Ama, who shrugged but also looked like he was holding in laughter. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” Ama retorted, a grin breaking out as his eyes sparkled. “A street thief owns the house, a street thug runs the grounds. Clearly there’s nothing abnormal about any of this. Nothing funny at all.”

He gave up on hiding behind cheap sarcasm and started laughing aloud, hands braced on his knees. Karl rolled his eyes, resisted the childish urge to push Ama into the dirt, and headed toward the front door. He knocked three times and then waited. No one came.

“You said there were servants living here?” Karl called over to the kid, who was gaping at him as if he didn’t know what to make of Karl.

Well, he probably didn’t. Karl had been elbow deep in flour when he handily beat them, and now Karl was knocking on the front door of a noble’s house like he belonged.

“They’re probably hiding from the kids,” Ama added before the kid could reply. “Luckily a certain someone passed me this before I left to search for you.” He pulled a large brass key out of his pocket. “Shall we shock some servants before breakfast?”

He didn’t wait for Karl to splutter out an answer, putting the key into the lock and turning it. The door opened with a squeal of old hinges, and Ama stepped aside so Karl could enter first.

“Who are you and what do you want from us? We don’t have anything worth stealing!” someone called from the top of the stairs, her voice sharp with worry.

“Um…hi?” Karl tried to begin with, but then a man joined the woman, glared down at him, and started stomping down the stairs.

“We have enough trouble with those damned kids living in the gardening shed,” he growled out. “I refuse to have someone invade the house as well!”

“Stop and think why we have the key,” Ama—no, this authority wasn’t Ama—Casmir snapped out. Casmir’s body language had changed, his shoulders wide and exuding power as he settled back into his role as prince, yet his eyes still sparkled with mirth as he held out the key.

The man stopped halfway down the stairs, his mouth hanging open. “Are you the new Lord Whistfield?” he whispered, staring down at Casmir, who laughed in response.

“No, I’m Prince Casmir. He’s your Lord Whistfield,” Casmir finally said once he got his laughter under control, then pointed at Karl.

“P-prince! Your Highness, please excuse my rudeness,” the man said, stuttering as his face turned pale. He sank to his knees in a bow, probably more because his knees no longer had the strength to hold him than because he intended to genuflect.

“Come now. We’re the ones who must apologize for being rude,” Casmir replied, waving the hand not holding the key as if brushing aside the bad feelings in the air.

“We arrived early in the morning, much earlier than normal calling hours, and we neglected to send a note warning of our wish to view the property. Please, accept our apology.” Casmir placed that free hand over his heart and bowed his head slightly.

Everyone remained like that for a few awkward seconds.

The woman at the top of the stairs gaping at them, the man on the stairs bowing with one hand clutching the banister for balance, Casmir nodding, and Karl frantically trying to figure out something, anything, to say that might break up this standoff before it became even more uncomfortable.

“All right, what’s all this ruckus?” a new woman called as she strode into the room from a doorway behind the stairs.

She was older, at least fifty years old, and her graying hair was tied into a tight bun at the back of her head.

An apron covered her dress, so she probably came from the kitchens.

“It’s too damn early for anyone to be whining! ”

“He says he’s the new prince,” the woman at the top of the stairs explained, still sounding shocked. “He and the new baron are here.”

“Does he now?” the new woman said, turning her glare on Casmir and Karl.

“I’ve worked for spoiled brat nobles going on thirty years now.

Never known of one to walk to their house, let alone wear such shabby clothing.

” She sniffed. “You’re not the first to pretend to be the rightful owner of this house, and I doubt you’ll be the last. You will leave now. ”

“Madam, I assure you—”

“Leave. Now,” she said, cutting Casmir off sharply as she pointed at the door.

Casmir glanced over at Karl and wrinkled his nose.

His eyes were still twinkling with laughter, the damned brat, because clearly this was all a big joke to him.

Which, okay, it was kind of funny being treated like the thieves they were.

It was also definitely Karl’s fault to have arrived dressed like a common person rather than a noble.

This would be easy enough to fix: go back to the palace and put on proper clothes, then arrive back at the house in a carriage with all the notarized paperwork stating he did have a rightful claim to be here.

Of course, the second he stepped back into the palace, everyone would be all over him to have guards and protection and whatnot.

There would be meetings and no doubt other tedious things he would get dragged into, and it could be days before he had another chance to come back.

Yet, he couldn’t think of any other way to change these servants’ minds.

Casmir apparently came to the same conclusion because he rolled his eyes at Karl and turned to the door.

As if on cue, a clatter of carriage wheels and the stomp of booted feet echoed through the open front door as a retinue arrived.

“Now, that will be our actual lord,” the older woman snapped out.

“You mean, they actually found someone?” the man asked, rising to his feet and walking down the rest of the stairs.

“I told you they had, and that he would be arriving in the next day or so. At least it sounds like he’ll have guards to arrest these fakers,” she added with a glare at Casmir and Karl.

A minute later Braxton strode through the front door, and Karl smiled, relieved to see him.

“Well, the outside needs some work, but the inside doesn’t look too bad,” Braxton said as he looked around the foyer. He looked over at Karl. “I’ll send some gardeners over to at least get started on clearing away the mess out there until you’re able to hire permanent staff for that.”

“I appreciate it,” Karl replied.

Braxton nodded and walked over, brushing a white-gloved hand through Karl’s hair. “You have flour in your hair again. Have you been to see the kitchen here yet? I heard it’s a decent size.”

“Haven’t gotten past the doorway,” Casmir replied, his tone sardonic, yet cheeky at the same time.

“We, uh, had a bit of trouble,” Karl added.

“That’s what you get for sneaking out of the palace at a ridiculous hour of the morning in street clothes,” Braxton replied, bopping him gently on the top of the head with a loose fist. “Right.” He clapped his hands as he turned to the three servants, all of whom were staring at Braxton with their mouths open.

“This is Lord Karlow Musen Whist, Baron Whistfield.” He waved at Karl.

“This is His Highness, Prince Casmir Sventoval. I am Prince Braxton Tovalian. And this is the paperwork declaring Karl as the rightful heir of Whistfield,” he finished, waving to someone outside, who hurried in carrying a fat folder full of papers.

“We’ve come to assess the state of the house, hire on full staff, and make ready for Karl to move in. ”

All three servants gaped a moment longer before belatedly dropping to their knees in a deep bow.

“None of that,” Braxton called, already walking past them to the stairs. “We have far too much to do, and I need to get back to the palace in time for a lunch meeting I can’t miss. Let’s go!” he called in the direction of the open doorway.

First inside was Shan, closely followed by Lyric, and after them came a stream of people who dispersed throughout the house.

“Are you okay?” Karl asked, hurrying over to Shan. “I heard about the attack.”

Shan grinned. “Not a scratch on me, but Uncle Terrance is pretty glad I’m moving here instead.

He didn’t appreciate the assassins disrupting his meal prep last night.

And then Lyric ran into the room and knocked some stuff over.

When Uncle Braxton said you’d be needing a sous chef here, I was happy to take the job. ”

“I’m not hiring my own brother as my servant!” Karl yelped out.

Shan laughed. “As if you won’t be spending more time in your own kitchen than me. This is what I want to do. I’m just lucky my brother has the chance to make it happen for me.”

Karl frowned at him, glancing from Shan’s hopeful expression up to Lyric’s frowning one.

“I doubt I’ll be able to accommodate you at the level of luxury you prefer,” Karl said to Lyric.

Ama’s words earlier about how Lyric rushed to Shan’s side, and the way Lyric was hovering protectively over Shan now was very indicative of Lyric’s intentions.

Shan looked up at Lyric after Karl’s warning, and the way his eyes shone as their gazes connected said Shan returned Lyric’s attentions.

“Quieter here,” Lyric replied. “I’m not really a Prince of Yaroi any longer, since I’ve defected, so it’s better for me to be here with Shan than in the palace.”

“He’s right, you know,” Casmir added, dropping an arm over Karl’s shoulder as he joined them. The warmth and comfort of that arm was addicting, and Karl wanted to snuggle closer to feel more of Casmir’s body against his. Only Shan’s knowing smirk kept Karl still.

“What is he right about?” Karl asked, forcing his mind to stay on task.

“You’re going to be holding meetings with other nobles and important people elbow deep in flour in the kitchen. I can see it now.”

“As if!” Karl elbowed Casmir in the stomach, and his arm dropped away from Karl’s shoulders to protectively cover his midriff. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go see the kitchens now, right?”

“Right,” Shan replied, grinning.

Karl turned to look at the three servants, who were still standing in the middle of the foyer, mouths dropped open. “Are the kitchens this way?” he asked, pointing toward the door under the stairs.

“N-no, my lord,” the older woman said. “I mean, yes my lord, but that’s the servant’s halls.”

“Is there any way to get to the kitchen without going through the servant’s halls?” Karl asked. “And don’t call me my lord. I’m Karl.”

“Um, no, my— um, Lord Karl. The kitchens are close to the dining room, though, so we could go through there instead?”

“Lead the way, then, please,” Karl replied, smiling at her. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to get used to us,” he added as she started walking. “We’re an odd bunch, for nobles. What’s your name, by the way?”

“I’m Leslie, Lord Karl. I’m a kitchen servant. Stephanie is your chambermaid, and Gerald is your manservant. There used to be more servants, of course, but the estate only needed us three on staff while they searched for the new lord.”

“Nice to meet you, Leslie. It sounds like Uncle Braxton is working on fixing the servants issue—” He had probably corralled the street urchins in the gardening shed and likely hired them as house laborers, which was going to be interesting .

“—so we should have a full house again in no time.” And for the first time, Karl found himself looking forward to his future here.

With Casmir and Shan at his side, he was actually starting to believe suddenly becoming a baron wasn’t going to be too bad.