Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“No. But it doesn’t bother me that other people are.”
I shake my head, my jaw clenched. “Let me get one thing straight here, okay?” I growl, leaning into her so that the girls don’t hear. “You are their nanny. You are not their mother. Got that? You don’t get to make decisions like that. Those are my decisions to make.”
Anger sparks in her eyes, and I know she hates that I’m talking to her this way but frankly I don’t care. “You have to learn your place here in this palace,” I remind her. “You’re not part of the family. You’re just the help. You’re an employee of mine. And those girls there, those girls are not your sisters and they aren’t your friend. So, if you want to keep being paid to live in this house and do this job, you’re not to make any decisions like that without consulting me first. Got it?”
She presses her lips together and looks away.
“Do you want me to repeat that in Danish because I’m pretty sure you understand English,” I tell her.
“Yes,” she mumbles, and a bit of pink creeps up on her cheeks, her neck growing flushed as well. “I’m sorry I said it was okay. I should have deferred and then asked you to make the final decision.”
I watch her closely, trying to see if she’s lying, watching to see if she’s going to slip up and roll her eyes at me because I swear to god, if she does, she’s out of here. But she’s avoiding my gaze and she’s grown silent, which is a whole new thing for us. It’s scary, if anything.
“Look,” I say quickly, aware that the girls are still staring at us and picking up on our rigid, hostile body language. “I know you’re trying. I know you’re studying that handbook and highlighting important things. It’s just that—”
“How do you know that?” she says sharply, her eyes narrowing at me.
Ah. Right.
“I, uh, was in your room.”
“When?” she cries out.
“Just now.”
“Why?” She steps away from me, her eyes so full of vehemence that I shrink a little. “Why would you do that?”
“I wasn’t snooping,” I tell her, my attitude automatically getting haughty. “I was looking for you and I happened to see your handbook and notebook out on the desk.”
“You looked through my notebook?”
I swallow and glance at the girls again. This time, Clara’s brows are halfway up her forehead, staring at me expectantly. “All I saw were notes that you jotted down from the handbook. That’s all. Nanny things.”
“And what if that had been a diary? What if I’d written down my personal thoughts and feelings in there? Does that mean nothing to you?”
I raise my hands in surrender, aware that her voice is cracking and I’m not sure what she’s going to do next. Would she hit me right here in front of the girls, in my own palace? “I meant no harm.”
“No harm?” she repeats, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know what, Your Majesty? You expect me to treat you with respect but you give me none in return. We can keep dancing back and forth like this but the truth is, this won’t work until you and I are equals. I know where I stand with your family, don’t think I’ve forgotten my role, but my place in their lives isn’t as cut and dry as you think it is. Now I’m sorry that your daughters have decided to be vegetarians, but in the end it’s their choice what they decide to put into their bodies. In the end, it’s them who makes these decisions, not me, not you.”
“And now, if you’ll excuse me.” She clears her throat loudly, and with one hand makes a sharp adjustment of her hat. “I have a tea party I need to get back to.”
She turns on her heel, holding the rest of her long dress in her hands, and walks as gracefully as she can back to the table.
I swear Freja gives me the stink eye.
With a heavy sigh, I leave them and head back into the palace.
Chapter 7
Aurora
October
“Tivoli! Tivoooooooooli!”
The sound of Clara’s yelling breaks through my dreams. What’s going on and what the hell is Tivoli? I quickly try and remember my dream and I’m pretty sure Jason Momoa was in it again, wearing a crown, and so whatever interrupted that better be damn good.
I roll over in bed and blindly reach for my phone to check the time. Then I remember it’s Saturday and there’s no reason Clara should be up at 8 am and yelling for whoever or whatever Tivoli is.
Bang, bang, bang.
My door practically comes off the hinges thanks to someone pounding incessantly at it. Come to think of it, it sounds like two people are pounding at it. Little people.