"What are you doing?"
The King's voice made me jump. I did not even know when he walked in. Oh heavens.
My hands shook around the book, and worse, I could not deny that I had just read one of his intimate poems.
I turned toward the door where he stood, and my breath hitched at the sight of him. The heated, intent glare he threw at me was something I had never seen on his face before. I had never seen Harry Hulk this upset.
In all the days I had worked with him, he always wore a calm expression. Even when I mistakenly spilled coffee on an important document, he merely raised a brow. That was all.
If this was what he looked like when angry, then no one should ever make him angry. The world would burn.
At that moment, he looked terrifying, like a demon you should never cross unless you wished for hell.
The King strode toward me, his eyes moving from my face to my hands pressed flat against the open page.
"I ask you again," he said, his jaw clenched hard. "What are you doing?"
"I…I…I…" I tried to speak, but every word collapsed into a stammer. "I did… no… not… mean, I...."
"I told you not to touch anything."
His chest rose and fell, each word measured, as though he was forcing down an even deeper rage.
When he reached me, I stepped back at once. I could not be this close to him when he was this upset. What if he punched me?
A gust of wind rushed in through the parted stained windows, flipping the pages shut, leaving only the first page exposed.
The name stared back at us.
MARYANN.
The King's eyes darkened as he looked at the page. For a moment, he froze. Damn. I had touched a nerve.
Since the day I arrived, the King had been nothing but kind. He saved me in moments of danger, protected me when I least deserved it. And now, I had done the one thing he warned me against.
I should be punished.
He closed his eyes, his hand gripping the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned pale.
My own hands clasped the hem of my maiden dress, trembling hard. I needed my phone. At least then I would have something to hold on to. Whenever I was nervous, gripping it always steadied me.
Now I stood bare, unsure of what to do.
"Do you read?"
He spoke slowly and carefully, his eyes still shut.
"I… I didn't mean to."
His eyes flew open. They narrowed at once. Sunlight brushed the side of his jaw, and I saw it tighten again.
"You read, for a maid." He confirmed, disbelief edged his voice. He was still upset, deeply so, and the hard look he gave me proved it.
"I… well… I…" Damn it. I had forgotten this was the past, where only the privileged could read, and mostly men. "I told you I'm from the future," I said, clearing my throat. I looked everywhere but at his face. "Reading is common. Everyone reads."
His brow lifted, unconvinced. Still, he said nothing.
My shoulders sagged. Just when he had begun to believe me, I had given him another reason not to. Another reason to see me as someone untrustworthy. A spy.
King Harry turned back to the book. His fingers traced the name on the page slowly.
My chest tightened. Whoever bore that name must have meant everything to him. And now, he would never forgive me.
He closed the book gently and pushed it aside, then sat on the cleared edge of the desk. His eyes met mine. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Only then did I truly see him.
He was not wearing his royal robes. Instead, he wore a tailored black suit, edged with gold. His hair was combed neatly back, framing that finely sculpted jaw. A golden crown rested on his head, fitted as though it belonged nowhere else.
"Isabel," he said.
The way he drawled my name snapped my attention back to him.
"Y-yes, Your Majesty."
My hands remained clasped, but this time, I did not look away.
His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but he only stared at me. Maybe he was deciding what punishment to give me.
My eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall. Truthfully, I was tired. Tired of this world and everything it kept throwing at me. I had barely rested since I arrived. All I had found was trouble.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," I said softly. "I only read the first page. I didn't mean to."
I bit my lip when his gaze darkened. He definitely had not wanted anyone to read that. And I had.
"Go." He nodded toward the door.
But I didn't move. I hated this about him. Yes, my boss and the King were different men, but I doubted the difference mattered now. He told me to leave, yet I knew he hadn't forgiven me.
"My King, I… please, I...."
"Forget about what you read," he said through clenched teeth. "Leave. Now."
"Yes. Yes, of course."
I grabbed the bucket and hurried out, but not before glancing back. He was still watching me, those dark, intent eyes fixed on my retreat.
My heart hammered as I rushed out and shut the door behind me. Outside, I leaned against it, chest rising and falling fast.
If he started treating me like Lady Tyra did, or like the elders who believed I was a spy, then I was finished. I had to do something to ease his mind before he added my name to his black book.
I took a deep breath and pushed myself upright, then hurried toward the maidens' quarters. I found Matilda folding linens, placing them neatly into a basket. Unlike the other maidens' rooms, hers was spacious, with a finely carved luggage chest beside the table.
"Isabel." She looked up, her catlike eyes filled with warmth as they met mine. The moment she smiled, my nerves eased. She reached out, and I rushed to take her hand.
"Oh, Matilda," I breathed, "what would I have done if I hadn't met you in this world?"
She laughed softly, nudging me as I sat down. But instead of settling properly, I leaned into her shoulder and let out a long sigh.
"What happened to you?"
She stopped folding the linen and turned to me. I straightened, studying her face. I wanted to tell her everything, but something held me back. A maid who could read was already suspicious enough. I needed to be careful.
"How many years have you served here?" I asked suddenly. Her answer would decide my next question.
She studied me for a moment, then replied, "All my life."
My eyes widened. No, they nearly bulged. All her life? And here I was, thinking my own life had been hard. No wonder she was the head maiden.
"My mother served the former King before she passed away," she said, her gaze drifting to the wall. Pain flickered across her eyes, and I instantly regretted asking. "I became head maiden after her death, serving His Majesty."
"I'm sorry about your mother," I whispered, squeezing her hand gently. "It must be hard, doing life alone."
She laughed softly and turned to me. "I'm not alone. Oh, I'm not." She waved her hand lightly. "The royal house has always been my home. Everyone here is family. My mother was very close to the late Queen, so I grew up knowing her. She was a lovely woman."
"The late Queen?" I asked. "The King's mother?"
She nodded, and I inhaled sharply. I really needed to make things right with him.
"She died when he was only ten," Matilda said, pity in her voice. "And he has been King ever since."
"What about his father?" I asked. "He's still alive." Why would a father place such a burden on a child?
Matilda must have read my thoughts, because she shook her head. "A living drunk," she muttered. "Not many know. Only those close to the royal house." She grabbed a linen and folded it with more force than necessary before placing it in the basket.
"The late Queen ran the palace," she continued. "To the world, he was King and leader, but in truth, she bore the weight of it all." She shook her head. "After her death, he couldn't handle it. He claimed sickness and weakness and handed the throne to his son."
Ah!
But I had seen him earlier, walking just fine, pressuring his son to marry. Whatever happened to being weak?
"He looked fine a while ago," I blurted.
She smiled faintly. "Of course he is. His son is a fitting King now. He no longer has to worry."
Shame. A deep, bitter shame for a father who placed an entire kingdom in his son's hands at such a tender age. No wonder his poems spoke of loneliness. The thought made me inhale sharply. I never should have read them. And maybe Maryann… maybe she had been someone he loved but could never be with.
I wanted to ask about her, but I knew I would be prying into something that didn't concern me. So instead, I asked,
"What eases the King when he is upset?"
Matilda paused mid-fold and turned to me, eyes wide with confusion. When she realized I was serious, she cleared her throat.
"I don't think I have ever seen him upset."
Ah. As if I would believe that.
"But he spends most of his time in his library," she added with a shrug. "So many books."
"Thank you, Matilda."
I stood, but she was still staring at me.
"Is there a problem?" She asked.
"Nothing to worry about," I said, though her gaze lingered.
I waved lightly and walked away. Books, huh. I wondered what kind of book could ease his anger.
Later that evening, after finishing my tasks, I headed straight there. The library was quieter than before. The lamps had been dimmed, just enough to guide my steps. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving little natural light behind.
I wandered through the shelves, scanning spines until one caught my interest. Science and Geography.
I frowned.
Where were all the happy ending fairytales?
I moved to another section. Farming and Tools.
Seriously?
Reaching another part of the shelves where a narrow path opened between them, I walked farther in, my fingers brushing gently over the spines until I reached a section that might possibly hold romantic books.
LADY OF THE NIGHT BY GEORGE KONNEL
I pulled it out and instantly slapped my hand over the cover.
What the heck!
Slowly, I uncovered it and froze.
The intimate image stared back at me. A man in the act of undressing a woman, her cleavage boldly on display.
Nope. Nope. No.
How was I supposed to read this to the King?
"Right here. It's quiet."
Huh! voices?
I quickly stepped back and hid myself. From the intersection of the shelves, I caught sight of two figures entering the library. Their faces were hidden, but the voice was unmistakably familiar.
"What do I do, Father?" the female voice rang out, filled with protest. "The ball is weeks away."
My breath caught.
Tyra.
I tiptoed closer and saw her leaning against the wall. A man stood beside her, his back to me. Her father, I assumed.
"You have nothing to worry about," he said calmly. "The King is yours, and I will make sure of it."
Tyra still looked uneasy. She began to pace.
"I'm worried," she said. "I've never seen him protect anyone the way he protected that maiden."
My heart skipped.
Was she… talking about me?
Suddenly, my hand brushed against a book. It slipped from the shelf and hit the floor with a sharp thud.
The man turned his head instantly, dark eyes sweeping the library.
"Who's there?"