The king's eye

Ardon

The child steadies on the bench, palms scrubbed clean and cup empty in her hands. Marek has his room back in hand, lines restored, orders moving. A general in my kitchen, and just as I need it. The west yard is contained and the count will arrive soon enough.

My attention though stays on Esme.

She stands with water on her sleeves and a strip of pale gold hair loose against her cheek. I watched her cross the corridor, cut a rogue’s knee from under him, and pull the child into cover with no waste and no panic. An omega trained for scullery doesn’t move like that.

Korrath presses harder, he doesn’t ask, he demands in a voice I can't argue with even if I wanted. ‘Look closer.’

Esme lowers her head because Marek stepped into my line and spoke for her, yet nothing about her posture is small. Shoulders are level, hands are steady and the space around her reads controlled, not cowed. When she checks the child’s face, heat rises through me in a clean rush that I do not allow to show.

Her scent cuts through the smoke and broth. Not soft, and not simple. There’s an edge under it that doesn’t belong to soap, fatigue, or fear and it slips, breaks in steam and returns when the air clears. My guard shifts to signal the yard report and I lift two fingers without looking. He waits.

‘Mate,’ Korrath insists, knowing I'll internally growl in annoyance in a moment.

I lock him down. I’ve carried that word through winters and councils and I don’t let it choose for me. The idea that fate would put a kitchen maid in my path tests every line I hold, the council would turn it into a blade to cut my throat in my sleep and the court would turn it into a spectacle., and I don’t build a realm on a pull across a doorway.

Marek’s gaze meets mine, steady and level. 

“House Merren’s runner is on the way,” he says. “We’ll hold the child until she’s claimed. by her parents”

“Good.” I take one step toward the threshold and Esme lifts her eyes the rest of the way. They are storm grey and clear with no plea or challenge. Banked fire under control that wasn’t learned in service halls but in training that has cost her pain.

I should leave as the council will want answer to the attack and Lady Selene will wait for me where she thinks it makes the best impression and call it chance, while Darian and Nixton both need orders so they can hold three fronts without fraying the line.

But I don’t move.

Korrath wants the distance closed but I give him nothing I can't defend to the public later. He holds because I decide when we move. ‘You feel it,’ he says, not as a question. ‘Don’t waste time pretending you don’t.’

I give him silence and test whether I can set my focus elsewhere. I can’t.

Esme’s scent shifts again under kitchen heat and smoke. Tight and contained and if she were anyone else, I’d call it aftermath nerves and be done but I saw her set her weight and strike with precision while a rogue’s hand reached for a child. She wasn’t nervous then, and she isn’t nervous now.

“I would like to hear the tale from the maid herself, please, Marek.” I say before anyone can say anything. Korrath snorts in my mind, but I shut him down immediately. 

Marek’s eyebrows shoot up, while Rastin moves closer to Esme in the shadows. I want to growl at him for closing in on her, but I can’t. I can’t publicly claim her, not now, not here. But I can get her to speak to me. 

“Well?” Marek turns his head and nods for her to come forward and speak. She takes a small step, her voice quiet and calm. 

“The girl was in danger, Majesty, and I did what I thought was right to save her.” She says, and Korrath grunts at her answer. It’s as meek as her posture. 

“And?” I prompt, I don’t want this moment to end. Her voice is music to my ears, and I’m swelling in the forbidden glory of hearing her speak to me directly, even if it is under order. 

“And nothing, your Grace. I just acted on instinct, and luckily it was enough to help her. She is a child, and I couldn’t just do nothing.” Her voice hints at annoyance but she hides it well under a small quivering. I open my mouth to prolong the interaction, but Darian comes up to me before I can speak. 

“Majesty.” Darian says my shoulder. “West yard reports five down, three bound and one slipped. No breach past the outer court and no fire inside the gate.”

“Post the bound in the low cells,” I answer, stepping back because I choose to. “Hold them for the morning but I want names before noon.”

“Understood.”

I keep Esme in my sight one count longer, locking her perfect face, absolute beauty and puzzling traits into memory, before turning down the hallway. Darian matches me and he knows I’m thinking past orders.

“Rastin brought her in with three others last week,” he says without prompting. “Marek kept her in the kitchens and lower hall. Her name is Esme.”

“I know her name,” I say. “Keep her schedule as it stands. Quiet eyes only.”

“Yes.” He hesitates. “Rastin’s near her more than the others.”

“Watch him,” I answer. “Don’t touch him yet.” Korrath growls at the hint of the male being near her, but I shut him down again. 

We cross the herb yard. The threshold cat lifts its head and decides the corridor matters more than I do. The bitter thread I caught on Esme isn’t this and it refuses a name which bothers me more than it should.

Korrath hasn’t released his word, he keeps it lodged where I can’t ignore it. ‘Mate.’

“No omega maid is fated to me,” I say under my breath, wanting the words to be heard by the world as well as my wolf.

‘Then she isn’t what you’re calling her,’ he answers, too calm.

I’ll have Darian on Rastin’s path and I’ll tell Marek to keep his assignments tight. I’ll take Thalos’s push at my pace, not his and make the council talk policy until they forget to circle anything else. I’ll control the ground the way I always have.

When the light thins, I walk the barracks yard and set the morning’s pressure in terms my captains can carry and on the way back, I take the north passage and the niche where Esme stood in the hall holds nothing but cooler stone and a trace of mint.

Marek turns the corner with a ledger. “Majesty.”

“Marek.” I take in the flour at his cuff, the scuffs on his boots and the steady set of his mouth. “Your lines held. The child is back to her parents?”

“They’ll hold tomorrow as well, Majesty. Yes, she is back, and they were grateful.”

“Esme stays on your line,” I say. “Lower hall and kitchens. No change.”

“As you wish.” He studies me without impertinence. “Anything else?”

“Rastin’s near her more than his share. Keep your count.”

“My count doesn’t slip.”

“I know.” I step past him. “Signal me if your room stops feeling like your room.”

He inclines his head and goes on and I return to my desk and lay out the morning. Thalos will get his push, not his overreach while Varick will have to wait. Maelis will circle back to heirs and I’ll give her the same answer as today. Lady Selene will try again with better timing and Darian will bring me the list from the cells.

Korrath settles in my spine and waits. He’s patient when he’s certain.

The next time I stand within reach of Esme, I won’t leave with questions.