Delicious Deception

Chapter Two

Jenkin's fingers, usually so sure and deft, trembled as they traced the fine wool fabric of the frock coat. A lattice of moth-eaten holes marred the emerald green, each a tiny testament to neglect. Viktor's frock coat. He'd gone searching for it at the back of the closet the day after Leander insisted on wearing it, knowing it would be best to make sure all was in order long before the night in question—and all most certainly had not been in order, despite the musty smell of mothballs that lingered in the air. He had been so careful to keep it hidden away, out of sight and out of mind. But now...had he not tended the back of the closet enough? No, of course not—the evidence of that was right there in his hands. He swallowed dryly, heart as heavy as the ornate gilded mirror that reflected his stricken expression. The worst part was he could hear the prince's voice as it carried down the hall, even as he stood with the shameful evidence of his neglect.

"Shoddy light fixtures," Leander's voice echoed as he strode into the bedchamber, Shang following closely behind. "Honestly, you'd think this castle would have sturdier illumination. It's positively medieval." Although Leander's voice sounded jovial to the untrained ear, Jenkin detected the same note of melancholy he'd woken up to that morning, and inwardly shivered.

"Your Highness, rest assured, I shall look into the matter," Shang replied, deep voice rumbling.

"Jenkin?" Leander's voice cut through. "What have you got there?" Jenkin forced himself to turn around. The crown prince stood at the entrance of his bedchambers, looking every bit the image of royalty in his elegant court uniform, but like this morning, he seemed tired and...smaller, somehow. Jenkin knew he hadn't had a good night's sleep, having heard him call out the names of what he could only assume were fellow soldiers from his adjoining room. When he'd helped dress him that morning, Leander had barely even smiled, just stared at his own reflection with dark under eye circles. Jenkin knew it was already a terrible day for the prince, and it was about to get a lot worse.

"Is that Viktor's frock coat?" Frowning, Leander crossed the room and held out a hand almost imperiously for the evidence of Jenkin's folly. Mutely, Jenkin handed it to him, feeling ill. Leander held it out in front of him, light shining through the moth-eaten holes as though to taunt Jenkin. After an agonizingly long moment, he lowered it and stared at Jenkin, his eyes unreadable. "How could you let this happen?" he asked lowly, and Jenkin's heart sank even further.

"Is there a problem, your highness?" Shang asked, his hands clasped behind him.

Leander ignored the butler. "I'm waiting for an answer," he said, louder this time, the coldness of his face twisting into something so utterly full of malice that Jenkin wondered if this was what his Blienau kinsmen saw on the prince's face during battle, right before he cut them down. It was something he'd never seen before, and it chilled him to the bone.

Jenkin's heart hammered against his rib cage, a silent drumbeat of panic as he finally answered, "I-I put it away for the season...I didn't think—"

"Think!" Leander's furious voice interrupted. "Don't you dare think! I didn't hire you for your brains, and you've just proved it by ruining Viktor's coat." His face twisted into a mask of utter disgust as he spat out the last words. "You're unworthy of breathing the same air as the rest of us, you...you filthy gutterblight!"

Time froze at the slur for Jenkin, his fear of disappointing the person he cared most about turning into cold shock.

Leander was a lot of things. He was impetuous, prideful, spoiled, and occasionally selfish, but he was never cruel. He was never cruel...and yet, he had just been cruel to Jenkin. Jenkin could not have been more shocked if Leander had rushed in and dumped a bucket of ice water on him, and he would have been considerably less hurt.