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So Penelope had been on the look out for Azriel, watching to see when he’d leave while loitering around and away from the view of the head maid. And when he finally did leave, dressed in a casual shirt that billowed with the wind and trousers that pronounced his long legs, she knew he was going to see to some tasks around the house, and she used that window to rush to his room and clean.

There wasn’t much to do. His bed was unmade as if he had been restless in his sleep. A tray of finished breakfast sat on his bedside table, some tea spilled on the marble top. On another table, his knives were scattered, as if tossed from a long day out. Penelope got to work immediately, making the bed first with an adept of someone used to doing so for a long time. She plumped the pillows last, then set about to clean the dust off surfaces, reminding herself to be quick as she worked.

When she swept up the last of the dust from the floor, she was thoroughly pleased with herself, the air carrying the smell of soap. So she packed her cleaning tools, assessed her work, and opened the door to leave.

The only issue was that Azriel standing by the door, his hands deep in his pockets, and giving her that sinful smirk of his.

“You don’t look too happy to see me,” he said.

She wasn’t, and she didn’t try to hide the disappointment. She had been so close, so so close. She was certain he must have been watching her enter his chambers, or knew she must be on duty that day.

“Forgive me, my Lord. I’d leave you to your privacy.” Penelope said, and moved toward him, hoping he would get out of the way.

But Azriel’s broad frame didn’t budge, and he closed the gap between them, forcing Penelope back into the room. With one hand, he shut the door behind him.

.....

“I want you in my privacy, Pen,” he said.

“I have told you my stand on that, my Lord,” Penelope said for what she thought would be the hundredth time.

Azriel folded his arms before him and gave a humourous tilt of his head. “There’s too much back and forth between us. Isn’t it tiring for you?”

“I am not the one doing it,” Penelope said.

“But you are the one that could stop it,” Azriel said. When Penelope attempted to speak, he raised a hand. “I know, you’d rather eat raw cactus. I saw some yesterday at a stall in the market, and I was reminded of you.”

Penelope’s hand tightened around the handle of her pail. “I would like to leave, my Lord.”

“And I would like to talk to you,” Azriel said. He moved away from the front of her, and sat at the foot of the neatly made bed.

“Sit, Pen,” he said.

Penelope looked around, and the banquette chair at the furthest end of the room beckoned to her as the safest place she could sit. So she moved there, and when she sat and looked at Azriel, he rose a brow, but said nothing.

“You’re hiding something from Zavian and me,” Azriel started.

Penelope blinked. It was not what she was expecting to hear. “Something? Like what my Lord?”

“In the royal chambers a few days ago, something had triggered Neera to break things the way she did. You alone knew what she had said, and now, she’s being an entire...case for the King to deal with. You’re going to tell me what she told you Pen.”

Penelope looked away from his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my Lord. I told you what happened.”

“And I want the truth this time.”

“And the truth is what I supplied you with,” Penelope said. She rose to her feet quickly. “I am sorry, my Lord, but I do have immediate chores to get to before noon.”

She didn’t wait for him to excuse her, or his permission to leave before hurrying to the doors. But Azriel was at the doorway again, displeasure plastered on his frowning brows.

“You do know all I have to do is read your palm?” Azriel said.

Penelope took several steps back, the promise to Neera ringing in her head. He could find out everything from holding her palm, and now that Neera seemed to be warming to her the tiniest bit, she couldn’t give out the treasured bit of a resuscitating friendship, only to have it dead again if the King finds out.

“Please don’t,” Penelope resorted to begging.

“Then you’ll tell me,” Azriel said, his voice soft. “Or I would have no other choice, Pen. I can’t see my best friend in turmoil over something that can be helped.”

“No, she...she is fine, I promise,” Penelope said. “Just give her time. There’s nothing wrong with her.”

“Pen...,” Azriel took a step toward her. “I have to. Don’t make me force you.”

“She is my best friend too!” Penelope yelled. “And you are going to have to take my word for it.”

Azriel sighed. “I gave you your chance.”

Penelope ducked, and the pail clattered, throwing all her cleaning supplies on the floor. She made a beehive for the doors and was successful in opening it, only for Azriel’s strong arm to find its way around her waist and lift her away from the door.

“Let me go!” She yelled, grasping at the handle, twisting and turning her body in his hold. Azriel set her down and closed the door. Penelope scanned the room for something, windows were too high, Azriel was too strong to go past, and his knives lay arranged on –

His Knives