Page 4 of Twisted Kings
"Of course, your grace," she says, "it would be easier if the next nanny did not have so many preconceived notions. As long as you're quite certain."
"I am," I say with finality and turn back to my computer. "Now—"
The door bursts open, and Benedict strolls in without a knock or an announcement, with no regard for what I might be doing. And he wonders why I lock the door occasionally when I genuinely do not want to be disturbed.
"Angeles, I didn't know that you had company," he says to me before smiling at Mrs. Harris. She stops herself from rolling her eyes. I can tell. He was always her favorite, up into recently. But he's been in her bad books for the last little while. If he stopped to think about why he'd have some personal revelations on the direction his life is heading. But that's not Benedict. He is charging ahead, with no mind for anything but what pleases him.
He should have never been heir. Not that I, or our father, had any choice in the matter. If only Madeline had been born a boy…
"Well, I'll leave you to it, thank you, your grace," Mrs. Harris has collected the tablet and walks out the room with a brief, shallowest of curtseys for my brother, Benedict King, Marquis of Hollywood and Long Beach.
The door clicks shut behind her, and Benedict whistles.
"She's crabby," he says with a fake pout. It's a stupid expression for a man in his mid-twenties, but I long ago realized I couldn't school my younger brother into better behavior or a proper mien.
He won't ever grow up until I am dead and the barony's coronet rests on his head. And probably not even then. I hate to think of the entirety of Los Angeles falling into his hands and how poorly he might manage it.
Our barony stretches for miles and encompasses one of the most significant financial engines in the whole world. So many people depend on our careful guidance for their employment, their entire lives depending on the strong shoulders of the King family. We have ruled here for the last five generations, distant relations to the original Kings who founded the city and were crowned duke and duchess of the area by the then Queen of America.
But Benedict will never understand what we owe to these people, who look to us for guidance and protection. He refuses to.
"What do you want?" I ask, not hiding my irritation and letting it fully color my voice. He huffs at me.
"So, a new nanny?" He asks a sly smirk stretching his lips upward.
I give him a flat look of warning.
"You are not to go near her," I demand. Benedict flutters his eyelashes at me in the way I hate. It doesn't suit him; overly dramatic.
"You could hire a boy, and then it wouldn't be a problem," he says, "but you're stuck in the past, convinced caregiving is only for women. Who knows, if you hired a man for the position, Noah might come back—"
My teeth want to grind, but I don't let them. Instead, I steel myself and steady my voice.
"I'm disinterested in a battle of wits today; what do you need? More spending money?"
"Vegas was a bore," he says, explaining why his accounts are hopelessly empty. He sighs and drapes himself on one of the leather armchairs in front of my desk, usually for more important and less impertinent visitors than him. He's got a leg over one arm, slouching in it in a way our old governess would have slapped him for.
I miss the days of the governess. Madeline won't be brought up by one. It'll be masters in different subjects to teach her, to give her the best foundation possible as a young woman who will come of age in D.C.'s viper-ridden courts. Her future is not in Los Angeles, and she will have to find a partner far from here, to strengthen business ties. Perhaps New York. Or…
There are two princes in the White House, after all. Aiming my sights high for her wouldn't be wrong.
"Out of money again, then," I say, tapping on my keyboard and bringing up the accounts. I frown. He's run through twice what he's owed this quarter alone. But he's watching me with hooded eyes. Benedict knows what he can get away with. "If you keepsquandering, there'll be nothing left of what you inherited, and you'll start dipping into the incomes from your ridings."
He shrugs.
Of course, he doesn't care. It doesn't matter to him. Consequences mean nothing.
With a few clicks of my mouse and his accounts are full again, so he can fuck right off and leave me to run our estate and lands. I feel the pressure of building the coffers up so much that no matter what he does when he takes over, he won't possibly be able to run through the money in whatever's left of his lifetime.
We're only five years apart. I fully intend to live a long life. His time in my chair will be limited at best. Who knows, maybe he'll die before me? He does like to skydive. I try not to let that thought drive a smile onto my face. I wouldn't want him to think that his presence pleases me. In any form. The only way I could enjoy him is if he were dead.
"Your generosity belies your ill temperament," he says, adopting the most formal of speech patterns just to needle me. He gives me a two-fingered salute, casual and insubordinate. There isn't much I can or want to do about it though. His attitude will only hamper him. It's the main reason he hasn't been able to find a wife, a Marchioness, to hold his hand and give him children. He's offended half of the fathers at court, and even his good looks won't save him with the mothers. They keep their daughters well away from him, being known to be a complete rake and a despoiler of virgins.
Look what happened to the last nanny. It didn't take him long. Only a few short weeks and she was ruined.
"I want to remind you," I say as he makes his way to the door. "That your niece needs a stable presence in her life, and if you care about her at all, you'll leave her new nanny in peace."
Benedict gives me a look over his shoulder like he can't believe that I'm bringing this up now, when his wallet is newly flush with cash and it's his turn to run out and have some fun at the barony's expense.