The Cook’s Daughter at His Majesty Academy

2- Locker Room B

Eveline

I spent the entire next day convinced Prince Cassian Atwater was going to ruin my life for entertainment.

Every time someone walked into the kitchens my head snapped up expecting Leonard Kingsley standing there holding Amelia’s letter with polite disappointment on his face. It never happened, which honestly made me more nervous.

“Did he read it?” Amelia whispered excitedly through the phone later that afternoon.

I balanced the receiver between my shoulder and ear while kneading dough harder than necessary. “How would I know?”

“You were literally inside his room.”

“And almost died there.”

“That dramatic prince was there, wasn’t he?”

I immediately glanced around the kitchen for no real reason. “You need to stop calling him dramatic,” I muttered.

Amelia gasped. “Oh my God, Evie. You like him.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“You defended him.”

“I did not defend him. I said you should stop insulting members of the royal family out loud because I enjoy remaining employed.”

She hummed like she didn’t believe me for a second. Then, because Amelia apparently enjoyed making my life difficult, she said, “Can you write another letter next week?”

I nearly dropped the bowl. “Another one?”

“The first one was good.”

“You haven’t even gotten a response yet.”

“But what if he’s emotionally overwhelmed and needs encouragement?”

I stared blankly at the wall.

“Evie. Please? Just one more to keep his attention?”

“Amelia,” I said slowly, “you saw Leonard Kingsley one time.”

“And it changed me.”

“You need psychological help.”

She laughed loudly enough that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “I have to go,” I said quickly. “Rosa is looking over here.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon pretending to scrub baseboards in Ashton hallway while keeping my ears open for the sound of Leonard Kingsley’s footsteps. Nothing. The HM4 boys went about their normal routine like nothing had happened, like I wasn’t up here having a minor crisis every time a shadow passed the door.

Night shift was supposed to be quieter. Rosa noticed immediately.

“You’re volunteering for extra hallway duty?” she asked suspiciously.

“I enjoy cleaning.”

Rosa narrowed her eyes. “No you don’t.”

Fair enough. Still, cleaning the east corridor sounded significantly safer than accidentally making eye contact with Cassian Atwater again. Unfortunately, helping one person a single time apparently turned into permanent responsibility around here.

Martha found me wiping down the trophy cases and immediately lit up like I’d saved her life. “Sweet girl, you’re a godsend. I forgot the hockey boys’ laundry. Locker room B. The others are busy and Amelia’s not here.”

I opened my mouth to say no. “Can’t one of the other cleaners do it?”

“They’re busy downstairs.” Martha sighed and pressed a laundry basket into my arms. “Amelia usually handles it but she’s at Crown Princess now.”

Of course she was. I stared at the basket like it had personally betrayed me. Then Martha gave me that look, the one that said she raised me and would weaponize guilt without hesitation.

“Fine,” I muttered. “But if I die, it’s your fault.”

She patted my cheek and pushed the basket further into my arms. “The locker rooms should be empty anyway.”

That was the only reason I agreed.

I pushed the locker room door open carefully and exhaled. The air smelled like sweat and cheap body spray and for a second I actually relaxed. Empty. No princes. No problem.

I put my headphones in and moved between the lockers collecting jerseys and practice uniforms. I reached Cassian’s locker eventually, mostly because his jersey had been shoved carelessly onto the bench instead of folded like everyone else’s. Typical. I picked it up before I could stop myself.

ATWATER. 17.

I stared at it half a second longer than I should have and then tossed it in the basket. Not because I was thinking about his bruised jaw or the way he’d said my name. Obviously not.

I stuffed the jersey into the basket and kept moving.

I finished collecting the rest and headed toward the shower area to check for anything left behind. That’s when I heard it. Water running. Low voices. Laughter.

I froze. The locker room was supposed to be empty.

I was already backing toward the door when my foot caught the edge of the basket. The whole thing went down with a loud crash, hockey gear scattering across the tile.

The voices stopped.

The shower curtain ripped open.

Joffery Welling stood there, wet, naked, with another boy pressed behind him equally undressed, both of them completely stunned and very much in the middle of something.

My brain stopped working entirely. For three full seconds nobody moved.

Joffery stared at me like he was waiting for his entire life to collapse. The other boy made a sound that was almost a squeak and bolted for the lockers.

I dropped my gaze immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, Martha said it would be empty, I’m so sorry—” The words kept tumbling out and I couldn’t stop them. My face was burning. I wanted the floor to swallow me completely.

Joffery didn’t yell. He didn’t look angry. He looked mortified, which was somehow worse. “Yeah, okay. Get out. Now.”

“Right. Yes. Leaving. Right now.”

I turned and walked out fast, laundry basket still on the floor, heart pounding like I had just committed a crime. I didn’t know what was worse anymore, accidentally making Cassian Atwater laugh, or discovering one of the most famous boys in the country had a secret nobody on campus knew about.

I didn’t sleep. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Joffery’s face, not angry, not embarrassed, just shocked and then that careful look he gave me right before he told me to leave. What if he told Cassian? What if they decided the cook’s daughter was too much trouble?

At 5:14 in the morning Rosa opened my door without knocking.

“Eveline, get up.”

I groaned into my pillow.

“Martha is furious. You left the hockey laundry in locker room B. Go back and finish it before the boys wake up.”

I couldn’t even argue. “Rosa, I can’t—”

“Yes you can. Go now, before the morning crowd hits.”

She walked out without waiting for an answer.

I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on my uniform and shuffled down to locker room B in the dark. My plan was simple. Get in, grab the basket, get out. It was 5:30 in the morning. Even hockey players needed sleep.

I pushed the door open and stood still for a second, listening.

Silence.

“Thank God,” I whispered.

I walked toward the shower area to get the basket.

The shower door opened.

Prince Cassian Atwater walked out completely naked and looked directly at me.

I froze so hard the basket nearly slipped from my hands. Water ran down his chest while he dragged a towel through his damp hair like this was a perfectly normal situation and not the single worst moment of my life. His eyes moved from my face to the laundry basket and back up slowly, like he had all the time in the world and found this genuinely amusing.

“Well,” he said. “Starting to think you’re doing this on purpose now, Winter.”