COLE
“Mr. Barrett, I don't think you're obligated to jump every time Lady Skyla snaps her fingers.”
When he knocked on my study door for the third time this evening to inform me that Skyla Fox wanted to speak with me, I finally lost my patience. I looked up from the maze of paperwork spread across my desk and fixed him with a flat stare.
“Or perhaps we’ve finally reached that long-buried truth, that this palace no longer belongs to me, but to my ever-gracious stepmother and the gilded chain of the Fox family that clinks behind her. Is that it?”
Mr. Barrett’s face drained of color. “N-no, Your Majesty. It’s not like that at all,” he stammered. “Lady Skyla says it’s truly urgent this time—she insists she must speak with you tonight.”
“And when has it not been urgent?” I asked, letting
