^CHARLOTTE^
“This is the Royal Office, how may I help you?” I purred into the phone, trying to channel my inner ice queen.
“I need to speak to the King,” a gruff, confident voice barked back.
I rolled my eyes. Honestly, the nerve of some people. “About?”
“It’s between me and the King. It doesn’t concern some little receptionist. Transfer me through, little girl,” he growled, the arrogance practically seeping through the phone line.
My temper, already simmering from my delightful interview with King Arthur, flared. I saw Lyta stir, about to intervene, but I got there first. “The King is a very busy man,”
I said, feigning politeness, “He doesn’t concern himself with little commoners. Can I take a message?” I knew calling him a “commoner” would hit a nerve. This guy reeked of self-impo
