“Loren says you’ve been settling in well during my absence. I’ve been pleased with his progress reports on your behavior.” As he steps into the main guest bathroom, his shiny black shoes coming into view, I remain silent. “When I praise you, my queen, I expect you to respond.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bordeaux.”

“You’re welcome.” He leans down and runs a hand over my tangled locks. “You need to shower and dress for company. Come to the great room in twenty minutes.” Without another word, he pivots and disappears into the hall.

Bewildered by his abrupt summons, I abandon the task, tossing the sudsy sponge into the trashcan, and hurry into my private bath, where I take a five-minute shower before pulling on a black linen dress. By the time I walk into the great room with three minutes to spare, damp hair braided on the side, my heart rate is pumping double time because his “company” can’t be a good thing.

But then my eyes meet Liam’s from across the room, and my pulse speeds up for a different reason. I freeze for a few seconds until the sight of Mr. Bordeaux, standing tall at Liam’s side, sends me to my knees.

My stoic keeper holds up a hand, halting my descent to the floor. “The chancellor is here to join us for lunch. He’s requested you not kneel during his visit.”

Liam doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “I also ask that you allow her freedom of speech.”

“That isn’t necessary, Chancellor. We have important matters to discuss and don’t need the distraction of a woman’s inconsequential chatter.”

I bite back a retort, knowing he’ll only punish me for my “sharp” tongue, and I’m not fond of the taste of rubber. Though part of me wants to know how it’s possible for a woman to have a sharp tongue while being prone to mindless chatter. The two aren’t complementary traits.

“Shall we?” Mr. Bordeaux says, gesturing for the chancellor to precede him into the formal dining room. I follow on their tail, and after the three of us take our seats, Liam across from me and Mr. Bordeaux at the head of the table, Loren appears with the fresh greens I prepped an hour ago. His stare is discreet as he piles lettuce and salad toppings onto each of our plates, but I detect a hint of speculation in his gray eyes.

I’ve only been a subject of Mr. Bordeaux’s for a week, most of which he spent away on business, but sitting in a chair next to him during mealtime—instead of eating with Loren in the kitchen—feels foreign and somehow wrong. If it weren’t for Liam’s presence, I’d rather be in the kitchen with Loren.