She turned it over a few times, then nodded. “Layla Fischer, owner of the Renversé Hotel. Let’s take this into my office.”
I followed her, my system running hot trying to figure out how she knew who I was. Not just that I was Niren, but that she knew my name. I didn’t get a malicious vibe from her; the opposite—her energy seemed amiable. The hotel’s energy, though glitchy, echoed that. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel hesitant as I joined her in her office.
The dark wood suited her. It reflected a grounding presence and the same friendly energy as the lobby. Layla pointed me toward an old desk scattered with papers, a computer, and a steaming mug.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I interrupted you at your work.”
I couldn’t quite decipher the look in her eyes, but I felt like I was being scolded by Min-Tess—one of those very human expressions he was fond of.
“Nothing that can’t wait. Go on, sit down. Can I get you anything?”
“I had an espresso at the café across the plaza.”
“Café Magnifique, yes. They do make a great espresso—even on Sam’s days off.”
I had no idea who Sam was—I hadn’t paid attention to thebarista’s name tag—but Layla’s comment made me want to try a Sam-made espresso.
“Right. Adri Linari of Niralen. You’ve come seeking refuge. A taste of normal human life, maybe? Time away from the demands of royal life?”
Her words—spoken as though royalty seeking a place to stay was a common occurrence—settled over me like my weighted blanket. Refuge. Respite. It sounded like everything I needed. “Yes.”
“Good. Our west wing is under construction right now. We’re restoring it to its original state and upgrading to the latest technical specs. We could really use a Niren tech mage to sort out some glitches our IT team has been struggling with. So, in exchange for a room?—”
Exchange? I tried to ignore the way my system surged at the mention of glitches. “You want me to work for you?”
“Yes. Those are the rules. I can’t offer you a room for free. That’s not how this works.”
“I can pay for a room.” I hadn’t come here to work, even if it sounded intriguing.
“That’s sweet. But I’d rather you didn’t leave a trail. It prevents me from providing you the anonymity you seek.”
I wanted to protest, but Layla was right. There was a limit to how many traces I could hide from my family, even when I used my secured account. But a job for a room? Was that what I wanted? “What would my hours be?” If I still had time to draw, to just be… then perhaps it would be worth it.
“You’d be working nights. Nine to ten-hour shifts. We’re under a time constraint, so I can’t promise you many nights off. But I’m always open to negotiations.”
Nights were quiet. Nights meant fewer stares. “And if I accept?”
“You can stay here as long as you like. Your secret is safe withme. I do have one more rule. It’s non-negotiable. Should your family—or anyone—come stirring up trouble, you’re out. Protecting my hotel, my guests, and my staff is my priority. I will not sacrifice them for a runaway prince. Is that understood?”
I’d met enough dignitaries to understand the kind of troubles she might have dealt with, and while I didn’t expect anything on that scale from my family, they did have unlimited access to the hotel’s energy system. I nodded. “Yes. If they create a disruption, I will leave the hotel willingly. I won’t put anyone in danger.”
“Good. So. What do you think? Do we have a deal?”
A room in exchange for work in a human IT team seemed fair enough. And those glitches had piqued my interest. “Yes. Yes, we do.”
“Welcome to the Renversé Hotel, Adri.” She winked. “Your room is booked under A. Jones, should you lose your key. Though… I have a feeling that won’t be a problem for you.” She rummaged in a drawer and handed me a flyer about a local organization, the Princedelphia Vocational Center. “And if you’re eager to spend money, we’re hosting a charity masquerade ball on Labor Day.”
Chapter Four
SAM
magic happened
The early morning crowd trickled in. Regulars clung to their caffeine fixes like lifelines, and a handful of hotel guests lingered over their last cup before heading home on ill-timed flights. I wiped the counter, keeping an eye on the floor while Daryl and Justice handled the orders—I needed a break from the numbers. They were best friends and worked well together. Justice with his classic haircut and quick reflexes, and Daryl with his easy grin and sleeves already dusted in cinnamon.
I loved those mornings when the sun rose across the plaza—and our patio—and the early deliveries had been taken care of. Baristas chatted with customers, filled the last of the displays, and danced seamlessly around each other and the gurgling machines. The smell of fresh-baked goods coming from the kitchen mixed with roasted beans while I put away clean glasses, cups, and mugs.
“Morning, Sam.”
