Brotherhood of the Wolf

Chapter 3.1: Princess and the Pauper

We're met at the back door of the manor by a man who I assume is Carlos. Forty-something with a buff build, bald head and no uniform in sight, he's the least butler-y butler that I could have imagined. With the cord of an earpiece slinking under the collar of his polo shirt, I'm guessing he serves more as security than anything else. Although why a werewolf would need human security is anyone's guess.

"Show Dr. Milligan to the Peacock Room," Clayton instructs Carlos as we enter the mudroom—a small corridor filled with boots by the wall and jackets on hooks—before turning to me. "You'll find everything you'll need upstairs to clean yourself up. I'll see you in the dining room when you're ready."

I only have time to give him a quick nod before he disappears behind a side door. Carlos leads me through another on the opposite end.

I cringe with every step I take, hoping that the mud on my bare feet has dried enough to not soil the lacquered hardwood, polished marble, and likely hand-woven rugs that cover the rooms.

Passing through the country-style kitchen, we walk a short distance down a mahogany-paneled hallway from which bigger rooms branch off. I get a quick glimpse of a crystal chandelier hanging in one and a carved fireplace surround in another before we're at the foot of a staircase.

The white marble risers are covered by a maroon strip of carpet all the way up, giving it a very regal vibe. I can totally imagine Cinderella running down the steps and losing her glass slipper at the bottom.

Carlos silently leads me one level up, turning left at the first landing and down a wide corridor. There was a similar corridor going in the other direction.

After ignoring several floor-to-ceiling doors on either side, we stop in front of one on the right. Carlos opens it for me.

"Please," he says, motioning for me to enter and as I do, I immediately see how this room got its name.

As if the palette of earthy blues and greens embellished with metallic gold leaf wasn't enough, there is a mural of two, large peacocks decorating one wall. Antique sconces, heavy drapery and a massive, four-poster bed with matching armoires complete the furnishings.

"There are clothes for you on the bed and the en-suite is through that door there," Carlos says, pointing to a door in the corner I hadn't even noticed. "You may take as long as you wish. You'll find me at the bottom of the staircase when you're ready."

Feeling oddly like the little pauper girl who'd mistakenly ended up taking the princess' place in the palace, I'm eager to be left alone.

"Thank you," I say with a forced smile. "I won't be long."

After he leaves, I check out what Clayton has left for me on the bed. Finding black leggings, a baggy v-neck sweater and even underwear with the tags still on, I'm momentarily baffled. If he'd had all of this already waiting for me, why didn't Clayton get his butler to bring it out to the woods just like he did with his own sweats and the blanket?

But it doesn't take long for the reason to dawn on me. Just like with the ambiguity surrounding his identity in his office yesterday, it's another power play. By leaving the clothes here, it forced me to come back to his home instead of going directly to mine. And this is his turf with his rules. He's the king of this castle and I'm still just a pauper.

This realization makes me mad again, and I'm tempted to just take the blanket and go. But the idea of walking back across the woods in bare feet, through the mud, with the possibility of being spotted isn't as appealing as the warm shower waiting on the other side of that door.

Giving in, I let the water run over me for a long time before scrubbing my body clean and dressing. For some reason I'm really annoyed that everything fits perfectly, even the casual slip-ons that were in a box on the floor. If he'd gotten the sizing wrong, at least I could have complained to Clayton about something. This way, I have no choice, but to appear grateful.

I slowly brush out my damp hair, but after stalling for as long as I can, I head downstairs. As promised, Carlos is waiting for me and he leads me to the dining room.

With tall windows lining one whole wall and glass doors leading to the outside on another, the room is bathed in the morning's warm light. A long table in the middle is set as though it were expecting at least a dozen guests, topped with a feast of breakfast foods.

A platter of pancakes is surrounded by numerous syrups and jams, while a tray of bacon and sausages sits next to a container of scrambled eggs. There are also towers of toast and baskets of pastries, as well as bowls of cut fruit and pitchers of juice.

Carlos pulls out a chair for me right as Clayton also enters the room. Like me, he's also washed away last night's grime and has changed into crisp slacks and a thin sweater. I wonder if it's Merino wool, but whatever it is, it accentuates every one of his muscles. I must say, he wears it almost better than that expensive suit yesterday.

"Coffee?" he asks, carrying a silver, gooseneck carafe.

If the sight of all of the food hadn't worn down my willingness to hold a grudge, the smell of the roasted beans pushes me over the edge.

"Yes, please!" I exclaim with a bit too much eagerness, reaching for the dainty bone china.

Clayton pours me a cup before sitting at the head of the table next to me.

"Did you find everything to order?" he asks, nearly echoing his words from earlier as he unfolds his napkin.

"I did. Thank you," I say begrudgingly before thinking of a way that I could perhaps still broach the subject. "But can I ask you something?"

He looks up, pausing from filling his own cup with the steaming coffee. "Of course," he says, but his shoulders stiffen.

"Why did you bring me here?" I ask, nibbling on a piece of toast to hide my anxiety at the answer.

Clayton resumes the pour, visibly more relaxed. "You were half-naked and caked with mud, remember?" He sets the coffee pot onto the pristine white tablecloth in front of him.

I inhale a toast crumb and cough. "No, I know that," I sputter. "I meant, you're the reason I was invited to teach at Packard University, aren't you?"

To my surprise, he shakes his head. "Actually, I'm not," he says. "Your presence here was as much of a shock to me as I'm guessing that it was to you."

This wasn't what I expected to hear, and I need a minute to process this. So I slowly nod my head like I'm mulling things over and put more food on my plate. Clayton also begins to eat and only the occasional clink of the silverware disturbs the silence.