“It’s a dream. Go back to sleep. It’s not morning yet.” She presses her cheek against my chest—holding, hugging, clinging. “Don’t leave me.”
And the way she says it tugs at my gut—because it doesn’t feel at all like teasing.
I tilt her face up to me so I can see her eyes. “What’s that about, now?”
“Tell me we’re going to be together. Like this,” she pleads.
And I don’t hesitate. “We’re going to be together. Every day and every night, just like this.” I reach up and kiss her, sealing the words.
Then I add, “But I need to speak with Prince Nicholas, before anyone else knows. Even before you tell your sister.”
“But—”
“He’s like an older brother to me, Elle—his opinion matters. I don’t want him to think I disrespected you or took advantage. I want to be clear about my intentions and I want him to hear it from me, first. He trusts me—I won’t have him believing I’m like all the other arseholes who’ve let him down or betrayed him.”
She thinks about it, her eyes warm and light—almost silver. “Do you think he’ll be mad?”
“I don’t think he, or any of them will be happy.” My knuckle brushes the apple of her cheek—so pretty. “They had plans for you.”
“Will you get in trouble?”
“Depends on your definition of trouble.” I shrug, teasing. “They might throw me in the dungeon, for fucking above my class.” My hands find her arse, squeezing. “But, oh, it was worth it.”
Ellie bites my arm.
“Don’t worry.” I take her hand in mine, threading our fingers together. “Everything will be fine, I promise.”
Turns out, sometimes I lie—and don’t even know it.
I PLAN ON SPEAKING TO Nicholas about Ellie the very same day, but he’s scheduled to give a speech for a children’s charity that requires him to travel in the helicopter, and there’s no chance for us to chat alone. The next day, Olivia’s feeling poorly, and she and the Prince spend the whole day sequestered in their bedroom.
And that’s how it goes, for the next day and one more after that—I try to take him aside, to find him alone for a moment, but, as it often does, shit keeps getting in the way.
But nothing gets in the way of me and Ellie. I would obliterate anything or anyone who tried. We keep our distance when we’re around others, acting friendly—normal.
Then, I go to her room at night—or when I can’t, she comes to me. She leaves word for her sister that she’s going to the cinema and I volunteer to guard her. But instead, we go to my house, where we don’t have to mind our groans and shouts and cursing gasps. We’re mad for each other. Insatiable. And it’s all so good . . . so easy.
On the fourth day, they’re together at breakfast—Ellie, Olivia, Nicholas, Henry and Lady Sarah. Ellie sends a warm, secret smile my way, and I’m determined to tell the prince today.
I clear my throat. “Prince Nicholas—”
“A present arrived for you, Lady Olivia. Looks like it’s for the little ones.” Sylvie, the new kitchen maid, places a square box on the table in front of Olivia, wrapped in pink and blue paper with a white bow.
“Thank you, Sylvie.”
Olivia gazes at the gift for a moment, then begins to tear the paper, revealing a worn, brown cardboard box underneath, with a folded note taped to the side. And something about it rubs me all kinds of wrong. It doesn’t seem like something any acquaintance of the royal family would send.
I move forward, putting my arm in front of Olivia to stop her from opening it.
“Has this been through security?” I ask the maid.
Her eyes are wide. “No, it was just delivered at the rear entrance. I thought I’d bring it right in.”
I take the box from Olivia. It’s a solid weight. I set it on the bureau, away from the table, then I take the knife from my side and use the blade to lift one edge, just slightly. Just enough to see what’s inside.
And when I do—I curse.
“What is it?” Ellie asks, standing, her eyes wide and round—looking young, innocent—and something pulls inside me to protect her from this.
“What’s in the box, Logan?” Olivia asks.
I shake my head “I’ll take care of it—you needn’t worry.”
“Logan.” Her voice is firmer, more of an order. “Tell me what’s in there.”
“Yeah, what is this, Seven?” Ellie whispers. “Come on, Morgan Freeman—what’s in the box?”
Nicholas closes his eyes, troubled but resigned. Then he nods sharply at me.
“Puppies,” I tell them. Hating that I have to say the words. “Two small ones.”
Lady Sarah covers her mouth and Henry pulls her near.
Olivia cradles her heavy stomach, where her twins lay. “Are they dead?”
I nod, rigidly—my rage building.
“What does the note say?” Olivia asks. And there’s fear in her voice.
Again, I look to Nicholas. He wraps his arms around his wife. “Read it, Logan.”
With a cloth, so as not to disturb any fingerprints, I peel off the note and open it.
My eyes go straight to Ellie’s, embracing her with my gaze, letting her know that it’s all right, nothing will touch her—or her sister. Not while I’m alive.
And then I tell them: “It says . . . soon.”
The chair explodes against the wall, sending wooden shrapnel into the air and scattering across the floor. Prince Nicholas is an expert at keeping a tight rein on his emotions, wearing a mask of indifference to hide his feelings. He doesn’t lose his temper often. But when he does, it’s quite a sight.
A side table is next, meeting the same fate as the chair, taking a china vase out with it.
“Son of a bitch!”
We’re in Winston’s office, having just reviewed the security footage from the rear entrance where the package was found. And there’s nothing—nothing of substance.
One minute the back entrance is empty, then a stream of people exit during a shift change—and when the last of them passes, the box is outside the door. There’s no shot of any of the workers placing it there, but every one of them have still been questioned.
Whoever’s doing this is a fucking ghost—a ghost that knows the palace well. He’s on the inside, or used to be, and that makes it so much worse.
It’s betrayal. Treachery—even treason.
Nicholas heads for the door, but his brother blocks his way.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to find the bastard.”
“He’s doing this to draw you out,” I remind him. “To make you slip up, so he can get in closer.”
“Then I’ll make it easy for him!” Nicholas glares. “And when he comes at me, I’ll rip out his fucking jugular.”
Henry holds up his hands, speaking soothingly, as though talking to a man on a bridge, determined to jump. “I know, believe me—if it was Sarah I’d want to burn the world down too. But, Nicholas, if you go out half-cocked, it will only make it worse. It’s infuriating . . . but you know that’s the truth.”
Nicholas’s face twists with frustration. Then he advances so that he’s nose-to-nose with Winston. “Find him!” his voice booms righteously. Like the king he was raised to be. “I don’t care what you have to do—unleash your most vicious dogs, look in every closet, every corner, turn every house in the damn city upside down—but . . . Find. Him.”
Winston bows. He’s a retired killer, an assassin—the kind who could shoot a man in the face while sipping his tea and not spill a drop. And he’s completely devoted to the Crown.
“It will be done, Your Highness.”
Calmer, or maybe just drained, Nicholas nods. “I’m going to be with my wife.”
And today is definitely not the day.
I spend the next day in Winston’s office, analyzing plans for Prince Henry and Lady Sarah’s official wedding, just five weeks away. We look at the measures from every angle, searching for weaknesses and finding ways to lock them down, in the face of the current threat.