by Madeline Ash
The following silence was strained. Tommy shifted, running a hand over his face. Mark shot a glance toward the stable door.
“She got Ava out,” he murmured.
Kris stilled. What?
Tommy stood slowly, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“It’s why she made me promise.” Mark’s blue eyes were so earnest, Kris almost had to look away. “Philip doesn’t know. Neither does anyone on her team. She could have lost her job. She planned the escape, coordinated it, and single-handedly erased the evidence. The only reason I found out about Frankie at all is because there were complications on the night, and she had to intervene. She got Ava out,” he repeated, gesturing helplessly toward the mansion, toward his fiancée. “I owed it to Frankie to keep her secret. I’ve hated every second of lying to you, but that’s . . . why I did it.”
Kris leaned back against the stall, this time for the support. “Why?”
His brother understood. “She’s head of security—she saw everything and pieced together Ava’s situation. You know how messed up it was. Frankie visited Ava one morning and told her she was going to get her out so she could be with Darius. And she did.”
Frankie had rescued Ava.
Frankie had risked her own back to help a visiting princess—a woman she didn’t know. All the while, she’d hid from him.
Kris slid down the stall until he was sitting with his face pressed into his hands. He felt dazed. “I don’t know what to think.”
Tommy lowered himself onto the dirt-packed floor beside him and admitted, “This does change a few things.”
Mark joined them, nudging Kris with his boot. “She’s still our Frankie, you know?”
The woman Mark had just described was every bit his best friend, but the woman who’d stood hard-hearted in his room last night, and who’d sat opposite him in the car—was that still his Frankie? He wished he knew.
Frankie was positioned a respectful distance away from the stables with Hanna and Peter. They were murmuring an easy conversation behind her, results from a big football game, and Tommy’s guards were taking the opportunity to catch up with a few members of Mark’s security on the far side of the stables. Despite the warmth of a hot summer’s day in the making, Frankie was cold clean through.
The drive here had been torture. Tommy’s stony questions and Kris’s hostile silence had been made worse by the truth behind this visit. Frankie had come between these brothers.
Throat thick, she turned at a movement from the mansion. Ava had emerged in a bumblebee-yellow dress and was making her way toward them across the hillside on the pebbled path. Darius, her three-year-old boy, was at her side. Black-haired and olive-skinned, they looked so alike Frankie ached.
Ava was different to when they’d first met, and it had nothing to do with that pixie haircut. Her posture was less rigid; her spine no longer a coiled spring. Her gait was smoother, her features relaxed.
Nearing, she waved to Frankie, gesturing her over, and Frankie lifted a hand in return, intentionally misunderstanding. Her goal was to blend with the guards, not expose herself beside the stunning and sophisticated Princess of Kelehar. Standing beside Ava made Frankie feel like scrawled graffiti on an otherwise unspoiled white fence.
Besides, her sense of inferiority was already off the charts today.
“Frankie,” Ava called, gesturing again. “Join us.”
God, okay. Striding out to meet them, Frankie tried to think of something to discuss. She’d never been a fan of small talk. The only possible purpose of asking a question when she didn’t care about the answer was to establish a subject for the next time she was obliged to ask a question when she wouldn’t care about the answer.
“Your Highness.” Frankie bowed before sliding a hand in the back pocket of her jeans. She glanced at Darius, who was blinking up at her from where he stood slightly behind the long skirt of Ava’s dress, holding a book in one hand. “Hello there,” she said, clueless about how to greet a small child. “You okay?”
He smiled.
“You’re not.” Ava was eyeing her with a frown. “You look terrible.”
Fantastic. Criticism on her appearance from a goddess. “Cheers.”
Ava gave a small roll of her eyes. “I was intending to convey sympathy.”
“Needs work.”
The woman sighed, but there was a smile hidden in there somewhere. “I’d like to invite you to my bridal shower next week.”
“Invite me to—” Frankie cut off with a baffled frown. “Why?”
“Because I’d like you there,” Ava answered, studying her. Then she reached back, gently touching Darius on the shoulder and steering him forward. “He wanted to say hello. He talks about you.”
Startled, Frankie deflected. “All bad things, I’m sure.”
“No bad things,” the princess said firmly. “He remembers you taking control that night. Remembers you sending him away with me.” She paused, arching an amused brow. “He also remembers that you were eating pizza.”
“Now that’s the kind of memory you keep close,” Frankie said, not sure what else to say. She offered the kid a grin and he returned it.
Oh, man. The trust in his smile physically hurt.
“He likes you.” Ava toyed with the gold engagement ring on her finger. “Don’t you, Darius?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Um.” Frankie gave a nod. “Awesome. Thanks.”
Ava cleared her throat, tilting her head downward pointedly.
Swallowing, Frankie knelt and softened at the boy’s closeness. He didn’t hug her, but stepped in and rested a hand on her leg as he held up the book. “I have a new book.”
“Looks slick. Where did you get it?”
“Ava gave it to me.”
Frankie nodded, noting that he still didn’t call Ava his mother. “Have you read it yet?”
“Yes.” But he crouched on the grass beside her and opened it, clearly expecting her to read it again with him.
“Uh.” Lord. Kids were about as familiar to her as a pair of loving arms. But this—how exactly did she say no to this? She cast a pleading, get-out-of-jail-free-card glance at Ava, but found the princess frowning at the stables. On her own, Frankie settled on her shins and gingerly drew the book closer. “Alright, just don’t spoil the ending.”
Darius leaned in as she started reading, fully resting against her thigh, and then, well, she hardly knew what happened. She wasn’t used to being touched by a child—feeling welcomed by innocence, and something neglected inside her gasped at the pain of it all. The way his small finger pointed out the pictures. The way his other hand fiddled lightly, distractedly, with the buckles on her boot. The way he wriggled at exciting parts, and looked up to watch her own reaction. It was so honest—but instead of wanting to run, she wanted more, and the impossibility of that welled up inside her like blood beneath a bruise.
“Frankie, why have you stopped?” Darius regarded her with his impossibly wide eyes.
“Sorry.” She shook her head. Pull it together. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
He touched her leg. “You can nap in my bed.”
Jesus. Her laugh broke a little, and Ava turned to look down at her. “I’ll be okay.”
Frankie kept reading through the lump in her throat. And only once she’d finished, Darius closing the book with a grin up at her, did she pull herself together enough to realize everything around her was quiet. Her skin prickled. Cutting a swift glance over her shoulder, she found Kris standing in the doorway to the stables, one hand braced high against the doorjamb, the thumb of his other hand looped through his belt.
His attention was fixed on her.
For once, his expression was unreadable.
Nerves balled her stomach as she abruptly turned away. Her face burned hot; her cheeks pulsed. His crisp blue eyes could be startlingly disarming when he wasn’t mucking around. Fighting for composure, she nudged Darius lightly with her elbow. “We good?”
<
br /> “Yes. Thank you, Frankie.”
“Cool.” She stood on unsteady legs, the thought of Kris’s scrutiny making her skin shrink several sizes—pulling tight, sealing her in. She deliberately faced Ava as she jerked a thumb down at Darius. “The manners on this kid.”
“You should hear him when he’s hungry.” Ava’s gaze was speculative as she angled herself toward Kris. “Will you quit looming like that? It’s boorish.”
Frankie dropped back swiftly, locking her hands behind her back and redirecting her gaze to the mansion. Her heartbeat was thick in her neck as she watched him approach from the corner of her eye.
“We’re all boors to you, Ava.” His voice was rough, weary, but he aimed for a brighter tone as he said, “Hey, Darry, how’s your new room? All settled in?”
“Yes.” Darius sounded shy. “Are you Tomas or Kristof? I’ve forgotten.”
Fair enough, since he’d only met them three nights ago at Mark and Ava’s engagement party.
“I’m Kris. Tommy’s the serious one.” There was a brief silence, before he said wryly to Ava, “I get that you avoid shortening names for some weird well-bred reason, but can you at least teach him ours properly?”
Ava practically sniffed. “I happen to like your full names.”
“Well, Markus is all yours,” he said. “And don’t worry. He’s fine, even though he deserved a round or two after he—” He cut off and Frankie felt his attention lunge for her. “You know,” he finished coolly.
Even peripherally, his attention left her breathless.
Then he was striding into her line of sight, his back to her as he aimed for the car. Within moments, Tommy appeared in his wake.
Time to go.
“See you, Darius,” she said, avoiding the look on Ava’s face before taking off after Kris and Tommy.
She could handle the brothers’ silent treatment and being cut out of their circle of trust. She could deal with her feelings for Kris like she always had—working around the beautiful, battered ache inside her, tucked up and under where her lowest ribs met. She could keep her head down—keep Kris out of harm’s way.
Zara had been weighted by middle-of-the-night pessimism when she’d declared this wouldn’t work. It would take some adjustment, sure, but Zara didn’t know the weight Frankie lugged around as baseline pain—the sacrifices she’d made to keep those she cared for safe.
It would hurt, but she’d honed herself to withstand far worse.
This was going to work.
5
Kris didn’t leave the palace grounds for four days.
He didn’t want to see Frankie. Didn’t want her near him, observing him, protecting him. Yet even as her deception clawed him raw, he didn’t want to request a new bodyguard. That would feel too final. As if he’d decided to cut her out of his life for good, and he couldn’t even reach the end of that thought without his stomach turning.
He pounded out his frustration in the palace gym, tore laps up and down the pool, and rode hard on the mountain tracks.
It just took the edge off.
Predictably, Philip practically crowed with delight at the resulting lack of PR disasters. Days on end without incident! Media coverage without reference to a cowboy! Kris contemplated short-sheeting the man’s bed just to wipe that smug smile off his face—and for being a player in Frankie’s concealment—but figured he owed him a few days’ respite.
This was hardly going to be the new normal.
Philip worked with him each day in the tower study, and with Mark’s help, Kris started to wrap his brain around the nation’s policies and agreements. His head swam with measures for strong national health, education, inclusion, and safe living; it grappled with strategies for environmental protection and sustainability, budgets, and taxes. Unexpectedly, it all began to make sense. The fact that his hedonistic, indolent uncle Vinci had approved such strong policies almost made Kris reassess his opinion of the man.
All was forgiven between Kris and Mark by the second day. Mark turned up for their usual Tuesday beer and poker night—which Kris insisted they play in his sitting room instead of the cabin beyond the palace grounds—and Kris felt something unstable inside him realign.
But he couldn’t forgive Frankie so easily.
A brutal kind of restlessness claimed him by the third night. He hated not knowing what to do, and hated that Frankie had put him in this position. The ferocity of his frustration built, making him want to knock down a wall or dig a well with his bare hands. Instead, he tracked Tommy down in one of the private libraries and stalked the rows until his brother finally agreed to play cards between his stacks of books.
“You can’t avoid her forever,” Tommy said, sighing as he lost another hand. “I can’t put up with you like this for that long.”
“Like what?” Kris shuffled the cards as if he wanted to snap their spines.
“Like a man who’s waited years for something, only to find out he can never have it.” Tommy’s fingers tapped against the desk. “You’re dazed and incensed.”
Kris raised his hands, pulling a face. “I’m just sitting here, man.”
“But I’ll bet the thought of tearing every book off its shelf holds appeal. Throwing them out the window. Hauling the curtains down after them.”
Kris narrowed his eyes at the nearby bookshelf. That did sound pretty good.
“After that, it’d probably feel cathartic to start a fight—venting through a shouting match, and it’d probably be with me because you know I don’t take any of your shit.” Tommy cocked a brow, as if to ask, am I right? “You’d keep at it until it forced Frankie to show up and intervene for our own safety.”
Frankie. Her hands on him, hauling him away from Tommy. Her face close to his as she barked at him to get it together. Furious with him. Responding to him. Looking at him.
“I don’t want to see her,” he said, almost choking on the lie.
“Holding yourself captive isn’t going to help.”
“I’m just sitting here,” he said again, voice turning harsh.
“Feeling caged.”
“Hanging out with you.”
“Because you have nowhere else to go.”
Aggression slapped his palms on the desk, pushing him into Tommy’s space. “Are you trying to make me start that fight?”
“No.” Tommy leaned back in his chair, gaze level. “But I’m angry with her, too, and I don’t like that she’s won. She’s confused you by coming clean and then making herself your bodyguard—so you’re avoiding her. You pose no risk of ditching security if you don’t even leave these walls.”
Kris pulled back, crossing his arms.
“Either sort it out,” Tommy said, raising a shoulder. “Or get rid of her. You’ve got too much going on to dwell on it.”
Kris wanted to overturn the table at how matter-of-factly Tommy said get rid of her.
Looked like he had to sort it out.
“I don’t know what to say to her,” he muttered. “Still don’t know how I feel about it.”
“You’re never going to feel only one way. It’s complicated. Now, make plans for the weekend. Out there.” Not meeting his eye, Tommy gestured in the direction of Kira City. “That don’t involve bothering me.”
Translation: Tommy was still pissed at him over the king thing, and despite being supportive, he didn’t want to have to pretend nothing was wrong whenever Kris came knocking.
“But I love bothering you,” Kris said, unsettled by his brother’s continued resentment.
“I don’t love losing at cards.”
“Then why do it so often?” Smirking at his brother’s glare, Kris left him to his family history research.
By the following night, Tommy’s words had grafted onto Kris’s already thriving frustration, growing into a rippling outrage. He prowled his sitting room. She’d lied for years and then stunned him with the reveal, using his pain as a management strategy for keeping him in line. A wicked trick. He should reposition h
er within the palace, somewhere they’d never cross paths, and be done with it. Except—
The image of her with Darius. He couldn’t shake it. It softened her, like seeing a woman with her hair down for the first time, but well, a thousand times more than that. The way her body had leaned into the boy, her arm brushing against his pile of black hair as she turned the page. Kris’s heart had fallen apart right there in the stable doorway. Hard and hurt one moment, then so tender the muscle had all but flopped out of his chest the next. Unfair. She shouldn’t be allowed to read to children; she shouldn’t be allowed to reunite them with their mothers. It confused everything.
Fine. Fine. He would go out tomorrow evening and drag her along with him. He might ignore her or he might confront her. He’d find out.
For now, his irritation was making him hungry.
“Kitchen trip,” he said to his night guards as he strode out into the corridor.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
It was late, nearing midnight, and the wall sconces in the corridors had been dimmed to a gentle glow. On the ground floor, he made his way to the simple passageway that led to the palace kitchen. It was narrower than the main areas—a space that functioned rather than displayed, though a large silk tapestry had appeared within hours of him first sniffing out the kitchen months ago. A hurried, he’s-not-supposed-to-come-down-here attempt to make it fit for royal presence.
He almost sighed when Hanna emerged from an adjoining corridor and entered the kitchen ahead of him, her candy-apple red jumpsuit hinting she’d just returned from a night out. Great. There’d be no stimulating conversation from her over supper.
Kris rounded the entrance—then halted as Hanna let loose a squeal.
“Gul!”
She ran across the half-lit room. Not in a subduing-a-threat kind of way, but more like a girl pelting toward a puppy in a field of flowers. Glee in her stride, petals billowing around her.
Kris blinked. Gul had been Ava’s old guard before she’d run away, and now worked for the Kiralian Royal Guard handling VIP guests. He was the only other person in the kitchen, standing with his back to the entrance in front of an open fridge stocked with leftovers, a loaded plate in hand. He’d stiffened at Hanna’s call and swiftly set the plate down on the fridge shelf in front of him—an instant before she leapt onto his back.