by Madeline Ash
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tugged the scarf off her head and ruffled her hair loose. “Want me to call the car?”
He ran a hand over his eyes. “Can we walk back?”
“We’ve been walking for almost two hours.” She glanced toward the palace as she draped the scarf around her neck. It was probably twenty minutes away from here, and all uphill. “I’m not convinced your quads have acclimated to Kira City enough for that route.”
He ignored her attempts to move on from her pathetic past. “I want time to process this.”
She sighed. Pulling out her phone, she called the team on standby and informed them of the prince’s plans. “They’ll follow us a block behind.”
He nodded distractedly.
As they turned onto the avenue that led to the royal parade, she wondered how long Kris intended to keep holding her hand.
“Is this why you don’t want kids?” he asked quietly.
Startled, she turned to stare at him. “What?”
His eyes were grave beneath his cap. “Your childhood.”
She arched a brow as insult burrowed into her pride. “You think I’m scared that I’ll raise my children as thieves? That I won’t know how to love them because I’ve never been loved?”
Strain bracketed his mouth. “That’s not what I—”
“I do want kids.” She cut him off fiercely, even though she’d scarcely admitted that brittle truth to herself. It was an unspoken dream spun from what remained of her threadbare self-worth. “I’ll raise them to be good. I’ll love them with everything I am. All this has done is make me want my own family, because I’ve been without one my whole life.” She had no idea how to form a loving family. But she knew how not to do it, and that had to count for something.
“But—” His frown was confused. “But you said—you told me that you’d never be the right person to—for us to—produce heirs.”
She clenched her jaw and rallied a steady tone. “That’s still true.”
“You want a family,” he said slowly. “But you don’t want one with me.”
“I want a family.” She tried to slide her hand out of his, but he held fast. “But I can’t have one with you.”
“Because I’m royalty.”
“God, Kris.” This was not a conversation she wanted to have on a sidewalk at midnight. He clearly needed longer to process everything she’d told him. “You might believe I’m nothing like my father, but that’s not enough. Not for Kiraly. Not for a king.” She shook her head, fighting distress. “Royalty is the highest class of citizen. The monarchy’s reputation is the cornerstone of its influence. You’re already going to be a cowboy on the throne—put a criminal beside you and the entire institution will fall apart. This can’t happen. We can’t happen.”
He walked steadily beside her, silent, eyes on the road ahead.
Then he asked, “How would anyone know? You were never caught.”
“My father was,” she said, trying to dodge the memory of his time in prison—and his conviction that she’d see the inside of a cell for herself one day. “Journalists would pursue that and he would delight in telling them about me. I don’t know how, but he’d manage not to incriminate himself in the process. He’d smear my name through mud so deep, I’d never crawl back out.” She paused, blaming her struggle for breath on the hill. “If you defended me, aligned yourself with me, your popularity would plummet. And in the twenty-first century, that might not be a passing threat. It could be a tipping point in the perception of the royal establishment and ultimately bring the end of the monarchy in this country.”
Kris had cooled beside her. Temper chilled, body language contained. “Back at the bar, you said we could get close again. I had hoped that meant you might spend tonight with me.”
She pressed her eyes closed. “It did,” she said. “I think.”
“But only tonight.” His tone was cold with realization.
She hesitated. “Not forever.”
“Interesting,” he said under his breath, and pulled his hand out of hers.
She balled her fingers and kept walking. This was how it had to be. She wasn’t being melodramatic or unreasonable. The lives of the royal family were upheld by strict codes of conduct, and the rigid set of rules brokered no deviation—or deviants.
They approached the top end of the avenue where it adjoined the tree-lined royal parade. The palace gates were closed a block to the left, guards stationed on either side.
Kris stopped just short of the deserted intersection and looked over his shoulder at the approaching security car. “I want to talk to my guards.”
She frowned, turning back to him.
“Alone,” he added.
Taken aback, she waited until the car drew level and Kris motioned for the driver to wind down the window. Then she said, “I’ll go ahead.”
She couldn’t read the look he shot her in answer.
Striding across the empty intersection and onto the sidewalk that bordered the palace grounds, she glanced back, but the car was out of view behind the street corner. She clenched her teeth against the wound she’d torn open for him. Vulnerability ran from it like blood. She’d shown him everything. Her pain, shame, and struggle, and he still didn’t get it.
She needed him to seal her closed. All he had to do was say that he understood—that he agreed. Yes, she would bring disgrace and scandal to the royal family, and heartbreaking as it was, she had no place by his side.
But he wouldn’t say it. He wasn’t even close to thinking it.
He was a prince who hadn’t grown up in a monarchy. His parents clearly hadn’t instilled in him the ideal of a royal ruler—a personification of their nation. The people needed to see the best parts of Kiraly reflected in their king. The goodness. Strength. Integrity.
Not the rabble.
The entrance gates were just up ahead. She clenched her teeth tighter. She’d request the gate opened, follow the car up the stately drive and ask the guards to escort Kris to his suite. Then she could—
“Hello, Frankie.”
The voice came from behind her.
It crushed her windpipe. Turned her belly to liquid.
Breathless, she spun to where her father stood several feet away. His expression was as cunning as his silent approach, and she cursed herself for not scanning the street trees. Instinct told her to run, as it always had, but fear had a sick habit of jamming that impulse.
Frozen in place, she could do nothing more than stare at him.
“She’s new.” He gestured at her dress, her assumed class, her persona. “I didn’t recognize you. Quite convincing.”
Her pulse leapt with old fright as he shifted closer. Her rage was too slow to wake.
“I might not have noticed you at all, but your charming man kept staring at me.” His smile pushed shards of reaction under her skin—alarm, dread—deep into her bones. “And he can’t keep a secret off his face to save himself.”
She hid her dismay.
They both turned at the crunch of tires on cobblestones. The security car was passing them on its way to the front palace gates, and through the open window, the guard gave Frankie a nod and a murmured, “Ma’am.”
She jerked her head in a return nod as her stomach bottomed out.
Kris wasn’t in the backseat.
Her father waited until the car was nothing but fading red taillights along the stately driveway. Then he stepped closer. “Tell me the plan.”
“What plan?” The first words she’d spoken to him in ten years. “I work for the guard.”
“So I’ve discovered.” His smile was biting, and it ripped the top off her anger.
How dare he show his face here?
“Not just with the royal guard, but as head of personal security. I knew you were good, but this? And to think I doubted you.”
His implication curdled her blood—as did the fact that across the street and just around the corner, Kris was almost definitely listening.
/>
“This isn’t a plan.” Her throat was tight. “I haven’t done that since you flesh-peddled me, you twisted prick. This is my job.”
“Your job.” His eyes gleamed. “Positioned high enough to slide your way into the heart of a prince. Ingenious. I didn’t think you had the patience for such a long game.”
Disgust rooted her to the spot as her lip curled.
“He’s completely enamored with you. And desperate. Hell, he was practically rutting the table leg back there.” His laugh was low and vicious. “I don’t know how you’ve held out this long, but using yourself like a carrot on a string is clever. My commendations.”
“I’m not being clever.” Her words came out hoarse with fury.
He smirked.
“I’m being professional.”
“As you’ve ever been, Frankie.” He glanced up at the palace, glowing in all its majesty. “I hadn’t realized you’d set your sights on building a career out of a single con. What a grand plan. Who better to know the lies and secrets of the royal family than head of security? That kind of information is a one-way ticket to unlimited power. And on the arm of your prince? You’ll have it all.”
He took in a long breath, lungs swelling in pride as he looked back at her.
“No doubt you’ve got it all worked out,” he continued, inching closer. “Does he believe you’re saving yourself until marriage? The wedding must be around the corner. I doubt he could hold out much longer. Then you’ll have access to the royal account. The vaults. And if something went missing occasionally, who could possibly question you when you have their dirty laundry in a basket ready to go?”
“I’m not—” Confused, she bit down on her outrage. This didn’t make sense. He couldn’t honestly believe she’d planned all this. She’d run away from him. Tonight, she’d turned her back on him, desperate not to be seen. How could he possibly believe she’d—
Oh.
The conniving bastard.
He knew they weren’t alone. He knew Kris was waiting around the corner and overhearing every word. Her father wasn’t congratulating her on her skills or exquisite scheme. He was speaking to discredit her and get her booted from the position she’d worked so hard to achieve—to tear her from the heart of a good man.
He was shoving her into the dirt, his heel digging firmly into her back, because she’d had the nerve to run away from him.
“Fuck you,” she said, voice shaking.
His brows shot up. “Watch that mouth, girl. What did I tell you about playing with powerful men? They don’t like eating out of the gutter.”
Shame burned her throat at how she’d once followed that advice. She’d once spoken as if her words were fresh as spring water—and the Burberry boy had practically licked her mouth clean. Then her shame became horror at the light scuff that came from behind them.
Kris had come out of hiding.
Her dad’s look of surprise was masterful.
“Frankie?” Kris spoke her name quietly.
Chest tight, limbs shaking, she angled her face back at him.
Kris was expressionless as he stared at her. “What’s going on here?”
In a kind of numb dread, she said, “He was waiting for me.”
“I know,” he said, voice hollow. “But what’s he talking about?”
“Nothing.” She was trembling, panic alive beneath her skin. “He’s trying to—”
“I’m Kris,” he said, moving to stand between them, his attention fixed on her father. “Prince Kristof.”
“Your Highness.” Her father’s bow was smooth. “What an honor.”
Kris waved off the formality, features somber. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“Oh.” Her father feigned shock, shooting Frankie a swift glance and raising his palms. “I’m sure you misunderstand, Your Highness. It was a joke about her previous line of work. It’s been, oh, years since she’s ever done anything like that.”
Kris stared at him for several long seconds.
“You’re right,” he murmured.
Her father blinked. “Pardon?”
“As I said, I couldn’t help but overhear.” Kris shifted his stance, bringing himself beside Frankie. His elbow brushed hers as he faced her father. “We all know I’m new to this position, but it sure sounded like you were proposing that she exploit the royal family. I might not know the intricacies of treason, but extortion sounds a bit close for comfort.”
Her father’s features grew slack.
Frankie’s pulse stuttered.
“You were suggesting that she use her position to gather sensitive information on me and my family,” Kris said, shaking his head slowly. “You were practically advising her to use that information as blackmail in order to steal from us. That sounds treasonous to me.”
“You misunder—”
“I know what I heard.” Kris cut him off with a raised hand. “Perhaps a different witness might have their credibility doubted, but I’m a Prince of Kiraly and I unmistakably heard you plot against the royal family.” He turned to Frankie, features hard with insult. “You should decide what we do with him—though I think we could delay charges and see whether he can prove to be an upstanding citizen.”
Frankie and her father both stared at him, incredulous.
“For instance,” Kris continued, “if anyone asks him whether he has a daughter, and whether he could tell them about her, he would prove himself upstanding by claiming to have no daughter at all.” Head angling, he eyed her father up and down critically. “But if, for instance, he did talk about his daughter and the way he raised her, he would find himself charged with treason. Because I won’t ever forget what I heard here tonight. And sentences for treason aren’t as fun as being caught on a little swindle. There will be press. Photos. The chance for women to recognize him from whirlwind romances gone wrong and come forward with charges of their own. And that kind of thing has a tendency to snowball.”
Face bloodless, her father looked horrified at being backed so swiftly into a corner.
Frankie’s breath shook with disbelief.
Kris took a step forward, getting in her father’s face. “You thought I’d doubt her.” His words were low with contempt. “That I’d believe she was capable of such deception. You thought,” he spat, “that I knew her as little as you always have.”
Her father, the great manipulator of her life, opened his mouth to protest.
Nothing came out.
Stepping back, Kris turned to her. “What’s your professional opinion, Frankie?”
She slipped her hands behind her back, clasping them tightly. The world had gone wonky and her legs struggled to bear the weight of her body. She’d never dared to believe it was possible but—her father had just been bested.
Hauling herself together, she said, “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
Kris nodded, features carefully neutral.
“I’ll have him monitored,” she said, holding her father’s stare. “If he does anything that isn’t upstanding—anything at all—we’ll be forced to revisit this.”
How he’d survive without his cons, they were all about to find out.
Kris glanced down absently, brushing a night bug off his arm. “Sound fair, Harvey?”
Her father’s scowl faltered at the use of his name. For several seconds, he stared back at Kris. Undoubtedly running calculations behind those unlit eyes, weighing risks and odds and worst-case scenarios for the offer on the table.
Then, with visible resistance, he swallowed his pride. Such an ugly, inflated thing, she hoped he would choke on it. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Good. Now, Frankie, what was that last thing you said to him before I came over?”
She blinked, thinking back. Then she frowned.
Kris hooked his thumb in his front pocket. “I think you should say it again.”
She set her attention on her father, recalling the dread of her childhood spent in his shadow—the canker in her self-worth that
he’d fed like a guest at his table. His void conscience and his infidelity that had driven her mother away, that had positioned Frankie’s mother against her, even now. His indifference for her safety and repugnant command over her sexuality. Her body. Her innocence.
She’d been sixteen. Sixteen.
And he’d turned up here with a scheme to ruin her life all over again because she’d had the nerve to leave him.
Now her rage was wide awake.
“Fuck you.” Her voice was steady this time. “A cockroach wouldn’t touch the scum in your soul.”
Her father’s lip lifted, but his attention continued to travel between her and Kris.
“Ahh.” Kris grinned, sliding an arm around her shoulders, and she swayed into him, weak with disbelief. “I’m going to feast from that gutter every day of my life.”
Her father was glowering with defeat.
“Hey, you heard her.” Kris’s brows rose. “She doesn’t want you here.”
Frankie braced for a final fight from the man who had molded her childhood into the worst possible shape. She met his glance with her chin up and shoulders back, and saw in his eyes that he had no moves left. This was it—she wouldn’t see him again. He wouldn’t risk prison to get even with her. This was the farewell they’d never had when she’d run away. Her final chance at closure.
She leaned harder against Kris’s side, telling herself to watch her father go in silence. To be the bigger person; not sink to the pettiness of having the last word.
But she couldn’t help herself.
“I’ve always been better than you,” she said.
Her father’s inhale was razor-sharp. He’d stew on exactly what she meant by that for years to come. Then he was retreating, crossing the street on silent feet and slipping out of sight.
Gone.
She spun into Kris, clamping her arms around him and holding so tightly, he gave a breathless, “Oof.” He returned the embrace, and her heartbeat gradually slowed as it worked out the last of her fear. She was safe in his arms, one banded across her shoulder blades, the other firm at her lower back.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
“I’ve got you.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “He can’t touch you.”
For the first time in her life, the threat that stained her future lifted. The abrupt opening of possibility was disorienting, and she closed her eyes and pressed harder into him.