by Madeline Ash
At the bridal shower, Frankie had found out that Zara had texted Adam as soon as she’d left the palace that morning letting him know Frankie had his pin. He hadn’t responded to her. Zara hadn’t thought anything of it and believed he was currently sitting at this very poker table. No one knew where he’d gone. The authorities were still waiting on the search warrant. The plan was to stay on high alert and allow Mark and Ava their night of celebrations.
Tomorrow, the royal family would be informed.
Now, Kris made a final lap of the guards, wafting half-empty pizza boxes in front of them and inviting them to finish it off. At Hanna’s turn, she deliberated between slices.
“Anything?” Kris asked, a model of patience as she asked him to open each of the five boxes so she could make an informed decision.
“No update, Your Highness,” Peter murmured, hands behind his back. “But Frankie assures us that the moment we receive information, she’ll make a move. You and your family will be protected at all costs.”
Kris’s blood ran cold as Hanna settled on a puttanesca slice.
He and his brothers would be protected—at the risk of Frankie’s own safety.
She’d made him promise not to do anything stupid. With a wave of black nausea, he realized his mistake.
He hadn’t demanded the same of her.
Frankie blew a trail of cool air across her shoulder and down her arm to her wrist. The henna was drying into an intricate stain on her skin, the final activity before Mark’s party would arrive at this glam-chic cocktail lounge. Zara had nailed the decorations. An abundance of twinkle-light balloons bobbed at the ceiling, shimmering over white and silver silk bunting strung from corner to corner. Glass vases filled with tiny strings of lights were scattered around the cherry-toned carpet, while vines and candles adorned every surface. Cocktails flowed like ambrosia and world-class pastry chefs delivered an endless selection of magical, brightly colored desserts.
Ava had actually clasped her hands beneath her chin with a gasp when they’d arrived.
“It doesn’t hurt to have a king’s budget,” Zara had said, downplaying.
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Zara Nguyen.” Ava’s declaration had been firm with regal finality, and Zara had flushed down to her collarbones.
Frankie didn’t recall much of the evening. She’d sat through games of romantic movie quotes, and love songs, and personal questions about Mark, but had waded even more shallowly into the activities than her earlier conversation with Zara. Feet wet, she’d kicked up just enough sparkling spray to pass as present, but the rest of her was wrung dry.
Adam might be out there raising his stone and taking aim at the Jaroka brothers.
He might want her boys dead.
Panic sparked in her bloodstream. Despite rational thought assuring her that Kris was fine, some stretched-thin part of her reached for him. It had been three hours, yet she ached for him like he’d taken away the front half of her rib cage with a wink and a promise she’d get it back on his return. Her chest throbbed; her heartbeat felt uncontained.
Sending another breath over her inked arm, she met eyes with the royal guard positioned by the front entrance. He raised two fingers. Two minutes away. When she continued staring, he gave a subtle headshake. No news on Adam.
Her stomach churned. This was agony.
“Can you spot them, Frankie?”
She jerked around and found Zara watching her with a pointed smile. She frowned. “What?”
Zara gestured at Ava’s outstretched arms. “The artist hid them well.”
Frankie forced herself to focus. Ava’s henna design was exquisite. Tiny flowers and leaves spread outward from her palms and wound up her forearms, the patterns curling into lace-like detail, glints of gold paint embellishing the earthy brown ink. Mark’s initials had been secreted into the design and Ava was beaming with both arms extended as Zara, Yasmin and Gul tried their best to find them.
“Uh, let’s see.” Frankie scooted her chair closer. After scanning the ink, she said, “There,” and pointed at a cursive M.J. at the pulse point on Ava’s wrist.
Ava smiled at her like she’d completed some kind of quest.
“Wow, you can see the forest and the trees,” Zara said, impressed.
Frankie’s ears pricked at a sound from the rear entrance. “Sometimes.”
“A bride in Kelehar always wears her groom’s initials over her pulse.” Ava lowered her arms, looking every part a princess in her ivory evening dress and diamond tiara. “To symbolize his place in every beat of her heart.”
“Aw,” Zara said in an appropriately gooey tone.
“Yasmin, Gul,” Ava said, and nudged her old guard. “You both knew that.”
“I wasn’t going to spoil your fun, Princess.” Gul grinned. “But it’s on both wrists.”
With a sound of astonished delight, Ava examined her other arm.
Frankie stood, shaking her arm so the damn thing would finish drying as the back doors opened and Mark’s party entered.
Their arrival was like a steel-tipped arrow passing through a magnolia bloom. The feminine ambiance of the room scattered like torn petals. These men were cowboys and elite guards, masculine and hard-edged, and the bridal party fell quiet at the sudden punch of their testosterone.
Gul sat back in his chair with a murmured, “I feel faint.”
Frankie couldn’t tell whether he was joking.
As the royal triplets advanced across the twinkling lounge, she suspected he wasn’t.
Mark strode in the lead. Pure-hearted and grounded, he was the gravity that pulled his brothers in close. As if to prove it, Kris swaggered on Mark’s right, untamed and impulsive, a man who drove the people he loved up the wall but knew no greater force than loyalty. Frankie’s ribs seem to fasten back in place at the sight of him. Tommy stuck to Mark’s left, all ragged edges and deep waters—and that vein of authority running through his core like gold trapped in granite.
The warm shadows played over them. Broad-shouldered, sculpted, reverberatingly attractive. It wasn’t a new thought for Frankie that nature itself must have sensed the genetic perfection of that face and split cells for two more on the spot. Privately, she applauded such quick thinking.
Royal. Breathtaking. Cowboys.
These brothers didn’t know their own power.
Then Ava called, “Markus!” and dashed toward him.
Mark stopped abruptly. “My God,” he said, looking dazed. “Look at you.”
Ava’s smile turned shy and she spun in a graceful circle to show off her bridal ink. “It’s to bless us with a marriage of contentment and joy.”
“But I’m already blessed,” Mark said, and his brothers rolled their eyes with grins beside him.
As the couple embraced, Frankie glanced at Kris and found him checking her out. She was no princess. She’d paired her short yellow dress with her trusty black boots, spiked her hair as usual, and with her henna sleeve tattoo, she was infinitely more punk than pretty. When he looked up, the hunger in his eyes betrayed he was totally into that.
After an evening spent straining for him, she wanted to drag him into an unused room and let him devour her.
“Hey, where’s Adam?” Zara asked.
And like that, everything hot in Frankie went cold.
Zara was scanning the men in confusion. “Did he drive separately?”
Mark pulled back from Ava, looking concerned and, though he tried to hide it, hurt. “Actually, Zara, he didn’t show. He didn’t say anything to you?”
“What? No.” Zara’s good mood died like air in a vacuum. “Where is he?”
Mark glanced at his guards, shaking his head. “We’re not sure.”
“Maybe his phone died?” Ava suggested, looking concerned.
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t ditch your bachelor party.” Zara was frowning. “Um. I could run home and check if he’s there. We live on Blueridge Crest; it’s like five minutes away.”
Mar
k said, “Actually, I sent guards—”
“Don’t we need to start the ceremony?” Frankie cut in, feeling like shit as she used etiquette to tie a rope around her friend’s feet. She didn’t want Zara out of her sight while her boyfriend was an unknown quantity. “We’re already running late. He’s probably had a family emergency, or has come down with something and gone to bed.”
“Oh.” Zara glanced around like she’d misplaced something that should have been attached to her. His absence didn’t make sense. “I guess. Yeah. He’s probably just sleeping off a bug. Um. I’ll set up.”
As Zara moved to the far side of the lounge where the Keleharian bridal ceremony would take place, Frankie turned away from the group, scrubbing a hand over her face. Guilt clamped her lungs. Jesus. She hadn’t thought about Zara returning home tonight to find Adam missing. She couldn’t wait until morning to tell her—she’d have to do it immediately after the bridal shower.
Frankie scrubbed her face harder as dread dropped her heart like a stone. How was that conversation supposed to go?
Hey. So, funny story. We have reason to believe your boyfriend is a murderous psychopath. Left field, right? Remember when you thought about breaking up with him, but I said to wait because he’s a good guy? My bad.
This was messed up. This was so—
The back of her neck prickled and Kris murmured, “Can we talk?” from directly behind her.
She dropped her hand, but didn’t turn around. “You’ve been told everything.”
He paused. “We need to talk.”
She could do with the excuse to steady herself. Possibly while wrapped around him. “Alright.”
Fingers brushing his as she took the lead, she crossed the vacant dance floor and passed two guards stationed by the swinging doors to the kitchen. The chefs had departed for the night, leaving the stainless-steel space half-lit and silent. Pressing both palms to the metal table in the center of the floor, she lowered her head and let out a long breath as the doors flapped shut behind her.
“Frankie,” Kris said, standing just inside the door.
“Give me a second.”
“Frankie.”
Slanting him a glance, she expected to see a suggestion shining in his eyes. Or, perhaps, the release of his suppressed anger at Adam’s disappearance now that it was safe to show it.
Instead, his attention was on the floor in front of him.
“What?” she asked.
Lines gathered on his brow and quietly, he said, “I need you to leave.”
“As soon as there’s news, I’ll be on him like a pile of fucking bricks.”
“No.” His voice was weird. He still wasn’t looking at her. “You need to leave Kiraly.”
The order landed like a strike to her solar plexus.
Sliding her hands off the table, she slowly faced him. “I misheard you.”
“For your safety,” he said, and his voice dulled into a buzz in her eardrums. Oh God. He was doing it. After all these years, he was finally shoving her behind him as he faced the fight. “Adam knows we’re onto him. I don’t want you hunting him down. You’re a target as much as I am. He’s dangerous and he knows you’re close to me.”
The buzzing in her ears grew louder.
“No,” she said.
“Yes.”
She should have expected this. Seen it coming ever since he’d waded into a barfight for her in Sage Haven. Since he’d pounded his fist into a black bruise on the bar floor of the Bearded Bunting. For years, he’d burned to protect her and had never been allowed.
Now, it terrified her to realize that he was done taking no for an answer.
Her pulse hurt—throbbing in her chest, her neck. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do,” he said, and looked up at her.
“No.” She gave a single shake of her head. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I didn’t protect Tommy.” Pain etched around his mouth. “I sent those men to him. I can’t send you to Adam. I can’t do it.”
“It’s not your decision.” Her alarm spiked. “Think about what you’re saying.”
“I know I can be impulsive—”
“Then be sensible—”
“But being near me automatically puts you at risk and I can’t have you here.” His voice was level, alarmingly rational. “Not now. Not until this is over. You’re my future, Frankie.”
“And you’re mine!” She fed her anger with the entitlement of his argument—the infuriating assumption that his desire to protect her trumped her desire to protect him. “I have as much right to be in danger as you. And if you’ve forgotten, it’s my job to protect you.”
He pressed his eyes close and said, “Not anymore.”
Shock shoved her back a step. Those words nocked an arrow in her bones. This would break her. To build enough tension to successfully shoot her to safety, he was going to end up snapping her apart.
Her voice shook as she said, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“Pretend all you like.”
“Don’t.” She turned away so abruptly her knee twinged. Her face felt oddly hot from loss of blood. “Don’t be calm when I’m angry.”
She knew that tactic. She’d used it on him the night she’d tackled him. It was the only way he could stay in control and walk away with what he wanted.
And he couldn’t have this.
“Calm is the last thing I’m feeling.” His low voice wavered.
“So, what is this exactly?” It was like he’d lit a match and set her lungs burning. She faced him again. “You’re firing me?”
“Temporarily relocating you.” Regret was heavy on his face, but she tried not to see it. Actions counted. Regret meant nothing. “You used to collect information in the United States for Philip. You’ll do that again until it’s safe to come back.”
“No.” She shook her head as heat gathered in her eyes.
Apology gleamed in his earnest gaze. “I need you to be safe.”
“But you gave me the uniform. I thought—that meant you trusted me with this position.”
That you trusted me with your life.
“I do trust you.” He shoved his sleeves to his elbows. Finally, some agitation. “I don’t trust him. You don’t deserve to play chicken with a murderer. Not for me. Not for my brothers.”
“This job is my worth,” she whispered.
Who would she be without it? A woman with too many regrets and not enough purpose to stem the flow. Drowning in her own past. Kris might think he was saving her, but he’d be the hand that held her under.
His gaze was desolate. “It’s not.”
Yes, it was.
“I fought for this job because I wanted to prove to myself that I’m not screwed up. That I can do the right thing for good people. And I struggled for so long to believe that I deserve to be here, but you—you convinced me that it was true. I believed you and now you’re sending me away.”
His breathing was rough, coming in stops and starts. “Did you take an oath?”
Startled, she tripped over the question. “What?”
“To become a royal guard, did you take an oath?”
She froze.
Every pump, course, and flow hung motionless inside her.
“Yes,” she said.
He crossed his arms and swallowed hard. “What was it?”
“Kris—”
“What was the oath, Frankie?” He took a step toward her. “What did you swear?”
Her body shook. Something huge was caving in on her and she didn’t know how to shield herself. Or if she even could.
Eyes stinging, she forced herself to recite the pledge.
“I, Francesca Grace Cowan, do swear that I will faithfully obey and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King Markus Jaroka, His Heirs and Successors; that I will protect and defend His Majesty, His Heirs and Successors against all enemies; and that with my life and my death, I will remain duty bound.”
Kris
stared at her. His eyes glistened.
No. “Please, Kris.”
“Your death?” It was a whisper. “How do you expect me to bear that?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, distressed. “You just have to.” The same way she bore that he would always be a target. That it was possible, despite all security measures, for a threat to take aim and strike true. “You can’t strip me of my position because it’s easier than being scared for me. That’s not fair.” Her voice rose, furious and terrified at once. “You just have to be scared! That’s what it means to love someone.”
“Yeah, and how would you know?” he shot back, and the harshness of his voice slit her open.
The kitchen fell sickeningly quiet.
Her next inhale was tattered. Broken.
Kris stepped toward her, his features stricken. “Frankie . . .”
She shook her head, tears falling. “You’re right.”
“That wasn’t what I—”
“It’s a good question and I should—”
“No.” Kris kept coming, stopping in front of her with a wildness in his eyes. He took her hands. They both trembled in each other’s grasp. “Don’t. I didn’t mean that. Don’t say anything.”
“You think I don’t?” Dismay bled cold in her chest. “I thought you knew—”
“I do.” He kissed the back of her hand, his mouth hot and helpless against her. “I know you do. Please. I don’t want to ruin the first time you say it. I didn’t mean that, okay?”
She stared at him, numb from sternum to spine.
“Please don’t,” he murmured, shaking his head.
“I love you, Kris.”
He closed his eyes as if she’d gutted him in return.
“I love you,” she said, “and I’m not going anywhere.”
Panic rode on his protest. “You have to—”
“If you make me leave, I’ll never trust you again. My job has to be separate from our relationship. And our relationship has to be separate from your authority. If you pull rank to protect me right now—to make me obey you—I can’t trust that you won’t do it again.”