silver anarchist pin that would help get her into the next meeting. It was a perfect match for the pin in the photographs and her blood buzzed in anticipation of working her way into the group.
She was in her office planning a watertight cover when Zara texted.
Hey, honey. Can we meet for like twenty minutes? I’m in freak-out mode about tonight and just want to be told I haven’t forgotten anything.
Tonight? Frankie blinked at her closed office door. Oh, no. The bridal shower.
She texted back: You haven’t forgotten anything, and slid her phone aside.
It buzzed again. Ha. Nope. Still a-freaking.
Frankie groaned. Zara had crawled out of bed in the middle of the night just to bring her chocolate on the top of The Scepter. The least Frankie could do was give her twenty minutes of reassurance in return. Okay. Come to palace at ten-thirty. Ask for me at the gates. They’ll show you in.
It felt like no time at all before Frankie was marching herself into a small ground-floor sitting room reserved for hosting informal visits.
“Hi.” Zara stood from a firmly-padded floral armchair and gestured at Frankie’s uniform. “Swish. Now help me.”
“Sure.” Serving staff had laid out tea and sweets on the coffee table, and Frankie swiped up a lemon tartlet as she dropped into the armchair opposite her friend. “Go.”
With a flustered sigh, Zara sat again, hands sliding between her knees. Her ponytail lay flopped to one side and wispy bits fell frazzled around her face. “Okay. Thanks for organizing the royal guard to secure the venue. So, we’ll arrive at seven.”
As Zara went through the details, right down to the love-song playlist and color theme of the petit fours, Frankie distractedly toyed with the pin in her pocket. Her concentration was blurry, like this conversation was a lake and she’d only waded in up to her knees. The anarchist meeting wasn’t until next Sunday—nine days away. She’d need that time to work on her cover story, but nervous anticipation would eat her hollow by then. It was possible that Aron’s manservant might remember a crucial detail, but it was a long shot. She needed more—the balcony only made sense as a murder strategy if they had someone on the inside.
“And that’s when Mark and the guys will get there,” Zara said, gaze unfocused across the room as she ran through her checklist.
Mark. When should Frankie explain all of this to him and Tommy? It was feeling less and less like a theory based on a gut feeling and more like a legitimate investigation. This weekend so they could enjoy the bridal shower and bachelor party without worry? Or by that logic, should she wait until after Mark and Ava’s wedding in a few weeks’ time?
“Hey.” Zara paused, and her odd tone pulled at Frankie’s attention as she pointed at Frankie’s hand. “Why do you have Adam’s pin?”
Why do—
In a rush, Frankie tasted bile.
The room tilted. Pressure pulsed inside her skull as if her brain was trying to shove the question back out her ears.
In her distraction, Frankie had pulled the pin out of her pocket. It was perched between her fingers.
The capital ‘A’ encircled in silver.
Adam’s pin.
“Frankie?” Zara prompted, confused.
“This?” Frankie acted on old instincts, casually tossing it in the air and catching it in the bloodless fingers of her other hand. When she uncurled her grip, the pin stuck to the sweat of her palm, facedown. “I found it in the dining hall.”
Adam was an anarchist.
Adam. Mark’s manservant. One of the most trusted roles in the palace. Positioned closest to their monarch. Could he—no.
But why would an anarchist choose to work for a royal family?
Her marrow soured; her body shuddered. It was the feeling of scraping against something repulsive and not realizing it until much later—the sickening spike of comprehension, the crawling awareness that it was all over her.
Adam. It was Adam.
You’re head of personal security. I’ve heard a lot about you. His grip around hers had been firm. Too firm, as she’d asked what exactly he’d heard. To be careful around you.
Oh, Jesus.
“That’s weird,” Zara said with a frown. “He works at Ava and Mark’s mansion now.”
“That’s right.” Tucked away out of sight in the private residence of the king. Pulse lurching, Frankie kept her gaze on the pin as she tossed it again. Never before had she been grateful for her ability to slip into an act. “He was here yesterday visiting staff he used to work with.”
“Oh.” Zara relaxed, smiling a little. “That’s nice.