police had also informed her that although their apartment search hadn’t turned up any evidence, it seemed that Adam had disappeared along with his valuable possessions. He wasn’t missing—he’d gone to ground.
Ava had called while Frankie was en route to the hospital. Kris had a concussion, but the scans showed no signs of internal bleeding, in his head or elsewhere. Thankfully, the knife hadn’t entered his abdominal cavity to reach his organs, though the angle of the cut meant the blade had sliced through a lot of muscle. He had stitches, two fractured ribs, a broken arm, and more bruises than clear skin.
Frankie halted in the hospital room doorway.
Her inhale was sharp and sensitive, and everyone turned to look at her. Mark and Tommy from where they sat on either side of the bed, Ava from where she reclined in a chair against the wall with Darius sleeping on her lap, and Philip from his position by the window. The brothers’ features were shuttered. The air in the room was tense.
Kris was okay.
He just didn’t look okay.
“Is he allowed to be sleeping?” Frankie didn’t move inside.
She’d asked Philip to explain Adam’s connection to the balcony collapse to Kris’s brothers and Ava—omitting any connections to Tommy’s bashing—while she’d been busy reducing Zara to the fetus position right there in the gutter.
Her lungs still felt wet with grief.
“Doctor’s orders,” Mark said, because he was too decent to ignore her despite the huge truth that she’d kept from them. “He was able to hold a conversation after surgery, and his pupils looked good. Sleep will help him heal.”
“Okay.” To stop herself passing out, Frankie opened a packet of chips and started eating.
“He asked where you were,” Ava said quietly. Then after a pause, she asked, “How is Zara?”
“Destroyed.”
The princess shifted, running a hand over her son’s hair. “Is she alone?”
Frankie shook her head and jammed more chips into her mouth. “I had Gul take her to the palace and set her up in a guest suite for as long as she needs. He’ll stay with her overnight.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to do the same thing,” Frankie said. “Just for now.”
Mark and Ava exchanged a grim glance. Drawing the curl of Darius’s sleeping body closer to her, Ava said, “We understand.”
The following silence was broken by Frankie’s crunching.
She was well into her second packet when Tommy spoke. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He refused to look at her. His broad shoulders were stiff, torso firmly facing Kris. One hand clutched the covers on the bed beside his brother’s leg.
“Until this morning, we had no idea how the threads came together,” she said. “Once we identified Adam, the plan was to tell you all tomorrow. This evening was meant to be a celebration and we didn’t want to taint it.”
Mark’s bleak glance basically said backfire.
“And obviously, we didn’t want to cause you unnecessary stress.”
Tommy’s eyes squeezed shut, his lip curling. Then he was standing, gesturing to the chair, and muttering, “You sit down. I need a minute.”
He strode from the room without another word, and Frankie leaned back in the doorway, watching his night guards peel off the corridor wall and follow at a distance.
“We need to discuss our communications strategy.” Philip looked worn to the bone. “Rumors will fly when Kristof suddenly stops appearing in public.”
“Not tonight, Philip.” Mark spoke with gentle resolve. “I’ll resume all of the king’s duties for the next couple of days. We can talk about the rest once he’s back at the palace.”
“Of course,” Philip said, inclining his head.
“Philip,” Frankie said. “Go home. Sleep. Be wild—don’t set your alarm.”
As the royal advisor passed her in the doorway, she reached out and gave his hand a long squeeze.
“He’s disappeared,” he whispered in dismay.
She squeezed tighter. “The authorities have issued a nationwide manhunt. We’ll get him.”
After a moment, he squeezed back. “Thank you.”
She finished the second packet of chips before daring herself to take Tommy’s chair. She’d been able to disconnect a little from the doorway, but as she sat beside Kris, she couldn’t ignore the injuries that made a mockery of his muscled body.
Strong or not, six against one were cruel odds.
As she took his scuffed, scabbed hand in hers—evidence he’d fought back—she resolved to a new security measure. This royal family would no longer rely exclusively on guards. She’d train them all in self-defense.
“I’m not leaving you,” she murmured, and leaned forward to press her lips to the back of his hand. The bed was soft