on Kris before. There was no thread of outrage, no quaver of indignation.
Just a hard, bleak warning.
Kris faced him with a frown, and the man’s scrupulous gaze seemed to press a hand to his airway, seeking to hold that latch closed. Philip’s role was to uphold the centuries-old traditions of the monarchy—to protect the legacy and respect the hierarchy that advantaged the throne.
His caution against Frankie was unmistakable.
Kris went back to watching her, figuring the older man could live without his retort.
Kris didn’t do careful.
Frankie climbed the steep mountain track, her thumbs tucked around the pack straps at her shoulders to stop it from rubbing against her gun in its holster. With a soft groan, she paused in the shade of a silver fir, welcome relief from the not-quite setting sun—then kept moving at a nudge to her hand from Buck.
When Kris had claimed they were going camping, she knew this wasn’t what he’d had in mind. He’d been thinking of simple nights spent up in the Rockies, just the two of them, free of the attendants and half-dozen guard escort that trailed him as he hiked across the mountain. He’d have wanted a no-fuss meal, something plain straight out of his bag, not the lavish, chef-prepared food being carried in cold-packs, and he wouldn’t even have known it was possible to end up with glamping-style tents and bed rolls as thick as overgrown cotton fields.
If the master of the household had been given more lead time, he’d have packed enough furnishings for a semi-permanent mountain residence.
Perhaps that would have been better. More things for her to hide behind.
Frankie brought up the rear of the ten-strong group, well away from him, but the distance didn’t ease her nerves. Buck and Bull moved up and down the line, occasionally sticking their noses into her palm, demanding a pat. That helped a little. As she scratched behind Buck’s ear, breathing in the sweet, citrusy smell of coniferous trees and focusing on the bird calls and the hum of insects, she still couldn’t shake her growing sense of exposure. Like she was hiking toward a fight with surgical markings around her weak points. Just strike here, here, or here, and I’ll buckle like a broken marionette.
Kris knew her weak points now.
One swipe of his thumb and she’d collapse around him.
The thick heat of the summer evening hung heavy in her chest as they passed through a clearing of pink and yellow wildflowers. There was too much opportunity out here for her to lose her head. Kris was most dangerous in his natural environment, potent with sure-handed competence and cowboy swagger, and it made her both furious and frightened to doubt her strength to resist him if they ended up alone. Simple solution: stay among her team.
Nerves settling, she glanced up—and almost tripped to find Kris looking back at her over his shoulder. His gaze was steady, locked on her through the people and packs between them. She slid her attention away, keeping her features uninterested. God, would he stop doing that? Literally everyone could see.
As if on cue, Hanna slowed her pace, dropping back to Frankie’s side.
“So, I was wondering,” Hanna said, fingers curled around the straps of her overnight pack and coiled bedroll. “Could you hide behind a tree the next time he does that? I’d love to see his reaction.”
“Funny,” she answered.
“I’m so sure it would be.”
Frankie didn’t respond. Her pulse stuttered, wary of Hanna’s observations.
“Last night’s tension seems to have gone,” the guard said, voice quieter.
“Yeah.” Replaced by a different kind of tension. Frankie adjusted the tent bag on her back and slowed her pace so no one overheard. “Did he speak to you?”
“First thing this morning.” Hanna’s glance was speculative. “He apologized for exploiting his authority—and for putting a hand over my mouth. And he said he wouldn’t override your orders again.”
Frankie snorted.
“He stuck to it the whole day,” Hanna said in his defense. “He ate lunch in silence.”
Oh. Well that was a pathetic image.
“Be honest,” Frankie forced herself to say. “Do you think I’m being too strict?”
“It’s your job to be strict.” The blond woman raised a shoulder. “But King Markus and Prince Tomas’s guards don’t have these rules. Could chatting now and then be so bad?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a frown. “Maybe I can be a bit . . .”
Hanna leaned forward to better peer at her. “Harsh? Stubborn? Uncompromising?” She paused as Frankie cut her a narrow-eyed glance. “Terrifying?”