specific to you and me. About you in Sage Haven.”
She didn’t turn away, but her hand rose to sit at the base of her throat. “Go ahead.”
“You monitored our safety,” he said. “Was there—uh.” His heart rate jumped, and he could have sworn the air in the tent got hotter. Was he capable of angling for this subtly? “Were there any incidents behind the scenes?”
Her brows dipped in a frown. “Not really. Sage Haven is a very low-key town.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Hmm.” She settled deeper onto her side, still wearing her jeans and a tank. He’d taken her lead and stayed fully dressed, minus his hat and boots. The only thing she’d taken off was her gun and holster, tucking them carefully beside her bedroll. “I guess there was Philip and his attempts to preserve the royal bloodline.” Kris stiffened, but her voice stayed casual, as if this wasn’t a critical wound between them. “He wanted your uncle Vinci to invite you boys to the palace where he could introduce you to suitable matches, curated to your tastes.”
“Ew,” Kris said.
Her lips slid upward. “He’d spoken to your father about the possibility, and apparently Erik had refused to put the idea to you three. I don’t know what Philip expected me to do about it, but I told him that even if he wrangled that invitation from Vinci, he could stuff it up his ass. You boys had zero need for curated matches. You lived in Montana—as far as I knew at the time, you’d always live there. He shouldn’t mess with your futures.”
Kris smiled. “One conversation with you must take years off Philip’s life.”
“You can talk.”
Fair point. “Poor guy.”
“He’s stronger than he looks,” she said. “I also did a spot of door knocking when I caught wind of close-minded muttering around town.” She paused. “You know, about Jones.”
He sucked in a breath.
“I didn’t catch them all,” she said more softly.
Regret bit him at the guilt in her voice. “I shouldn’t have said that the other night. That you didn’t protect Tommy. That you should have stopped it from happening. It wasn’t your fault.”
“No, you were right.” She frowned. “I wasn’t paying attention. I should’ve known those guys were in town. Should’ve noticed their gay-hate and aggression, and never let them out of my sight.”
“Frankie,” he said, sitting up properly even as his lungs tightened. Was he really going to do this? Share the shame that had eaten him alive for three years? “You know that they came to the ranch before the attack.”
Her frown shifted. “Yeah.”
“I don’t—” Guilt lashed him for what he’d learned that night—for what he’d done. For the silence he’d kept since, refusing to distress his brothers and not knowing who else in the palace to trust. But he could trust Frankie. “They weren’t homophobes after Jonah.”
The air pressure in the tent seemed to drop. Frankie didn’t move, but her energy gathered, a storm rising, and his ears wanted to pop.
“What does that mean?” she asked quietly.
His throat was too dry to answer.
She pushed herself up to sitting. “What are you saying?”
“I—” He reached out and pulled her bedroll closer until it was flush against his. Voice low, he said, “I hate myself for what I’m about to tell you.”
She looked startled. And close, very close. “Then spit it out.”
“They didn’t ask me for Jonah’s address. They—” Self-loathing tried to silence him, but he barreled through it. “They had accents I didn’t recognize and asked about Erik Jaroka’s son.”
Frankie swayed as shock hit her hard.
“I lied. They clearly didn’t know Dad had triplets. I told them his name was Jonah and that he lived next door. Jonah was supposed to be working late at the bar. I thought it would give me time to call the sheriff, and get Mark from the stables and drive around there. But then—then . . .”
Then Jonah hadn’t worked late—and Tommy had walked home with him. The group of men had caught up to them on the dark track between the ranch and Jonah’s property and beaten them both to within an inch of their lives.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She was paler than moonlight. “Tell the sheriff?”
“What could I say? Hey, fun fact: my brothers and I are princes from yonder, and I think that attack was intended for the three of us, not our friend? Not without blowing our identities and lives apart. The sheriff was all too happy to pass it off as a hate crime. Told me we