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 should be thankful this was the first time.” Kris had wanted to throw the man’s desk against the wall and his bigoted skull along with it. “He said Tommy was in the wrong place at the wrong time—with the wrong kind of friend—and that Jonah should be more careful.”
“Piece of shit,” she muttered, and then stilled. “But you told your family?”
Shame slid around the back of his neck like clammy fingers and shoved his head down.
“Kris.” Frankie sounded appalled. “Erik could have contacted Philip. He could have ensured those men were found and charged with treason.”
He’d known that, but had been too sickened to admit it was his fault. “I described them down to the damn hairs in their ears. Our authorities should have caught them.”
Frankie’s breath turned shallow and she stared at him without blinking. “Oh my God.”
“Let me guess.” Had she just had the same realization that had haunted him for months?
His voice was hushed as he said, “You’re thinking two critical attacks on the royal family feels less accidental than one.”
Disbelief was dark in her eyes. “They can’t be related.”
He leaned closer. “Why not?”
She rolled her lips, breathing a little too fast through her nose. “People who bungled an attack in small-town America could hardly go on to successfully commit royal murder inside the Kiralian palace.”
“Bungled?” Shame dug its nails into him. Deep, deserved pain in the pit of his being. “I still don’t know how Jonah fucking made it.”
But she shook her head. “It’s a stretch.”
“That balcony collapse wasn’t an accident.” Kris was sure of it. “Plans for renovations of the west wing first started three years ago. There were delays, sure, but if someone had a grand plan involving a construction accident, they acted to remove the spare heir ahead of time.”
“I—I have to call Philip.” Her phone was out, unlocked, her thumb whipping across the screen.
“Don’t tell Tommy.” Humiliation rushed out of Kris with the words. His brother could never know it was his fault. The resentment he felt over Kris taking the throne would be nothing compared to Kris nearly getting him killed, nearly getting Jonah killed. “He’d never—I’d never—”
Her features were severe in the glow of the screen as her attention snapped back to him. “Don’t blame yourself.”
How could he not? “I should have told those men it was me. They thought Dad only had one son. Common belief here in Kiraly, apparently. I could’ve claimed to be it. Protected everyone else. But I panicked and sent them straight to Tommy and Jonah.”
Phone falling, she shifted to her knees in front of him. “No.” She bunched his shirtsleeve in her fist and gave it a hard tug. “They would’ve killed you. You sent them to an empty property so no one would get hurt. It was smart. You didn’t know the boys would be on their way home.”
“What if they’d died?” His eyes stung; everything stung. “Jonah came so close. And Tommy . . .”
“It still wouldn’t have been your fault.” Through the fabric, the warmth of her fingers pressed against his forearm. Then her brow creased. “But you’re right. Jones was in a bad state when we got there.” Careful words for unconscious, sliced up and bleeding out through a stomach wound. “I called Philip. He’s the one who organized that air ambulance to fly to the best trauma doctors in Montana. Jones wouldn’t have made it otherwise.”
“Exactly.” That was part of why it made sense. “The attackers left the scene believing he was dead. A secret, spare heir out of the running.”
“But.” Her eyes were glazed. “Erik was next in line. For this theory to float, they should have gone after him as well.”
“Too obvious.” Kris had traveled this road. “One attack could be passed off as random. But two separate murders of the royal line? Not so much. Security would never have let anyone near the royal family in Kiraly again.” He raised a shoulder in sad acceptance. “And Dad’s been unwell for a while. They could have presumed he’d abdicate, and if he didn’t, staged an accident that could be blamed on his condition.”
Frankie was shaking her head slowly.
“Look,” he said. “I was confused and ashamed and didn’t know how to fix things then. But I’m going to find them now. The attackers. Whoever brought that balcony down. And they’re going to rue the fucking day they messed with my family.”
“No, you’re not—” Frankie halted as her eyes narrowed. “Oh, no. You haven’t been.”
Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he looked away.
“Bloody hell,” she murmured, but she’d gone pale all over again. “You’re more stupid than I thought.”
That was probably true.
“This is why you’ve slipped security?” she demanded in a harsh whisper. “To try to find the people you believe committed regicide. Are you insane? Have you forgotten that you’re also royalty?”
His jaw set. “I can’t trust anyone else.”