The only comfort her friend offered was a light brush of her knuckles against Frankie’s forearm, but it still tied a knot in her throat.
By the time they staggered into the apartment, they were sweating, groaning, and fixated on the ice cream Zara had remembered in her freezer.
Rounding the kitchen, Frankie pulled up short at the sight of an immaculately dressed blond man by the fridge, tightening his tie. His blue eyes snapped to her, assessing, and she suddenly wished she’d paid more attention when Zara had mentioned her boyfriend. He was Mark’s manservant, but she’d never had cause to interact with him at the palace. She’d looked over his staff file months ago—long-term palace employee from a reputable family within Kiraly—but could she remember his name? Of course not.
“I’ve mentioned Frankie?” Zara asked by way of introduction, hip-bumping him out of the way so she could open the freezer.
“Ah, yes, of the royal guard,” he said, voice low and cultured. “You’re head of personal security.”
Frankie wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Yep.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Tie in place, he extended his hand and offered a warm, sincere smile. “I’m Adam.”
“Adam.” She shook, finding his grip firmer than expected. “What kind of things?”
His smile grew. “In short, to be careful around you.”
Not a bad reputation for her position. “You work for Mark, right?”
“Yes, my duties have followed His Majesty to Kuria Estate.” His attention drifted to where Zara was pulling two spoons from the drawer. “Zara, I’ve got dinner with some old college friends tonight. Do you mind if I’m not home until late?”
“Why would I mind?” She passed Frankie a spoon and plied the lid off the family pack of chocolate-mint ice cream. “Have fun.”
He hesitated, pleasant expression looking a little strained. “You know you’re welcome to come?”
“Maybe next time.” She bopped him on the shoulder with her spoon. “Frankie will be here.”
Frankie kept her expression easy despite her friend’s lie. She’d already told Zara that Kris wanted to go out tonight after cooping himself up in the palace all week, and that meant bodyguard duty.
“Next time, then.” Adam’s hand touched the small of Zara’s back as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Love you.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She angled a too-bright smile at him. “See you later.”
His answering smile came a beat too slow. “I look forward to it.”
“Yay,” she said, before leading Frankie into the small living room and switching on an oscillating fan. She flopped onto the couch, cheeks pink, and Frankie sat beside her, waiting until the front door closed behind Adam to raise an interrogative brow.
Zara cringed, held out the tub, and said, “Ahhh, I know. My life is super awkward right now.”
Frankie scooped into the ice cream. “He loves you.”
“Inexplicable, right?”
“No.” She stuck the entire scoop in her mouth and spoke around the spoon. “But I’m getting that it’s unrequited.”
“He only told me a few weeks ago.” Her friend looked stricken. “I mean, he’s a great guy. Kind. Gentle. Refined. I want to love him, but I just . . .”
“Don’t.”
Zara shifted, tucking one leg under her bum. “Well,” she said, and darted a troubled glance at Frankie. It was the look of someone with a secret trying to decide whether or not to spill.
Frankie focused on scooping more ice cream, tilting her face to catch the fan’s breeze.
“It’s stupid,” Zara said.
“My whole life is stupid right now.” Frankie raised a shoulder. “I won’t judge.”
“I—don’t tell Ava.”
Frankie placed a hand over her heart.
“It’s just. Okay. Adam keeps saying he loves me, like, every day. And I could’ve sworn I was close to realizing that I love him, too. Then Ava came back and I’ve started planning her bridal shower and helping her organize the wedding, and it’s thrown me off, because it means . . . I mean, the wedding means . . . it’s just that I’ll—”
Frankie stared. Was this how she sounded when Kris asked her a vulnerable question?
“It means I’ll see Cyrus again,” Zara said in a rush, her knees bunching up against her chest as she sank into the couch cushions.
“Prince Cyrus?” Ava’s older brother and the heir to Kelehar’s throne?
Zara nodded with a noise of distress. “It’s so stupid.”
“Not really.” Frankie tipped her face down for the fan to cool the top of her head. “He’s magnificent.”
A world-renowned heart-stopper. He was elegant, lean and gorgeous. He practically glowed with goodwill. His dark eyes shone with genuine warmth, and the waves of his raven-black hair always ran a little long, hinting that his refinement didn’t hold in every situation. Too nice for Frankie to look twice, but the appeal was obvious.
“So magnificent,” her friend breathed. “And not someone I have the birthright to even dream about, but it’s getting worse. How can it be getting worse? I haven’t seen him since Ava escaped. I have a boyfriend who loves me, but just the thought of Cyrus coming over for the wedding makes my stomach fall apart and I can’t imagine ever feeling that way about Adam.”
Frankie made a noise of disgust. “That stomach fall-aparty feeling is the worst.”
Zara looked stricken. “Should I break up with Adam?”
“Uh.” Frankie winced. “I’m not a relationship advice kind of friend. But like you said last week, royalty isn’t made for us and we’re not made for them. Why break up with a good guy who loves you? The wedding isn’t far away. Once Cyrus leaves, you probably won’t ever see him again. Then you can move on—and might realize you want to do that with Adam.”
Zara eyed her with a suspicious frown. “That was good relationship advice.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“What about your prince situation?”
Oh, the situation that had seen her spend Friday night alone in a tent with Kris, her fingers entwined with his, and woken up to find his other hand splayed protectively over her thigh? That had seen her lie there for way longer than she should have, trying to memorize the way sleep softened his features, because it was the only chance she’d ever have? That situation?
“It could be better. He’s trying to get too close,” she admitted, and with a hole the shape of dread in her chest, added, “But I have a backup plan.”
That night, Frankie sat next to Kris at the bar of the Bearded Bunting, braced against his short-fused mood. Her team was positioned at all the entry-exit points, including both ends of the laneway behind the venue, and casual-clothed guards had been instructed to blend into the gathering. Frankie and Philip had pounced on Kris’s theory, arranging their own investigation into the attack on Tommy and Jonah, but in the meantime, Kris couldn’t so much as turn his head in a public place without half a dozen guards clocking the movement.