Page 70 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“Interesting,” I say, finally opening the envelope and removing its contents. “Go and get some clean bedding before someone starts asking questions. And put a plaster on that thumb so you don’t bleed all over my sheets.”

Marina nods, then quickly disappears, closing the door again behind her.

The papers are a printed transcript from two unfamiliar email addresses discussing booking a photoshoot with me today. Every detail is scarily accurate, down to the fact it’s supposed to be a newborn shoot. Even the address of the rental studio is correct.

I sit in my desk chair and spread the pages out on the desk. Neither party is using anything they can be identified with. I even flip the pages to see if there’s actual information, but all there is is a long number that means nothing to me.

Two knocks sound at my door, and Marina steps in, clutching a pile of sheets.

“Do you know what this is?” I hold up the paper with the number on and point at it.

She puts the stack of clean bedsheets on the ottoman at the end of my bed and walks over, then nods. “It’s the IP address of the person organising it.”

I blink at her. “Is that the only information there is? What exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

“It’s already been traced,” she says quietly. “It’s the IP address for this household.”

That makes me pause.

And once again, I find myself completely unsurprised.

“Ha.” I snort, tossing the paper down. “So, someone in this house has arranged a photoshoot to, ostensibly, bring me harm.”

“People have already been sent to the studio location,” she says, reaching over and gathering up the sheets of paper. “Those waiting for you will be… dealt with.”

“Dealt with? How?”

“I’m not sure. My assignment is to stop you going there, nothing else. I’m not privy to the actions of my boss.” She pauses. “Which may be for the best, if rumours are to be believed.”

“Marina.”

“It’ll likely be quite painful,” she finally says, folding the sheets of paper up as tightly as she can. “For them, that is. It depends how quickly they speak the truth.”

I follow her as she walks into my bathroom.

“Forgive me for this. I’ll clean it up.” She produces a lighter from her apron pocket and sets fire to the paper in my bathtub.

Wonderful.

“Does the Crown Prince know of this?” I say, watching as the orange flames darken the edges of the paper until they burn away into nothing.

“His Grace is under strict orders to report anything and everything relating to your safety to His Royal Highness immediately,” she answers. “So, I would assume that is the case, yes.”

I drag my gaze from the burning paper and say, “Call your boss. Now.”

“Pardon?”

“Call your boss. If people are plotting to harm me, I’m going to be a part of getting the answers.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Tell him I said ‘no’ isn’t an option.” I walk towards the door and look back at her. “Then, when you know where to take me, clean this all up so we can leave. As far as anyone in this house is concerned, you’re coming to assist me at my photoshoot to make up for your earlier incompetence.” I pause. “Keep up that meek, clumsy act. And tell me everything you know from now on.”

She pauses, then sighs, bowing her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – FINN

“Her house?”