Page 72 of The Royal Art of Revenge

Yes.

Fuck, yes.

That’s exactly what I want.

But that’s not what she would want.

His phone rings and he holds it to the side of his head. “Speak.” There’s a pause, then he says, “We’ll be right there.” He taps the screen and gets up, shoving it back into his pocket. “Let’s go. There are three guys waiting for us.”

Three?

I don’t need to be a genius to know that Jasmine’s fingerprints are all over this. I don’t even need the traced IP address.

It was only days ago she was wishing Hattie dead, after all.

We take the stairs down to the next floor, and Alec locates the correct panel on the wall. I’ve been through this hidden doorway more times than I can count, and as we descend into the darkness, using the stone walls as a guide, I feel it.

That sharp spark of anger, so unlike anything I’ve felt before. It slithers through my body, flickering at my skin and twisting my stomach into a tight ball.

How fucking dare they? How fucking dare they even think about laying a hand on her?

Alec pushes open a door, and we step into the basement of Kilon Manor. Not the kind of place a Crown Prince would usually be seen—but what people don’t know won’t hurt them.

“Go,” Alec says, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“Three men. We saw them entering the studio with the correct passcode. Aaron hacked the booking records and double-checked, and it was definitely the right room. We subdued them and brought them here,” Preston says, then bows his head to me when I step out. “Your Royal Highness.”

“Good work,” I say, scanning the room. “Did they cause you much trouble?”

“It was no problem,” he replies, head still bowed. “Just one bloody nose for Sterling, but I doubt he even felt it.”

Alec snorts. “Good. Are they restrained?”

“Yes, they are, Your Grace.” Preston motions for us to follow him, and he leads us into another room where three haggard, beaten men are each chained to a wooden chair.

The tangy, cloying scent of blood hangs in the air, and one look at each of them confirms it’s coming from them. The guy in the middle’s arm is hanging at the kind of angle that makes my toes curl, and there’s a semi-crusty trail of blood plastered to the side of his face that seemingly originates somewhere on his scalp. The guy on the left has one eye swollen shut and his lip sliced in two, as well as a torn t-shirt revealing the beginnings of a bruise on his chest. The final guy, on the right, seems to have gotten off best—a bruise is blooming on his jaw, but that’s all I can see.

Alec is completely unbothered by the sight before us as he produces a cigarette box from his chest pocket and pulls one out.

It stays unlit, as always, with the cigarette nothing more than a prop for him to fidget with.

“So,” he says nonchalantly, pulling up a chair and sitting down with the air of someone without a care in the world. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

The guy on the left chair opens his non-swollen eye and scans us, then scoffs. “Fancy company.”

“Oh, this guy?” Alec cocks his thumb towards me. “No. You’re seeing things.”

“Didn’t think we’d meet the Crown Prince like this.”

“Well, you fucked with the wrong person.” The air chills with Alec’s cold smile. “See, the woman you tried to trick into a newborn photo shoot today happens to be very important to His Royal Highness. You really should have done your research before you agreed to that job.”

He laughs, a gravelly sound that grates on my nerves. “That so? Funny, ‘cause the person we hired said they were acting on his orders.”

“Interesting,” I say, stepping out into the light a little more. “Tell me; why would I have someone hire a few cheap bastards to hurt my fiancée?”

“Yes, darling, why would you?” Harriet’s voice rings out from behind me, and when I turn, I see her leaning against the hidden doorway, examining her nails. “You know, if you don’t want to marry me, I won’t hold it against you.” She pauses, peering up. “Well, on second thought, I might.”

I simply stare at her. “You shouldn’t be here.”