Page 9 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“Hannah Porter Photography,” he reads, plucking it from between my fingers. “Do you have a gallery on this website?”

“I do, yes.”

He eyes the card for a second longer before raising his gaze. It flickers across my face for a moment, and a frown briefly furrows his brow, darkening his blue eyes.

“Is everything all right?” I ask.

“Yes, sorry. You just—never mind.” He lets out a small laugh before making a show of tucking his newly acquired card into his wallet. He puts it back in his pocket and pats it. “I’ll take a look at your work, Miss Porter. I’m afraid I must leave before my hitman gets too upset.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to rein in my smile. “Thank you for walking me here.”

“How will you get home?”

“I’ll call a taxi after my food is ready. Don’t worry.” I smile. “You’re very worried about a stranger, sir. Especially one to whom you didn’t offer your name.”

He opens his mouth, pauses, then laughs and shakes his head. “Just concern for a young lady who’s already been spooked by my muscle. Which I apologise for once again,” he says. “And… Flynn. My name.”

“Flynn?” I raise my eyebrows. “Just Flynn?”

“Just Flynn.” His smile morphs into a tummy-tickling grin, and he takes a step back. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Porter. Hopefully, we’ll speak again soon.”

“Yes,” I reply slowly, clutching my camera. “I very much hope so.”

CHAPTER THREE – HATTIE

“Why isn’t he answering my calls?” Jasmine whines, cradling her cup of coffee. “It’s been days!”

“He’s very busy, darling,” Rosalyn replies, reaching across the table to pat her shoulder soothingly. “It’s not the first time you’ve been unable to reach him. Have you tried contacting Oscar?”

Jasmine sighs. “Yes! All he tells me is that His Royal Highness is extremely busy and he’ll pass on that I called. As if he will! He hates me.”

Oscar is a smart man, I see.

Well, if she’s talking about the future Duke of Lindberg, that is.

Also, what is she complaining about? Crown Prince Finley was the one who said he and I would hopefully speak again soon, and has he contacted me? No. I’m not crying about it.

I’m merely staring out of my window in the general direction of the Askurg Royal Palace, hoping my mental ‘call me’ messages will transcend time and space to reach him.

Also, technically, Crown Prince Finley isn’t calling me.

Flynn is.

That’s almost as ridiculous as me calling myself Hannah.

Fucking Flynn. He didn’t even try.

“You just have to make nice for a little longer,” Rosalyn coos. “Once you’re in the palace, Oscar will be bound to obey you.”

“I’ll make His Royal Highness fire him.” Jasmine sniffs, and I can’t help but snort.

Where does she get her confidence from? And can I get some of it? Because it’s truly remarkable how she believes in herself, and one could make a fortune bottling that and selling it.

“What are you laughing at?” she snaps, turning to glare at me. “Something funny?”

“I was merely marvelling at your boundless confidence,” I reply, sipping my tea. “Do you really think you can make the crown prince fire his right hand? That’s his cousin, you know. They’ve grown up together.”

Her face reddens at the roundabout reminder that I know more about his past than she does. “You—”