Page 93 of The Royal Art of Revenge

Valentina presses her lips together and looks at him. “Ah. Yes. We… spent some time together… as children.”

His gaze bores into me, and I nod, then whisper, “Abroad.”

He tenses. “You mean…”

Kidnapped? In a foreign country? Saved from being trafficked by the selfish, greedy ambitions of one woman?

“Yes.”

Something fizzles in the air, something tight and uncomfortable, the kind of tension that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end.

“I see.” He slowly relaxes, turning his body in towards me. “Why don’t you take a short break and catch up, then?”

“I can do that?”

His gaze softens when he looks at me. “Of course, you can. It’s a lot in here, and I can see you need a short rest. Nobody will judge you, and if they do, I’ll set them straight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, go.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and smiles down at me. “Besides, the French Ambassador is trying to catch my attention, and that man can talk for England. Not that I’d ever say that in front of him.” His eyes crinkle at the edges. “Coming to find you seems like a good excuse to escape him shortly.”

“Ah, I see, it’s like that,” I reply teasingly. “Then… Ti—Valentina?”

She smiles warmly. “I’m all yours.”

“Go to one of the sitting rooms.” His hand falls away from my back. “Or step outside for some air.”

“Air sounds good,” Valentina says, taking my arm. “Don’t worry, Your Royal Highness. She’s safe with me.”

Finn shakes his head, but a man I assume is the French Ambassador beelines towards him, and Valentina scoots me away.

“If we don’t go now, you’ll get suckered in and never leave,” she whispers into my ear. “That man could make conversation an Olympic sport.”

“I’ve had enough of that tonight,” I mutter.

She laughs, and it’s so like the one I remember from our early days together. Before she realised her father wasn’t right behind her to take her home. Before it sunk in that she might be stuck on that foreign island with us. Before she realised that she, the proverbial princess of the Devereaux family, would have to do things she’d never imagined only to survive.

We step outside into the cooler night, and I hadn’t realised just how warm the ballroom was until just now. The gentlest of breezes wafts through the air as we take a seat on a stone bench overlooking one of the many rose gardens in the palace. The sweet scent of the flowers carries nature’s natural perfume, and I take a deep breath in, closing my eyes.

“Well,” Valentina says. “You aren’t the Sinclair we were all expecting.”

I swallow, letting my eyes flutter open. “I was hoping to make an entrance.”

“You succeeded,” she replies with a soft laugh. “And, ooh, Jasmine’s face… I apologise for saying so, but that was fucking beautiful.”

I peer across at her. “Not a fan?”

She puckers her lips, as if she’s trying to figure out what to say. “Forgive me, but no.”

“You and me both.”

“Oh, that makes this easier then.” Another, more relieved, laugh tinkles out of her. “You… made it home.”

I nod slowly. “It took a long time,” I say. “Ryan and I got lucky.”

“Ryan’s alive?”

“He’s in London. Taking over his father’s company. His brother actually runs a business here in St Peters. I owe everything to them. They’re the only reason I made it back to Askurg at all.” I pause. “The others… Franco, Sakura, Maeve…”