This seems to pique his interest, and he moves to the desk, perching on the edge and picking up the handheld puzzle I’ve left unfinished. “And yet you’re the daughter of a king.”
“And yet,” I echo. “But while I don’t care about crowns and thrones, I do care about my family. And there’s nothing in this world that could tempt me to try to blow them up. Especially when I was in the building, too.”
“A solid argument.” His smirk of a smile is back, and with two hands, he works the puzzle box like he’s familiar with every millimeter of its metal frame. “I can see why Lord Clarence likes you. He’s very much of the same mindset, and I daresay you make a good pair.”
I raise my eyebrows as the yarn continues to unravel. The hem hasn’t changed, though, and I realize it’s a patch of some sort. “I had no idea he didn’t like the monarchy until a few weeks ago, so I really hope that has nothing to do with why he’s datingme.”
Guy chuckles, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “If you’re free to attend Oxford next year,” he says, “I would be quite interested in having you join Fox Rex. We’ve never had royalty among us before. Lord Clarence is about as close as we’ve ever gotten.”
My heart starts to beat a little faster. “I’m not royalty.”
“And with any luck, no one in this country will be soon enough.” He sets the puzzle down, and it’s open now, its complicated pieces twisted to reveal an empty center. “Though I certainly hope no one else has to die in the meantime.”
I can’t tell if this is a threat or not. “How did you do that?” I say, eyeing the box.
“Patience.” He nods to the puzzle. “Every time it closes, it’s a little different. You can never open it the same way twice. That’s what I like about it.”
I start to unravel the yarn around my finger in order to pick up the box, but I feel something underneath the patch in the cardigan—something small, circular, and metallic, almost like a five-pence coin.
Almost, but not quite.
My pulse is pounding in my ears now. I recognize the rough texture of its edge, and without taking my eyes off the puzzle, I slip it into one of the deep pockets of Kit’s cardigan before reaching for the box. Though I pretend to examine its pieces, all I can think about is the round object, and I set the box back down before my hands start to tremble.
“I’ve never been very good at puzzles,” I say.
“Now that, I suspect, is a lie,” says Guy, and he starts to reassemble it. “Would you be interested, then? In Fox Rex?”
A droplet of water drips from the bag of peas, perfectly in tandem with a bead of sweat that runs down my spine. “It depends,” I say. “If Dylan is your best and brightest…”
“I assure you, he is not,” he says, and he slides off the desk and makes his way over to the bookshelf behind me. I turn in the leather chair, watching him as his fingers glide over thevarious spines of historic warfare. Of the moments in history that changed the world. “We have many esteemed former members to count among our ranks, including several members of Parliament, courtiers and noblemen, lawyers, doctors, even an astronaut.”
His fingers pause on the leather-bound book with no title, and I hold my breath. He tugs lightly on the top, sliding it out an inch or two from its snug spot on the shelf, but then seems to think better of it and returns it to its original position. I exhale silently, cursing whatever modicum of good sense he’s decided to indulge.
“I’m not sure a royal bastard and accused terrorist would do much to enhance your ranks,” I say. “But I suppose I can talk to Kit and give it some thought.” I pause a moment, deciding on whether to chance it, but my mouth gets the better of me before I can think it all the way through. “I can’t be the only rebellious royal who’s ever held a grudge against the rest of the family.”
He slips back around to the front of the desk, and I track him in my seat, adjusting the peas against my aching jaw. “Entire wars have been fought because some cousin or nephew or second son felt slighted,” he agrees. “None of them have been part of Fox Rex, though. But wouldn’t it be nice to have a patron like that? Imagine what our little club could accomplish.”
His words turn the air to ice. “Shame there isn’t one hanging around in the wings right now,” I manage bitingly. “That would help recruitment more than I ever could.”
The instant the words leave my lips, I know I’ve said the wrong thing. But instead of seizing my mistake by the throat, he simply regards me as his shoulders relax, and he perches onthe desk once more. Something about his face softens, even as the glint in his eyes sharpens, but when he speaks, he sounds almost gentle.
“So that’s what you want,” he murmurs. “Proof.”
It takes me a moment to backtrack and follow his train of thought, but once I do, I touch my lip self-consciously. “Proof of what?”
“We both know the answer to that.” He takes a sip from his mug. “Lord Christopher Abbott-Montgomery, Earl of Clarence and nephew of the Queen, is the only member we have who is connected to the royal family. I hope to change that next year, with your arrival, but for now, I fear he is the closest our ranks come to being royal.”
He doesn’t say Ben’s name, but his denial is proof enough that Ben really is part of this somehow, and Guy is protecting him. Why? Because Ben is funding their attacks? Because he’s giving the ABR inside information about the family? My stomach turns at the thought, but I keep the disgust off my face. None of this is new information. Only confirmation, or at least as close as I’m going to get tonight.
“Maybe next year, then,” I say, letting the edge return to my voice. “So long as you stop kidnapping me and threatening to kill my boyfriend.”
“Kidnap?” says Guy, his eyes widening with innocent surprise. “I was under the impression you came willingly. My sincerest apologies, Evan. And again, I assure you, we have nothing but the deepest respect for Lord Clarence. He is an asset to our organization, and we protect our own.”
His voice dips slightly as he says this last part, and I can’t stop the shudder that runs through me. “I don’t doubt it.”
He smiles, as if we’ve come to an agreement after hours of negotiations, and he offers me his hand. “Now that we understand each other, I’m afraid I must be going. It was a pleasure, Miss Bright—truly. And I look forward to meeting again next year.”
“Can’t wait,” I say, not bothering to hide my lack of enthusiasm. “Does this mean you aren’t going to kill me?”
