Page 51 of Meet Cute the Virgin

“What about you?” Killian asks the other.

The table man lets out a choked sob. “No. Not this job.” But there have been others.

“Just kidnapping, then,” I say. “Delivering to whoever pays in Grandeurs.”

When we’d gotten them here, we stripped them down to their boxers. Inside one of the man’s shoes was one Grandeurs gold coin. They are very rare and were banned at one time. I’d guess the worth of the one coin to be around three grand right now.

What I do know, if my research is correct, is this can’t be a coincidence. The fire, the raid where I believe Victor acquired Lily, is the main source of the coins.

“Old money,” the chair man volunteers. It’s not only old money; it’s royal money. “Please. We don’t know names.”

Killian looks at me, wanting to know what my next move might be.

“Let me see here.” I walk over and pick up the one coin and toss it into the air, catching it. “We have rare royal money from a country I’m speculating my girl was born in. A fire to cover things up to make it appear she died with the two people that were trusted with her care.”

I have an idea of what this all might be. It sounds far-fetched, but is it?

“You’re saying a royal family sent these two, and it’s connected to Lily. A king sent them.”

“The king is dead,” the man in the chair says.

The table man flinches. It’s microscopic, but I catch it.

I smile. “There it is.”

“What?” Killian asks.

“He knows.” I lean over the table, close enough to smell copper and piss. “Who sent you after her?”

“God save the king,” the man gasps.

“You should be worried about saving yourself,” I warn.

“Her Royal Majesty,” the chair man says. “She sent us. The girl must die. She threatens our country by existing.”

“Do not tell Lily he said that,” I warn Killian. “That will go straight to her head.”

“It’s not a joke!” he hisses.

“You’re right.” I walk back over to the table. “You should have been more helpful,” I tell him. “Now go see your king.” I drive the knife into his chest.

The blade goes in smoothly, between ribs, finding the heart. His body doesn’t jerk or flail. Just stills. The only sound is of a long exhale like air escaping a tire. The man’s eyes stay open, fixed on the ceiling.

Killian raises an eyebrow. “That was dramatic.”

“He was boring me.” I wipe the blade on the dead man’s shirt. I pivot, pointing my knife at the other one. The one that gave us information. What he just saw should help move along thisconversation. I have other places to be before Lily gets herself into her next mess. “Your turn.”

The chair man starts pleading, pulling at his bindings. “I told you everything. I told you?—”

“And we appreciate it,” Killian says, crossing the room. “Really. Very helpful.”

The squealing starts in earnest then. High-pitched, almost comical. Like a pig, like a cartoon, like nothing human should sound. Killian works efficiently, almost bored, asking about the queen’s resources, her reach, and how many more teams might be coming. Then in a final desperation, he spills the tea of rumors about the queen and her son, Prince Julian. Set to be the next king.

He doesn’t stop there. At this point, he’s rambling to keep living.

I tune it out, stepping toward the stairs to get service, to check on Lily.

Of course, she’s moved. Slow but in my direction.