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“We do,” Nicole agreed. It felt strange that the people she’d grown up knowing about—the royal family of Theron—knew who she was and acted as if she was welcome in their world.
But those thoughts were for later. For now, the joy of James and Amanda’s safe return was the most important thing, and she was delighted to be part of the celebration.
As she chatted with the royal family, it became clearer and clearer that they were just people. She’d always thought of them as more.
The grand ballroom of the palace, a spectacle of soaring ceilings and gilded adornments, had been transformed into an intimate sanctuary. Amidst the velvet drapes and crystal chandeliers, a simple checkered blanket covered a portion of the polished marble floor, its borders adorned with an array of delicacies and chilled wines. It was an oasis of calm and unpretentious charm, a stark contrast to the room’s usual formality.
“Imagine,” Theodore mused aloud as he reclined on the plush blanket beside Nicole, “if we were in the park now.”
Nicole felt an ache for the simplicity of such a wish. “It would have been lovely,” she conceded, her voice a soft lilt that blended with the muted symphony of the evening. She plucked a grape from the cluster before them, rolling the orb between her fingertips as if it held the answer to a simpler life—one without hidden threats lurking in every shadow.
“But we are not in the park,” Theodore continued. “We are here because, outside these walls, danger prowls with a ravenous hunger—assassins seeking to dismantle all we hold dear by targeting James.”
Nicole set the grape back down, untouched. “They see him as a symbol,” she murmured. “A representation of the government they wish to overthrow. It is more than just one man they aim to strike at—it’s the very foundation of our nation.”
“Yes, it is,” he replied, nodding slowly. “James’s ideals, his reforms...they’ve made him enemies who cloak their treachery in the guise of righteousness.” Theodore’s hand found Nicole’s, an anchor amidst the storm of uncertainty. “We must be vigilant. The smallest crack in our armor could be all they need.”
Nicole nodded, wishing there was a way she could soothe his worries.
“Nicole,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “your insight into this world—the art patrons, the whispers behind closed doors—it is invaluable.”
“I’m willing to do anything I can to help,” Nicole offered.
As the evening wore on, their conversation meandered through the paths of strategy and speculation. Each revelation tightened the bond between them. They were allies in a game where the stakes were kingdoms and lives.
“We must pool our knowledge. Your acumen in the art world could be what we need to decode Christopher’s next move.”
She nodded. “Art can be a screen for darker dealings. I’ll start with the gallery guest logs—discreet inquiries may lead us to unexpected connections.”
“Your subtlety will serve us well,” he affirmed, watching as she unfolded a map of the city’s influential art circles and laid it on the cold marble floor. “And I will leverage my political ties. There are whispers even within these walls that might reveal the extent of Christopher’s treachery.”
“Then it is a pact,” Nicole declared, extending her hand. Theodore took it, kissing her palm.
“My brother’s safety—and our country’s—hangs in the balance. We must tread carefully, lest we tip the scales in favor of our adversaries.”
“Understood,” she replied.
“Tomorrow,” he continued, “you will attend the Duchess’s luncheon. I think you’ll find many of our people who may be in cahoots with Christopher.”
“An excellent setting to gather whispers without arousing suspicion,” she mused aloud. She’d never been part of the upper class, but she would be a fly on the wall for Theodore and all of Theron.
“Yes.” His eyes never left hers. “I’ll have a meeting with my advisors and learn what I can.”
“Use your influence as they expect you to,” she suggested, “but listen for the silences—the spaces between words where truth hides.”
“Nicole,” he said, “your perceptiveness should help figure this out.”
“Let us hope,” she echoed.
They discussed all of the people who moved in the same circle as the royal family, trying to find invisible lines between them back to Christopher.
They talked long into the night. Each of them aware of the other in a way they didn’t put a name to. Not while they were trying to find the would-be assassin.
“Christopher has always been a patron of my gallery,” Nicole said, her voice steady as she sliced into a wheel of Brie with precision. “But it’s not the art he lingers for. Every fortnight, like clockwork, he meets with an older man in a back corner.
“An older man?” Theodore mused aloud. The detail struck a chord, harmonizing with fragments of information nestled within his mind. “Did you ever catch his name?”
“Never,” she replied, pouring them each a glass of wine. “But their conversations were hushed, urgent even. They spoke as if every word carried weight, every glance held meaning.”
