The morning light was warm, seeping through the white curtains. Her moans floated in all corners; soft, phantom-like, a breath of heady passion. A pillow fluffed on the floor over discarded garments. The cover was slowly sliding down as well. The bed, enormous as it may be, creaked in its joints.

There was a battle going on in bed, one between two creatures who wanted to dominate. Ellise growled in frustration when Dior pushed her on her back and pinned her shoulder on the mattress with one hand, the other holding her knee close to her breast as he rammed into her, hard.

She would have allowed it, but she was enjoying the previous torment she was giving him. Twisting away from his hold, she rolled him on his back to bestride him. His hands gripped her hips tightly when she slowed down, biting her lip as she savored each sensation, inch by inch.

He pushed up and pulled out of her, covering her furious cry of protest with his mouth, punishing her with his tongue and teeth. "Turn," he ordered, gripping her hips and turning her to face the wooden poster at the foot of the bed. "Hold," he added, guiding her hands to wrap around the rod. Her heart thudded, following his demand because it sounded promising. He spread her legs apart with one knee and then took her from behind, pushing her higher against the poster, his arms around her, one hand around her neck and jaw, the other between her legs, tormenting her from behind, showing her more than promised.

She choked out a curse as he quickened his pace, biting her neck as he did so. It was too much. It was a different height. And God, the fall was spectacular.

Thousands of heartbeats later, still shuddering, they fell back onto the mattress. He sought her mouth, hands caressing everywhere he earlier dug and punished.

"We should cease fencing. I enjoy my defeat in bed far more," she said against his languid kiss.

He gathered her brown locks off her neck and shoulders and grinned as he rained kisses down her jaw.

Much later, they both dressed, then undressed before they reached the door. He showed her how their time in the closet in Sinclair should have ended by dragging her to the one standing in the corner of the room. And as they dressed again hours later, he promised to show her how the chaise might make her change her mind.

"Later. We have another piece to take out," she said, looking out the window. "And a storm is underway."

*****

Leila watched with curiosity as Oliver St. Vincent removed the bandages. How could such giant hands be so gentle? And how could such a humongous man be so comical after the morning drama in the breakfast room?

"Do you think the wedding will not happen now?" she asked while he helped her take her first steps out of her crutches.

He frowned. "Why do you think so?"

"Because your mother had a quarrel with the duchess."

"They did?" he asked.

It was her turn to frown. "Yes. You were there."

"I'm quite certain it was just a small spat between two very proud women," he said.

"But if it's not, then the wedding may not happen."

"The wedding will happen, child," Oliver said. "Dior is with my sister in Coulway. Whatever happens between our mothers, those two will have to marry."

"But if—"

"Now, now, stop with questions about the wedding. Why don't you show Camila and Jamie your new leg?"

She frowned at the scar on the outer portion of her left thigh. It did not look new. It would stay with her forever. She only hoped it would be worth it. Looking up at Oliver St. Vincent, she smiled. "Thank you, Doctor."

He grinned, his bearded face suddenly bright. "You are much welcome. Now, go. And don't drag Mason around with you this time. He has lessons."

Not much later, Leila was back at the edge of the woods with Camila and Jamie, the three of them hiding behind the thick wild laurel, far away from the nest. The chirping of birds and the rustling of the trees broke the constant sound of the waves. Jamie was holding a stick to ward off squirrels and smaller animals. Camila, sitting on the ground covered with a blanket, was frowning at her journal.

"Jamie, I believe the babe should be in the western wing."

"Why?"

"Well, you see, if the babe cries, it would be quite a bother."

"Camila, the babe always stays with its parents."

"Not all the time."

Leila frowned. "What babe?"

"Ours," the two chorused.

"Yours?"

"Our future child," Camila explained, tucking curly blond locks behind her ear.

She blinked. "You are making plans on where to put your child?"

"Yes, of course. This is the fun part about being betrothed, see?" The girl showed her a rough sketch of a floor plan. "We get to plan our future."

Jamie joined Camila on the blanket and pointed at what could have been the west wing. "If the babe cries, we will not hear it. And that's bad, Camila. What if it's hungry? Or hurt?"

Camila thoughtfully considered his words, biting her lower lip. "Oh, you are correct. But the nurse will be around."

"You cannot trust our child to a nurse, you fool. Have you not heard about Tommy Greyson's little sister?"

"What about her?"

"She almost died because the nurse dropped her."

"Did they kill the nurse?" Leila asked.

Camila and Jamie gaped, eyes wide. "Why would they kill the nurse?" Camila asked.

"Because she dropped the child."

"No, they did not. That's a horrible punishment," Jamie said with a wave of his hand. "They dismissed her, of course." Turning to Camila, he added, "Our children shall grow up with the best nurses, but also sleep near our bedchambers until they're old enough."

Camila nodded and wrote notes on the journal. "We are yet to design the nursery."

"We should design the courtyard first," Jamie said. "I want a vast one."

Losing interest, Leila looked around. "Have you ever entered the woods?"

"No, it's dangerous," Jamie replied. "Ellise forbids it."

"Animals?"

"Wild animals."

"Or maybe," Leila said, craning her neck, "a secret place." She turned and looked down at Camila and Jamie. "Mason said Ellise has a secret place in the woods."

"All the more reason we should not go," Jamie told her. "If it's a secret, then she would want to keep it that way. And it's about to rain. We should head back to the manor."

But Leila was already walking away. If Ellise was keeping secrets, she would want to discover them.

"Leila, come back here," Camila called out. "Jamie, tell her."

"Leila, come back here," Jamie said.

When she continued to ignore them, Camila and Jamie jumped to their feet and chased. "Let's go back to the manor, Leila. A storm is underway. And your leg is not fully healed," Jamie said, grabbing her hand.

She twisted from his grip. "You can go back, the two of you. I will return shortly." When they looked at each other, she added, "Are you not curious?"

Camila was the first to break. She shrugged. "Well, if we can return before the rain drops..."

Jamie's brow furrowed. He looked around and down the path, amber eyes uncertain. "This is a terrible idea."

"We will not go far," Leila said. "We'll just look around."

Jamie sighed. "Ten minutes. Then we'll head back."

Leila smiled and grabbed Camila's hand. "We better not waste time then."

Camila, now overcome by curiosity and excitement, skipped to Leila's side. "But if we find nothing, we should head back, yes? Do you think Ellise hides her weapons in her secret place? They say she has bows and arrows."

"We may find out, Camila. Or do you think she's hiding something else?"

"Like what?"

"Dead bodies."

Camila hummed, hooking her arm around Leila's. "Animals?"

"Well, yes. Or people."

Camila gasped. "Do not be absurd!"

"Women," they heard Jamie grumble behind them.

*****

Black clouds loomed over Humbrick, sending rain and thunder all over the estate, forcing everyone else in the party to retreat indoors and enjoy various entertainments in the parlors and gaming rooms.

One particular drawing room, however, was spared of fun and games. Ten palace guards lined the entire length of the corridor, and five more men dressed in black coats stood nearby, eyeing the ten men in red and blue.

Inside the drawing room, Robert sat by the fire. Across from him, the crown prince himself, Emory Louis Frederick Davercher. The young prince's slim figure and dark blond hair were a contrast to Robert's built and dark locks. Blue eyes studied Robert with curiosity, even disbelief.

"I would have never thought, Chester, that you are with the Royal Circus," the prince said, voice calm with a hint of amusement. "I can have my guards take you this very moment."

"But you will not," Robert said, clasping his hands over his lap. He did not know the crown prince well. Save for a few occasions, he never interacted with the man. And it was not as if Emory was a strong presence. Unlike his deceased brother, the former crown prince, Emory hid in the shadows of his parents. He never held parties like Albert did, nor did he dally with just any woman. One would think he was mum because he rarely spoke. But in the rare times Robert heard him speak, he had a hint that Emory was merely wearing a façade. Being silent and ignored was a choice. Behind his handsome, timid look was an intelligent man. However, Robert was still to find out if the man was wise. "This is no longer about Reginald and the king," he said. "We have a common enemy."

"Belcourt."

He slowly nodded. "You coming here should mean you agree to our plans."

"Or it may simply mean I am here to enjoy Humbrick," the prince said with a shrug. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. "Bold of the Circus to ask my former Belle to send me a note."

"Aliya knows the consequences of Belcourt's plans."

"If I should believe her—and I'm not saying I do—how do I know this is not part of the Circus' plan to dethrone the king?"

"Your father's dethronement will come early if you do not cooperate with us." He unclasped his hands and rested his head on one. "The Prime Minister is planning to assassinate your father at the Kinsley Ball."

Emory's smile did not reach his eyes. "There is always a threat of an assassination, Chester. But I see no reason the Prime Minister would want that. Why would Magnus Westwell want to take out the king he can control and make way for the crown prince he cannot fool?"

"Because Sutherland would not need a new king. They will simply welcome an emperor."

Prince Emory stiffened. His blue eyes dimmed, revealing the danger he was capable of if given the power.

"Belcourt is making plans with Westwell to allow the entry of the French soldiers into Sutherland."

"The Houses will never allow that to happen," Emory said, voice suddenly cold, eyes calculating.

"Westwell met with prominent members of both Houses. With them were ladies from Belcourt's innermost circle. If you do not see where this is going, Your Highness, you can look back in history—at how Belcourt brought your father to power by mere manipulation."

"My father did not—"

"Your father was a puppet from the start. He still is. He is only where he is because of the blood in his veins," Robert interjected, straightening in his chair. His mouth curled into a faint smile. "And because of the Queen." He saw the man's jaw tightened. "But of course, you already know that. And you know Napoleon does not have to be a Davercher to be emperor. The days of your monarchy is numbered as we speak."

Silence reigned in the room as Emory regarded Robert with his intense gaze. No longer was he the thin, handsome prince with golden hair. Suddenly, he looked more like a king than his father ever could be.

"Being the leader of the Royal Circus does not make you trustworthy, Chester. In fact, it makes you a traitor."

"What makes you think I'm the Royal Master?"

"Is that what you call your leader? The Royal Master?"

"You call yours Belcourt," he said with a shrug. "That's your true master, Your Highness. For years, in fact."

Emory's eyes were a pair of minacious blue spheres. But he remained quiet, scrutinizing Robert from where he sat in his chair, looking regal in his red and gold mantle, a façade of his family's power.

"We shall not lose much should you refuse our help. In fact, we already established foundations for our plans. But the Royal Master believes that with your cooperation, we can easily deal with Belcourt."

"Bring me this Royal Master."

"I'm afraid you cannot meet him. You will only have me, I'm afraid."

"And yet you expect me to hand over my sister."

Robert nodded, smiling at the man's palpable anger. "Can you imagine what the people will think the moment they find out that the princess killed Prince Albert?" Emory's jaw tightened. Good. "She would not suffer at all. They may demand she be hanged, but that would be the extent of it," Robert said with a shrug. "But you will face the consequences. After all, you are reaping the benefit of Prince Albert's death."

"Whatever Esther did shall be dealt with by me the moment I gather enough—"

"We will not hurt her. We only want to keep her away from the little power she holds. Her disappearance will make things easy for you and the Circus. It will distract the king and cause a slight unrest in the parliament, giving us enough time to act. She has a personal vendetta against Belcourt and it is making her a liability." He sighed and wryly looked around the room when Emory frowned in confusion. But Robert did not plan to spend the entire day explaining everything to a prince. So before the man could ask his questions, he spoke again. "She easily killed Albert right under your nose. How certain are you that you will not be next when it is clear that your enemy is very much closer to home?" The prince shook his head. "We care not how you see your sister, but we know you recognize what she's capable of. Otherwise, you would not have brought her here when we asked you to."

Emory stared at him for a long time as the sky thundered outside, the rain hard against the windowpanes. Finally, the prince spoke. "The moment you kill my sister, you're dead, Chester. No one punishes her but us."

Robert nodded and rose from his seat. "The Royal Master wishes to continue working with you once this is all over."

"You mean when Reginald gets here."

"Let us not get ahead of ourselves. For now, the Royal Circus is working with you."

"Then tell your Royal Master to stop the nonsense about Belcourt and the king on the Sutherland Post," the prince demanded. "I know the Circus is behind it all. Stop planting ideas in people's heads."

"You do not agree with the articles?"

"Reginald was a monster. The stupid articles are painting him to be a saint."

Robert shrugged. "The articles about the king and Reginald shall stop, but Belcourt will continue to be attacked. Is there anything else?"

"Who is running Belcourt now?"

Robert sighed. "You are the ignorant brother, after all." Before the prince could lunge for him, Robert stepped back, shaking his head. "I will tell you everything you need to know once we have the princess. Good day, Your Highness."

*****

Esther was surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting inside her bedchamber in Humbrick, the largest one the mistress could provide for a princess. She studied her gown with less enthusiasm than before.

"The Belles are here, and I'm wearing the most dreadful gown in the kingdom," she whined, staring at her petite form in the mirror.

"The crown prince wishes to remind you that you are still in mourning, Your Highness," one lady said. "Black looks beautiful on you."

"Do not patronize me, Pippa. I know I look horrible. And it's just the second day of Humbrick! How should I survive the rest of the week with these gowns?"

"You look beautiful," Tanner Macmier's voice said from the doorway.

Esther snapped her head in his direction. "What are you doing here?"

He flashed his charming smile at her. "Your guards gave me permission to enter."

She looked at the five ladies around her. "Leave us."

The women filed out of the room, heads bent, and left Esther alone with Tanner. He locked the door and turned to face her. "You do look awful in that gown."

"I know." She turned and faced him fully. "Why are you here?"

"Well, to rid you of that gown, of course," he said, pulling at his cravat.

"I'm not in the mood, Tanner," she said, facing the mirror again. "How many Belles are here?"

"Around a dozen."

"And Ariel is not here?"

He stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Staring at her through the mirror, he said, "You know she's not."

She blindly ran her fingers through her diamond necklace. "And Royals?"

"Of course, they're here." He planted a kiss on her neck and gazed at the mirror. "Are you ready?"

She studied their reflection and met his eyes. "How much does this Lord Darcy want to destroy Belcourt?"

Tanner shrugged. "I honestly do not know. You do not have to meet him if you think it's not safe."

Her eyes never left his as he spoke. "You know that if something happens to me, my brother is here, yes?"

"You do not trust me."

"You have been blackballed by the Royal Circus. And now they came to you to reach me. They would not have done so if you did not tell them of our... special arrangement."

He smiled. "Darling, do you truly think your ladies-in-waiting or your servants do not talk? By now, nearly everyone in the kingdom is aware of our affair."

She scoffed. "Do not be funny, Tanner. We are not an affair."

"Of course."

"You expect nothing from me."

"I do not."

She smiled. "Tell this Lord Darcy he will only have ten minutes of my time."

He kissed her jaw. "Of course."

An hour later, before she had to spend the entire night sitting in a chair with her brother in the ballroom, watching everyone else dance, Esther waited in her bedchamber. The two guards stood on each side of the doorway, ready to die for her. Just as she thought she had waited enough, the doors opened and a somewhat familiar figure stepped into the firelit room.

Robert Dior smiled at her. "Good evening, Your Highness."

"You are Lord Darcy?"

"No," he replied. "But I'm here under Lord Darcy's orders."

She stood. "Then I refuse to speak with you."

"You do not have to. I'm here under a different order."

"What do you mean?"

"You will be escorted to a new place," Dior said. He looked behind him and five men filed into the room.

Esther's eyes flickered to her guards. They remained unmoving. Her heart leapt to her throat, sensing danger. She stepped back. "What is the meaning of this?"

Robert Dior smiled. He turned and started for the door. "I will come by and visit you soon, Your Highness."

As the men advanced toward her, Esther stumbled back in panic. "What are you doing just standing there!" she screamed at her guards. Her eyes veered back to the doorway. Robert Dior was gone.

"Get these people out of here!" she roared at the guards, but they remained where they were, staring straight ahead as if nothing was happening.

And then she realized why.

Emory.

She screamed then, but it was a futile attempt. The storm drowned her cries of fury as Robert Dior's men grabbed her.