Playboy Princes (Royals of Arbon Academy, #2)(85)

The older gentleman looked relieved and indicated that I walk with him away from the ball. Fine by me, really. The less time I had to risk King Steve putting his hands all over me, the better.

Mr. Wainwright led me out to one of the small courtyards, where low stone benches sat dotted around a perennial garden.

"Please, sit, Ms. Spencer," he invited me, indicating to one of the benches.

The night air still held a sharp bite of cold, and a shiver swept through me as I arranged my ballgown to sit down where he'd pointed. Hopefully what he wanted to talk about wasn't going to take long, or I'd turn into a very pretty Popsicle.

"What did you want to talk about, Mr. Wainwright?" I asked when he also sat on the bench, clasping his hands in front of him. Movement from a nearby window caught my eye, and I spotted Rafe and Jordan hovering just out of hearing distance. Unless I screamed, of course.

My companion cleared his throat, checking his wristwatch. "I understand several interested parties have their eyes on you tonight, Ms. Spencer, and your absence will have already been noticed. So, I'll cut to the chase, as you Americans like to say. Have you thought any further on the offer made by the Society?"

I kept my face carefully neutral, while on the inside confusion and curiosity warred with each other. Mr. Wainwright knew about the resistance? Was everyone part of it?

Was the dean?

Maybe this was all a trick to get me thrown into jail if I said the wrong thing. I had to be very careful about how I responded. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Mr. Wainwright," I responded in a cool voice. I'd rather insult a member of the Society than land myself in prison for trusting the wrong person.

He gave me a tight, understanding kind of smile. "Of course. I was asked to touch base with you as perhaps your previous point of contact was considered less than... uh... less than trustworthy among your circle of friends. I assure you, this organization is going to better the world. For all of us, not just those who were born into wealth and power."

I pursed my lips, thinking. "It sounds like you have things pretty sorted out," I commented slowly, still letting the gears of thought churn. "You have a lot of influential members... even crown heirs. Why do I get the feeling the Society is chasing me just a little harder than they would any other new member?"

Mr. Wainwright inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Because, Ms. Spencer, we are."

A non-answer if I'd ever heard one, and I still wasn’t sure I could even trust Wainwright, despite having a good vibe about him pretty much from the start. Mattie was freaking right, all along. There was something seriously fishy with him.

“If Rafe and Jordan could be here…” I suggested.

They would know who I could trust.

He opened his mouth to reply, when a commotion through one of the courtyard windows caught our attention. It was a troop of Swiss guards, but they were coming from the ballroom on a perpendicular corridor to where Rafe and Jordan waited, so my princes wouldn’t have seen them yet. More worrying, still, was that they seemed to be escorting a prisoner.

I stood up, trying to get a better look, and my movement drew Jordan's attention. He stepped through the doorway, arching his brows at me—asking if I was okay.

There was no time to warn him, though, as the guards approached the junction that would bring them out almost on top of Rafe.

I picked up my skirts, rushing forward to find out what was going on, and caught the tail end of Rafe's conversation with the guards.

"...I totally understand," he was saying. His voice was calm and collected—as always—but there was a hint of a feral grin on his face. "Well, that's very disappointing to hear. Hacking and stealing confidential files from the Danish monarchy is a very serious offense. I can't imagine what Prince Alex was thinking."

"Fuck you, Rafe!" Alex snarled.

My eyes widened as I drew closer until I found him in wrist restraints but still thrashing against the guards holding his arms.

"I know you were behind this! You're going to pay." His threat was delivered with pure venom, and his dark glare shot to me. There was no doubt in my mind it was me who he wanted to pay for this infraction. Well, fuck that. I was just about done playing the sweet, dumb charity case.

One of the guards smacked Alex in the face, and the others rumbled with anger.

"Never disrespect Prince Rafael again," the guard snapped. "We don't care who you are. You're on Swiss land, and all kinds of nasty things could happen before King Steve manages to free you."

I gaped in genuine shock at the guard’s behavior, but Rafe and Jordan looked smug as fucking cats. The guards proceeded to haul Alex away, and I stared after them, my jaw open, until someone cleared their throat.

"Ms. Spencer," Mr. Wainwright said, looking anxious. "I think we should continue this conversation another time. I'm afraid I have somewhere to be."

Without really waiting for any response, the silver-haired gentleman hurried away, heading for the academy entrance.

"That was strange," Jordan commented. But not as strange as what happened next.

It was the sound that reached us first. A low, rumbling roar that escalated quickly. The marble floor beneath us began to tremble, and a picture slipped from the wall, its glass shattering on impact.

"What's happening?" I asked, panic welling up in my throat.