Two hours later, however, they sat in Logan Thorne’s suite, going over the plans for the evening.

A map lay spread out over the table detailing the ballroom, the doors that lead to the garden, the possible entry points into the ballroom, the balcony locations where Roy and Logan could surveil the dance floor.

The VIP area was right outside the Grand Ballroom in the Grand Hall, where Director Grey would meet the royals in a receiving line. He’d take his mask off there, for the greeting, and everyone would get a good look at him.

Then, he’d move to the ballroom, vanish into the Grand Library next door, and be replaced by York, in the same attire.

York had already died his dark-blond hair a deep-brown, to match, and they’d obtained matching tuxes and masks.

She still had hers from the Shop Vintage, and the golden dress hung in her room at the Royal Lodge.

Ziggy would attend the dance, also, and RJ just felt better knowing Ziggy would be circling the floor.

More assurance that nothing would go wrong.

Logan had already met with the captain of the palace guard, and now Gunner Ferguson had joined them for the final go over. Handsome man, close clipped brown hair, stunning blue eyes, squared jawed, he had a no-nonsense way about him that fit well with York and Roy.

Nothing was going to go wrong tonight.

Meanwhile, she’d done some super sleuthing on the Oden, the Orphans, and discovered that the leader York had referred to was a woman.

Ex-KGB spy turned Bratva in the 2000s, she’d left the organization ten years ago after killing a Pakhan of the Bratva, one Alexander Latvenko, and vanished. Her name—Raisa Yukachova—surfaced now and again on a number of dark web sites, possible sightings, attributions, even accusations. But no one had seen her, really, in nearly a decade.

It was possible she’d been killed.

But the one thing that identified all Orphans was a tattoo they wore. A circle, with a star in the center, somewhere on their body. A mark of belonging for a group who trusted no one.

Except themselves, it seemed.

Outside, rain began to fall, pinging the windows of the lodge. She looked out at the dark clouds, but beyond them, a blue sky suggested a glorious night for a garden ball.

The others finished their briefing and then she and York left to get ready.

He’d moved into her room in the Royal Lodge, and she tried to fix her hair like Eloise but ended up simply keeping it down.

York zipped her up in the dress, delivered a kiss to the side of her neck, his arms curling around her. “Maybe we should be fashionably late.” His voice was a whisper in her ear.