She didn’t know if the royals had been briefed or not, but whatever they knew, they betrayed nothing. RJ curtsied for Queen Catherine, dressed in a gorgeous teal blue dress, and King-consort Edric. They greeted her, but turned their attention to Director Grey. In the meantime, RJ directed a curtsy to Princess Gemma and Crown Prince John.

Gemma was resplendent in a creamy-white gown, a feathery neckline with inlaid pearls, her chestnut hair piled up on her head, evidence of Eloise’s handiwork. “You look amazing,” Princess Gemma said to RJ. “And…how was the wedding?” She gave RJ a conspiratorial smile.

“Perfect,” RJ said. “Thank you.”

“Is this the bride I heard so much about?” The woman next to Prince Gus looked over at her. Princess Daffy, RJ guessed, with her auburn hair curled and pulled back, wearing an off the shoulder gown with a lace bodice and shimmery green skirt.

“Indeed,” Gus said, taking RJ’s hand after she curtsied, again. “How was the turret?”

“Breathtaking. Thank you…your highness.”

“My pleasure. Anything for a mate of Gunner’s.”

She glanced over his shoulder where Gunner stood, unblinking, his attention on the crowd. He didn’t even look at her.

“Enjoy the ball,” Daffy said, then turned to Director Grey for his greeting.

The ballroom was decked out exactly as she would expect—gilded, arched ceiling, white travertine tile, sprays of roses picked fresh from the garden in vases by the open doors.

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Grey said as they entered.

“I don’t think you’ll need to dance.” She held up her mask. “Can you tie it on for me?”

It came with silk ties, and the director affixed her, and then she tied on his.

“RJ, can you hear me?” Logan’s voice crackled in her ear.

“Copy,” she said. Now she felt like a spy.

The room was full, music playing in the background from the full orchestra on stage. “I heard the royals start it out with a quadrille, with a few special guests to form their square. And then, after that, they play dance music—mostly waltzes, maybe a few foxtrots and tangos.”

“I’m going to be useless to you.”

But York wouldn’t. “We should get you to safety.”

“RJ, is that you?”

She turned and had nothing at the sight of — “Win? What are you doing here?”

The mask did nothing to hide his face, the handsome jawline, that dark curly hair. “I’m a guest of Princess Gemma. We know each other from our Hollywood days.”

Princes Gemma was an actress? But she had no time to follow up because—

“RJ, are you talking to Winchester Marshall?”

This from York, and he didn’t sound happy.

“Mmmhmm,” she said, still smiling at Win.

“Are you kidding me?”