Oh, to be in his arms. But Director Grey wasn’t her husband, so she kept a distance between them. He guided her through the waltz, turned her out, back in, moving her perfectly, and though she knew the steps, she surrendered to his lead.

Maybe she was still in the fairytale.

They danced another—a foxtrot—and then he grabbed her hand and headed outside, into the cool air.

Twilight had fallen, the sky a mottled lavender and gold. Beyond the fragrant garden, the smell of the sea lifted. She hadn’t walked down to the cliffs to check the fall, but from the turret, it looked treacherous.

“Anybody see anything?” York said now, as he retrieved two glasses of champagne from a waiter. Handed one to RJ.

“Negative. And Otis sent me the list of guests. Everyone has been vetted. Maybe we’re in the clear.”

Oh, she hoped so.

She would like to enjoy the rest of the evening with her husband.

Turning back to the dance, she lifted the champagne to her lips.

Spotted the waiter who’d offered them the glasses.

And something just…clicked. Instincts, maybe, but though the man wore a tuxedo, his hair pulled back in a neat dark man-bun, she saw it.

A circle tattoo, with a center star, right at the nape of his neck.

She whirled and smacked the champagne glass right out York’s hand.

It went flying and smashed against a stone planter. He stared at her, stunned.

And maybe so was the waiter, for he turned.

Gotcha.

“The waiter,” she said and pointed at the man. “He’s Oden.”

York looked at her glass. Back to the man.

Who dumped his empty tray in a fountain and quickly walked away through the crowd.

“I’ll be right back,” York said, then took off.

RJ just stood there, holding the champagne glass.

“Ziggy?” Logan said.

“I see him,” said Ziggy. “He’s escaping through the garden.”

Ziggy came into view, hustling in her low heels out through the ballroom, headed after York.

Who had broken out into a run after the man. The waiter hurtled a hedge, knocked over a couple, sending a woman sprawling and made for the cliffs.

Certainly—

RJ still clutched her champagne glass, not sure if it was evidence or not, and started after them.

Get ‘em, York.

Ziggy was behind them, running hard, having kicked off her shoes.

The crowd had started to cluster, watching the chaos.

A few more palace security had arrived, also running hard, some shouting.

“RJ.” A voice behind her turned, and it was Roy. He stood behind her, and it hit her that she was Roy’s assignment, if something should go down.

Oh, York.

He’d caught up to the man, and a couple women had gasped as he tackled the man, scrubbing him onto the ground.

But the man rolled, punched York and while she winced, some of the women turned away.