The Royal Assassin by Kate Parker

to be good for His Grace.”
    â€œI’m certain you will be brilliant,” Sussex said, a smitten smile plastered on his face.
    I caught Blackford staring at me with a frown. There was noway I could tell him about the princess’s planned disappearance. I hoped he kept a good watch.
    Princess Kira had the carriage stop in front of a fabric shop two doors down from Hatchards. We all climbed down and went inside, the Russian soldier standing guard at the door. He alternated between peering in the shop window and carefully watching every movement in the street.
    I noticed a familiar-looking coachman drive past in an ordinary-looking carriage. The well-matched, sleek black horses told me I was not mistaken. Blackford’s coachman. He pulled over and let two passengers out in front of Hatchards. Emma and Sumner, dressed in working-class attire fancied up with middle-class hats and gloves. Sumner had added a cane and Emma a nice scarf that could be easily hidden once they reached the East End.
    Good. They were in position to confront the Russian girl Princess Kira was meeting. Then my relief quickly died, trampled under horse hooves and carriage wheels. Who had Emma found to watch my shop?
    The princess asked Sussex his opinion of different fabrics for sofas, chairs, and draperies. She finally learned he was partial to greens and blues and hated large flowers. We left after Sussex assured the proprietor that they’d be back after the wedding the following spring.
    We then walked past Hatchards two doors in the opposite direction to an art supply store. The princess went mad buying canvases, frames, oil paints, cleaning chemicals, and brushes. It was more than even a large-handed man like Ivanov could manage and react to anything else. When the princess told him to carry her packages to the carriage, he let loose with a string of Russian.
    â€œTell him he is acting as my footman and, therefore, mustcarry my purchases to the carriage and store them safely inside,” the princess told me in French.
    I turned to him and translated her words to English.
    He growled at me. “I am guard. I am not servant.”
    â€œIf you don’t do as she instructs, you will be replaced,” I said without conferring with the princess first.
    â€œYou are servant. Do not speak to me like that.”
    â€œPrincess Kira is right,” Blackford said. “You’re acting as her footman. Carry her packages to the carriage, and be sure everything is stored so nothing is damaged. Otherwise, I’ll personally speak to the ambassador and get you replaced. Today.”
    With ill grace, the soldier shoved past us and picked up the awkward packages. He led the way along the sidewalk, struggling with the bulky parcels that threatened to slip to the pavement with every step he took toward the carriage. Princess Kira lagged farther and farther behind.
    Before Ivanov reached the carriage, the princess held up one gloved finger to Sussex and disappeared into the bookshop. Sussex turned to Blackford and shrugged. I’d positioned myself in front of Lady Raminoff so I could block her way.
    Sussex wandered into the bookshop. I knew Princess Kira had headed straight to the back door and freedom. Hatchards clerks were used to eccentric behavior by their clients and would hardly notice one more well-dressed customer strolling out the back. Sussex would be too late to find her. But how had she learned the layout of a shop she’d never visited before?
    Ivanov reached the carriage and shoved some of the packages through the window so he had a hand free to open the door. Then he looked back, didn’t see the princess, and roared fearsome Russian curses as canvases and frames flew in all directions.
    The carriage horses shied at the soldier’s war cry. Bystandersducked as they were pelted with flying frames or parcels of art supplies while Ivanov stormed toward us. Behind me, Lady Raminoff shoved me forward to get to