Page 92 of His Prince

“I found this and was wondering who it is.” I set the picture on the mattress and she freezes, her face paling. I’ve never seen this expression on her and it makes my stomach churn, bile working its way up my throat.

This isn’t good.

“What? What is it?” I ask, almost breathless. I don’t like this. Not at all. Part of me doesn’t want to know, but the other does. It roars with the need to know.

“Put that away. Burn it,” she hisses, her voice cracking.

“Nina. Please tell me. Who is it?”

Now I need an answer. I can’t let this lie.

“No one and you best forget it.”

“I—I can’t. Nina,” I say, staring at the picture and clutching at my stomach.

But she ignores me, continuing to work on putting the sheets onthe bed without even looking my way. The picture is discarded, so I pick it up, almost gingerly.

“Who is she?” I whisper.

But my question sinks into the corners of the room and disappears. Nina just murmurs something in Russian and then stalks out of the room without a backward glance.

My eyes follow her, and I swallow roughly. People are keeping secrets. I filter through who else to ask, Mikhail not even entering my mind.

I wonder if the bodyguards will tell me and then shake my head. I don’t want them to feel as if their loyalties are torn. And then my mind lands on someone.

Yes. Him.

I know who will talk.

“That’s Katarina,” Ivan says, a snickerdoodle hanging from his mouth.

“Yes, but who is she?”

He shrugs, taking another large bite, crumbs falling onto his shirt. “Mikhail’s wife. Dead wife.”

My entire body locks up, and I find it hard to breathe.

“He never told me he had a wife. Or that she died.”

He huffs and adjusts his glasses. “Probably because ofhowshe died. Terrible. Quite awful.”

“Oh my god,” I whisper, and Ivan shrugs. “She deserved it. All of it. Good riddance.”

My eyes widen and I cross my arms over my stomach. “How did she die?”

He runs a thumb across his throat, and the room spins.

“Who killed her?”

“Mikhail.”

My fingers clench the chair in front of me, and I gagslightly.

“That can’t be true.”

Ivan takes another snickerdoodle from the container and takes a large bite. “It is. It happened years ago.”

“Where?”

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