uards, Thorne's men,

d, her eyes w

t away

r small clutch, h

im, black card, unm

ereig

a symbol of Kingman authority, rarely see

hloe cried, her voice cracking. "Yo

r let out a peal o

wn purse and produced

ok, I've got one too! They're handing them o

roared wit

an whose face was a permanent mask of disdain, stepped forw

seems legitimate. The other," she flicked a dismis

o the guards

d, a raw, b

d wait n

he shadows, Mr. Smit

s voice cut through th

s turne

an. You will release

silence, the

King of England. She's been gone for years. P

ecord of an Ava Kingman on the guest list. And

ough the room. They didn't be