Bili snorted, but Evelyn’s sharp look cut through the humour like a knife. “Call it what you will. You’ll have access. Proximity. If you play it right, you’ll get her attention.”

Lottie’s cheek stalled like Evelyn had slapped it away.

“ Her? ”

“For fuck’s sake, Finch.” Evelyn’s tone was icier than Lottie had ever heard it, and she’d been on the receiving end of Evelyn’s disdain on any number of occasions.

“Your mission has two clear objectives. We want Malik out of the line of succession and we want Zynara on the throne. You have licence to create exactly the kind of havoc you’re both so very good at.

Whatever bullshit Malik has planned needs to be avoided and the man himself needs to be so thoroughly discredited that neither his father, his country nor his oil-guzzling business associates will want him on the throne.

Bili, short of killing him, do whatever it takes to bring him down.

Lottie,” —piercing eyes fixed on her, and Lottie shifted involuntarily in her seat— “you will focus on the princess. Zynara. She is the point of the entire operation.”

“Zynara?”

That was news to Lottie. She thought they were there just to buzz Malik.

She’d only taken the job because she was a girl of flexible morals—for the right money, her sexual preferences could be flexible too.

Being paid to fuck with and fuck up a rich prince in the glittering city of Azzouan?

Fuck yeah! She didn’t know anything about the princess, but she had no trouble leaping to conclusions.

“The princess is queer?” she asked.

“The Qasira ,” Mak clarified. “In the Zargieri version of Arabic that forms just one of the country’s official languages, Q’sar is the term for ‘king’, Qasirim means ‘prince,’ and you will refer to the princess as Qasira or you will be asked to leave the country quicker than you can pack your bags. Do not mess that up, Lottie.”

“I speak some Arabic,” Lottie pointed out.

“We know.” The Nightingale was mild. She was also deadly.

Lottie swallowed. Evelyn Knight knew everything.

“Over the last decade, Qasira Zynara has transformed Ain Zargiers from the fossil fuel powerhouse it was in colonial times to a world leader— the world leader—in green energy,” Mak said.

“She even has the Chinese playing catch up. Britain’s grid and most of Spain, France and Germany’s are dependent on Zargieri electricity.

If she reclaims her position and takes the throne, all that continues.

Under Malik, the country once again becomes a playground for oil and gas tycoons.

Your job is to get close to her, Finch. Protect her from whatever Malik is planning.

Get her to reconsider. Zynara must take the throne when her father abdicates. ”

Lottie leaned back in the sofa, her grin wide. “You want me to schmooze a princess and save the world? Should I bring flowers, or is she more a champagne and strawberries kinda girl?”

Mak huffed a smile into her shoulder. Evelyn didn’t.

“Zynara is smarter than you think. Smarter than you.”

Lottie didn’t want to boast, but she doubted it. She might not have Bili’s Oxford education, but she was far from stupid. “Noted. I’ve charmed tougher crowds.” She spread her hands and indicated the Nightingale before her.

Evelyn’s expression set like cement. “No, Finch. You haven’t.”

Bili nudged her. Lottie could already tell she was going to play the ‘calm, rational and professional’ card, showing the Nightingale she could keep Lottie’s extravagances in check. They were a good team.

“You do realise what we’re walking into?” she asked Lottie. “We’re also Malik’s ‘hostesses’. He’ll have us entertaining billionaires, moguls and sycophants all while trying not to blow our cover.”

Lottie shrugged. “Sounds like my Saturday nights in London. Only warmer.”

The Nightingale lost her patience. “Have you read the briefing, Finch?”

“Guv, how can you even ask?” Just the right note of offended outrage.

Evelyn waited.

There was total silence.

Lottie made a critical miscalculation and wittered into the ice. “Of course I have. We’re rich socialites looking to party with the hottest prince in Ain Zargiers. Discredit the playboy prince, seduce the princess and secure her on the throne.”

“Have you read the briefing?”

Lottie held her nerve and the Nightingale’s eyes, then deliberately shrugged. “I’ll read it on the plane. You know me.”

Evelyn exploded out of the sofa and stalked to a window, each footstep a bullet in the chill air. She stood with her back to the room, but she didn’t say anything.

Hoo! Lottie took a steadying breath. Slight wobble from the junior agent there, but the Nightingale had definitely taken a hit.

Round two to Lottie Finch.

Mak pulled a face. “Cut the crap, Finch. The Qasira is nothing like the women you’ve manipulated before. She’s brilliant, disciplined and intensely loyal to her country. Underestimate her and you fail.”

“I get it.”

Mak tilted her chin at Ace and the woman threw a series of images of the Qasira to the main screens.

She looked familiar, but only because the princess was a regular figure in the global news.

Lottie mostly paid attention to world events.

She saw a press shot of Zynara standing tall beside her father, both of them smiling the fake, shallow smiles the ruling elites seemed to think were sufficient.

The next shot showed her speaking at a podium, her father nodding approvingly in the background.

She was elegant, of course—royalty couldn’t afford not to be—but if the intel was to be believed, Zynara was also the second wealthiest person in Ain Zargiers.

A renewable energy mogul to rival the fossil fuel billionaires.

Independently generated wealth too, though Lottie was pretty sure daddy had given her a leg up.

Impeccable suits, a subtle butch vibe that the mainstream probably wrote off as businesslike and professional.

Dark hair pulled back in a sleek but functional ponytail that revealed a thorough lack of personality.

Amazing shoes, though. Her personal staff probably chose her wardrobe for her.

She probably dined on stylists for breakfast.

The press clearly loved her. Half of the shots were posed to perfection—a conference in Geneva, in front of the Ain Zargiers flag, stepping off a private jet. Each image screamed poise and sophistication—and fuck tonnes of money.

Lottie sneered. So, a model princess, then.

This one was going to be easy.

“Malik is a snake,” Mak said. “We have credible intel that suggests he killed his own brother to get to the throne. He would have killed his sister too, but she stepped out his way at just the right moment.”

“Why aren’t we simply eliminating him?” Bili asked.

“Malik and Zynara are cousins of the Queen. Our Queen. Alexandra. They’re younger, but their mother and Alexandra’s mother were sisters. The Queen of England would very much prefer if you could avoid killing any members of her family.”

That was fair. Annoying, but you couldn’t argue with a royal directive, Lottie supposed.

“Family or not, Malik is dangerous. Both of you will need to perform at your very best. Keep your wits about you—and keep Ace in the loop. She’ll be with you in Azzouan, but not at the palace.”

“Piece of cake, Mak.”

Evelyn spoke to the window. “Remind me where we met, Finch.”

That took the wind out of Lottie’s sails a little. She didn’t say anything.

“Well?” Evelyn spun on one heel. She popped the button of her jacket and the leather weapon holster she wore underneath it was clearly visible. The butt of a Walther PPK Compact. Lottie sulked. Nice piece. Classic. So Bond.

“Libya,” Lottie muttered.

Evelyn smiled like a shark. “ Where in Libya?”

“Abu Salem women’s prison.”

“And how many men were trying to kill you that day?”

Lottie blew out an irritated sigh, then quickly turned it into bravado. She ticked them off on her fingers. “Well, there was a drug lord, two illegal arms dealers, and that guy I totally fleeced at poker—”

Between them, low on the seat of the couch where the others couldn’t see, Bili flicked her thigh.

There was another chilly silence.

“I tolerate your disrespect, your foolish overconfidence and your ridiculously overblown ego, Lottie Finch, because you are—as much as it pains me to admit—an exceptionally good operative.”

Lottie smiled. Widely. Bili flicked her again.

“But if you fuck this up, do not think for one second that I will not drop you right back in that filthy Lybian hellhole and leave you there to rot.”

Lottie mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?” Evelyn’s voice was velvet and iron.

“Yes, Nightingale. Sorry, Nightingale.”

Evelyn smiled tightly.

Ouch. Game, set and match to Evelyn Knight. Slaughtered by the sheer devastating power of one magnificent eyebrow and a level of icy control Lottie could never hope to emulate.

“We won’t let you down, guv,” Lottie said, more circumspectly. But there was one more thing bothering her. “Why me?”

Evelyn looked at Ace and the woman sent one more picture to the screen.

It was a profile of the Qasira taken in a dark club.

She was reclined in a chair, her elbow hooked over its back.

A forgotten glass of whisky was held loosely in long, elegant fingers that dangled idly from her wrist. Her attention was focused utterly on a view in front of her, something out of sight of the camera.

Her lips were parted but a slight smile curled the corner of her mouth.

Whatever she was watching had her entranced.

Lottie blinked. She knew exactly where that picture was taken—that was her dark club.

That was Harry’s piano. There was the Nightingale and Rose Martin all blurry in the background.

The Qasira was the extraordinary woman who’d appeared at the guv’s table the other night and stolen the love song right out of Lottie’s mouth.

Lottie’s heart flipped. Her pulse raced double time.

Qasira Zynara of Ain Zargiers was looking right at Lottie Finch.

“Oh,” Lottie breathed.

The Nightingale’s sigh was pure resignation. “Oh,” she repeated. She snapped her fingers and pointed to the door. “Now, get out. And do not fuck this up.”

Lottie shook it off as they tumbled down the stairs to the Circle’s tunnels and operations rooms. Ace kitted them out with a weapon each, listening equipment and the rest of the usual spy gear. Lottie’s excitement levels kicked up all over again.

Bili rolled her eyes. “Water off a duck’s back, hey? I’d be bricking it if the Nightingale spoke to me like that.”

Lottie didn’t know anything about ducks, but she knew the Nightingale. They went way back.

“A prince for you and a princess for me. Think we’ll end up with tiaras if we play our cards right?”

Ace smacked the back of her head. “You’re going to get eaten alive, Finch.”

Lottie stuck one hand on her hip. Ace’s eyes followed it and got lost somewhere around her tits on the way back up again. Lottie thrust her strategies out and grinned, wholly unrepentant.

“Sounds like a good time,” she said.