Page 34 of Wicked Princess (Knight's Ridge Empire 2)

The sun set a little over an hour ago.

I left my phone in my room to ensure no one would be able to track me here. Stella isn’t the only one who can ditch and run.

I tried tracking her phone with the app we’ve all got, the one I connected hers to when she was drunk at Nico’s birthday party, but its last location was at the hospital last night.

Smart bitch has either left it behind or turned it off.

Toby might not have told me where she’s gone, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t got a good suspicion.

She knows no one here, and I can’t imagine her going somewhere alone. Toby is here, and according to the app, Calli was at home. Surely, if she wanted to take anyone with her, it would be those two?

That only leaves one option.

She’s gone home.

It didn’t take a lot of research to figure out all the places she’s lived over the past few years.

Her Instagram account helped me figure out where Galen had dragged her. Some places only had a handful of images. But the last place—Rosewood, Florida—had loads. Friends, parties, cheerleading, at the beach, in different houses. One glance and it was clear that she had a real life there.

That was only confirmed when I called her two friends from her bedside.

They cared for her, that much was obvious.

My grip on the bottle tightens. My need to get an Uber to Gatwick and book myself on the next flight is almost too tempting to ignore.

Blowing out a long, steady breath, I try to get a grip on what I need to be doing.

I need to find the motherfucker who thought stabbing our princess with her own knife was a good idea.

I need to figure out how he even had her knife in the first place. The last time I saw it, I’d placed it in her bag after her fight with Teagan.

Scrubbing my hand down my face, I try to get my thoughts in order, but the alcohol in my veins is making it harder and harder.

I don’t realise that I’ve passed out until the crack of a twig in the distance startles me, making me sit up straight and turn toward the entrance.

Images of her walking through the darkness, her curves being illuminated by the moonlight as she comes to find me flicker through my mind like a film.

But it’s a fantasy. A dream.

She’s not here, and she’s not coming for me.

The second the figure does appear, a lump so huge appears in my throat that I have no chance of saying a word to her.

Silently, she walks in front of me and lowers her body so she’s resting half on the same gravestone as me.

Reaching out, she takes my hand in hers, squeezing tightly in support.

“I brought you this,” she says, dragging another small bottle of vodka from her bag, followed by the most incredible sight of a freshly rolled joint. “I stole it from Jason. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Reaching out, I take it, placing it between my lips as she digs out a lighter and flips it open, illuminating her face with the soft orange glow as she lights the end.

“Thank you,” I force out before taking my first hit.

Resting my head back once more, I revel in the high, holding the smoke in until my lungs burn for air.

“This isn’t very responsible of you, Sis.”

“It wasn’t that long ago that I was eighteen.”