Always wanting what they can’t have, eh?” Viktor Chapeyev knows about the shooting and Everly’s role. He always knows. At fifty-five, he’s still just as intimidating as the first time I met him as a boy of twelve. Same white-blonde hair, same black eyes, and same charming smile. A great many have met their Maker after seeing Viktor’s visage. Sixteen years after our first meeting, I still wonder if he’s truly on my side. Or any side for that matter. I shrug. “She’s spooked from Petrov’s handiwork and wants me to take self-defense classes with her.” Piercing, black eyes assess my words. “She knows nothing?” “Less than zero,” I mutter as he passes a book to me. “I’m interested in selling this,” he says. I turn it over and read the title. The Secret Lives of Kings. “Royalty,” I say, nonplussed. Besides the implication of the title, there are only three copies of this 1835 tome in the entire world. When it was published, kingdoms came tumbling down, because it created such a stir.
