FRAMED: The Mystery of the Lost Relics
Best experienced if you have read the previous book:
The Scandalous Five
(Download here)
Chapter 1
LILA
They wove through crowded tables, startled waitstaff stepping aside as silks swished, and heels clicked across marble. The Rajkumari Lila Singh, Princess of the Indravash Province of India, followed close behind the other ladies, her notebook clutched to her chest like a fragile shield. She could almost feel the echo of the venomous words thrown around their dinner table still pressing on her skin, a residue of insult that had been directed at them.
Snatches of whispers trailed after their retreat, sharp and barbed. “Couldn’t handle the heat.” “What drama queens!” “Typical, really, storming out and making it worse.” Each fragment clung like burrs, impossible to brush off, and Lila felt every word lodge under her skin as they moved.
The archway loomed ahead, but just before they reached it, she glanced back.
Not deliberate. At least, that’s what she told herself. She wasn’t searching. And yet her eyes found him, anyway.
The man who had spoken up and defended her, the unpopular Rajkumari Lila Singh, who always seemed to draw criticism. Sure, she was a princess of one of the most powerful provinces of India, but she preferred the dirt of an excavation site, a trowel and notebook in hand, to silks and diplomatic dinners where she was expected to nod through speeches she didn’t care about. Every choice she made only seemed to prove, again and again, that she wasn’t the princess people wanted her to be.
Ah, there he was, standing tall amid a sea of rustling conversation, not giving in to gossip. His gaze was steady, tracking her departure with his eyes.
Her mind catalogued the details automatically: his jaw was tight, as though he hadn’t liked what had happened at dinner. Which meant his words at the table hadn’t been pretense; they had been truth. He had meant them.
The thought made her throat dry. She nearly stumbled, breath catching as her cheeks warmed. She quickly turned her attention to where she was going, her gown tugging at her ankles.
It doesn’t matter; she told herself. He doesn’t matter. He isn’t from Indravash. Her brother, the Maharaja Arvindraj Singh, would have a strong opinion about him.
Still, the image clung: the stranger who had stood for her. Someone saying, enough. Stop. Let her be.
Worth remembering, her mind whispered, even if her pride insisted it wasn’t.
The hallway was cooler than the ballroom, a hush settling with the thick carpet muffling their heels. They walked altogether away from the grand dining hall.
Aurelia Emberton, Princess of Vallendorff, a step ahead, chin high but her jaw too tight to pass for ease.
Lady Isadora Chang, CEO of Vonne, the international beauty and fashion empire, moved beside her, every gesture polished, though her hands clasped a fraction harder than they needed to.
Ms. Eloisa Wagner, etiquette and life coach extraordinaire. Her usual smile was gone, her expression carefully smooth, but her fingers kept straightening her cuffs as if she had to remind herself to keep steady.
And Ms Celeste Forani, security agent to one of Europe’s wealthiest families, at the rear, scanned the corridor with her usual vigilance, though there was a stiffer rigidity to her stance.
And there was Madam Vivienne Rochat, Ms Forani’s employer, her presence unmistakable in a sweep of understated couture, and beside her, her daughter Sabine, eager and restless. They walked with the five ladies, witnesses to the group’s bruised silence.
The silence stretched, and Lila rushed to fill it.
“I hope they have scones. Or lemon curd.” Her voice tumbled out too fast. “Though there’s that whole debate about cream first or jam, Cornish says cream, but Devon says…”
“Lila.” Aurelia chuckled even as her hand lifted midair, as if she were conducting an unruly orchestra.
Heat rushed to Lila’s cheeks. She snapped her mouth shut. “Right. Sorry. Just…I get enthusiastic about baked goods.” Her gaze darted sideways, measuring the other women’s faces for the familiar signs, raised brows, pinched mouths, that faint edge of amusement that usually meant you’ve said too much again.
But nothing sharp came. Celeste exhaled instead, a sound like release.
“Can’t blame you,” Celeste said evenly. “I wasn’t done with dessert either.”
Relief pricked Lila’s chest. Not rejection, then.
Eloisa’s tone followed, perfectly arid: “You hadn’t even started.”
The words made Lila’s lips twitch. So she wasn’t the only one thinking of the dessert they had left behind.
Then Sabine, wide-eyed, added, “You think they’ll send some up? Like on those gold-tiered trays? Maybe if we ask nicely.”
Aurelia tipped her chin, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let’s not skip dessert; that’d be the final insult.”
Their voices mingled in the hush of the corridor, and for the first time all evening, Lila didn’t feel like an intruder in a new group.
The small drawing room they entered felt like an island cut off from the ballroom. Dark wood paneling, velvet chairs pulled in a loose circle around a low table, the fireplace flickering quietly.
The first thing the Princess did was get on the phone on the wall and order whatever leftover desserts they had in the kitchen.
Lila suddenly registered the enormity of what they’d done. They hadn’t skipped only dessert. They had walked out on the whole show, the stage where they were expected to sit quietly, smile politely, and swallow every insult like it was part of the menu. They had walked away from people who treated them as if they had no will of their own, no place at the table except as decoration.
As women, they were supposed to accept it, supposed to allow others to mock their views in public, because apparently respect was too much to ask.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to ask the women with her, are you all right? To all of them, one by one. But their faces were cool, closed. With Aurelia’s mouth a sharp line, Celeste unreadable, Isadora’s gaze fixed on some middle distance, Eloisa’s smile gone. Shutters, every one of them. She didn’t know how to get through, or if they would even welcome her concern.
And maybe this was why she always retreated to archaeology. Shards of pottery never turned cold. Walls of ruins didn’t avert their gaze. Even in their silence, the past didn’t push her out; it invited her in, asked her to piece it back together. Rocks and relics never made her wonder if she was unwanted.
But Aurelia didn’t share Lila’s hesitancy. She shifted slightly, her voice low.
“Lady Chang. Back there, your husband. You can tell me to shut up, but…”
Lila’s breath caught hard in her throat. How did the Princess have such courage always to do that — to strike straight at the heart of it? She wished she had the same courage.
Lila’s gaze flicked instinctively to Lady Isadora Chang, whose spine straightened, shoulders drawing into a habit to find composure. When she finally lifted her eyes, they landed not on Aurelia but on Lila.
“Tell me, Rajkumari,” she said. “How did you know about my husband?”
Lila’s stomach lurched. Heat climbed up her neck. “Me?” She heard the squeak in her own voice and hated it. “I, I didn’t. I know nothing about you, Lady Chang.”
“But you said something. It was very important. It shut him up, the Count.”
Lila’s mind scrambled for clarity, flipping frantically through every word she’d blurted that evening. What on earth had she said about Lady Chang’s husband? Nothing came at first, just the echo of clinking glasses, their sharp retorts, her own voice tumbling over itself.
Isadora’s gaze pinned her. “About people leaving legacies,” she said, each word clipped, “and others leaving messes for someone else to clean up.”
Oh. That.
Isadora didn’t move. Her gray eyes stayed fixed on Lila.
Lila’s stomach dropped as the memory clicked into place. “I…I was just making things up,” she admitted quickly, hands tightening on her notebook. “I wasn’t talking about your husband specifically. I was so caught up trying to find something, anything, to throw back at the Count. I just wanted to defend you. To wipe that horrid look off his face.”
Her cheeks burned. She sounded like a fake. Her admission sounded pitiful out loud, like she’d armed herself with a child’s slingshot at a battlefield. But it had been the truth. She had wanted to insult the Count with her words.
Celeste’s dry snort cut through the tension. “Making things up. You’re dangerous, Rajkumari.”
Lila gripped the edge of her notebook. Yes. Dangerous. Especially when your mouth outran your sense.
Isadora finally exhaled, slow and controlled. “One day this week, Princess, and all of you, I’ll tell you everything. I feel I can trust you. But now,” she swept her gaze across them, deliberate. “I just want to say…thank you.”
Lila blinked. “To me?” The word slipped out before she could stop it.
“All of you,” Isadora clarified, and her voice betrayed the faintest tremor. “You didn’t let them get away with it. No one has ever stood up for me like that.”
Something in Lila’s chest shifted. She swallowed, her fingers worrying the already worn edge of her notebook. “No one’s ever done that for me either, except for myself,” she admitted, startled at hearing her own truth aloud. For as long as she could remember, it had been her job to stand up for herself, no one else’s.
“I remember there was that one time at the Indravash archives. The catalog clerk decided my treaties belonged in fiction. Fiction! I argued, of course. I always argue when they dismiss me, but he wouldn’t budge. So I tried to pull the whole stack back myself and overturned his cart by accident. Hundreds of files he had just finished filing alphabetically went scattering across the floor. I tell you it was an accident, but I was glad it happened. My little battle, fought in the middle of the archives.”
The ladies laughed, startled.
Lila froze, horrified. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous.”
But Aurelia shook her head, her chuckle rich with something like approval. “No. It was perfect.”
The warmth in those words burned hotter than the fire in the grate.
Celeste’s laugh ended in a grunt. “Guess that’s what we’re doing now. Standing up for each other.”
The words settled in Lila like something foreign and almost dangerous. Standing up for each other.
“I can live with that.” Eloisa’s brows arched high.
“We don’t need to stand alone anymore,” Aurelia added, her voice soft with surprise. “Not while we’re here.”
Madame Rochat’s gaze lingered on Celeste before sweeping across the others. Her voice was warm and steady.
“Good. Most women have stood to fight their battles alone. You don’t have to be like that. Not if you choose differently.”
The fire snapped in the grate, but Lila barely heard it over the echo of those words. Not alone anymore. She traced the curve of her pen absentmindedly across the corner of her notebook.
“I’m…not good at this. Friendship.” Isadora’s voice barely carried.
“Who is?” Celeste’s eyes rolled skyward.
“I suppose we’re improvising.” Eloisa’s hum had a thoughtful, almost amused edge.
“You’re like a team! Like in those movies.” Sabine bounced lightly on her heels, irrepressible.
Lila lifted her hand and gave a little wave. “I’m the researcher,” she said happily.
Aurelia pointed smoothly at Celeste. “Security.”
Eloisa tipped her chin. “I’ll handle strategy.”
“I’m the baker,” Aurelia said, smirking. Everyone looked at her. “What? We all need to eat, right?”
Isadora’s gaze swept over them all, unreadable. Lila couldn’t guess what thoughts lay behind those gray eyes.
“And I do computers!” Sabine announced, beaming like she had just brought doughnuts.
Isadora’s lips curved at last, just a hint, but undeniably a smile. “And I will clothe you in the best gear ever.”
Aurelia looked at her, surprised and eyes bright with amusement. “I like that. The best-dressed team.”
Celeste’s gaze swept over the circle. “Don’t get used to this.”
Sabine blinked, wide-eyed. “Why not?”
For once, Celeste didn’t answer right away. Then came the shrug, casual but heavy. “Because things like this rarely last.”
Lila felt the words settle like dust over stone. They didn’t sting so much as ache, because she knew Celeste was right; that was how the world worked. Bonds cracked under pressure. Fragile. Temporary.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to stay silent, but the words slipped out anyway, low and tentative. “Well, maybe they should.”
Aurelia’s phone buzzed sharply against the table, breaking the quiet like a chisel strike. Lila’s eyes flicked up just in time to see Aurelia’s brow crease, her usual mask slipping. Not a polite calendar alert then.
“Oh, no,” Aurelia muttered.
Isadora caught it instantly. “What is it?”
Without a word, Aurelia turned the screen outward. They leaned in together; the circle tightening around the glow of her phone.
The headlines screamed back at them in garish fonts:
Princess Aurelia of Valendorff Causes Scene at ARUS Gala Dinner with Four Other Female Delegates — One Identified as the Rajkumari of Indravash.
Duke of Eastmoor Glances Back at The Scandalous Five
Lila’s stomach dipped. Her title spelled out in bold, paired with Aurelia’s. Her name pinned down like an artifact under glass.
Eloisa gasped. “They’re calling us what?”
“‘Scandalous Five,’” Lila read aloud, the words catching on her tongue. Her eyes widened before she could stop them. “That’s… not entirely inaccurate, is it?” The attempt at humor sounded thinner than she intended, but it was better than letting them see the worry beneath.
“It won’t stay local, Princess,” Isadora’s voice cut in. “These stories spread. By morning, someone will call it a diplomatic breach, or a reporter will exaggerate and claim we insulted the King of England even if he wasn’t here.”
Lila flinched. She could almost hear the tone Arvin would take when it reached him. You are reckless, embarrassing, beneath the dignity of Indravash!
Aurelia’s jaw locked, voice taut with fury. “We defended each other, and somehow that’s the scandal, Lady Chang, not what they said to us or how we were disrespected. Just the fact that we dared to speak.”
Isadora’s expression hardened. “Welcome to high society. Where silence is expected, and any emotion becomes scandal.”
Eloisa swallowed hard. “I saw someone filming earlier. When the Count insulted you, Ms Forani. I didn’t think it would matter.”
Lila said, “We’re a team now, right?” Her fingers shook as she opened her notebook. On a fresh page, she scrawled the words Operation Mille-Feuille in quick, uneven strokes, underlining it twice.
Aurelia’s eyes caught the movement. She leaned closer, reading upside down. Her lips curved. “Operation Mille-Feuille?”
Celeste’s snort cut through the moment. “What?”
Lila looked up, blinking. “A mille-feuille. You know, the pastry. We had it over dessert, or rather, we left it behind. The vanilla slice. Layers of the thinnest pastry with vanilla cream in between. Messy when you try to cut it, but it holds together.” Her lips quirked, nervous. “That’s…us.”
“That’s…absurd.” Isadora stared at Lila in surprise before adding, softer, “Absurd in the best possible way.”
Relief warmed in her chest. Her silly metaphor had landed well.
Chapter 2
LILA
“And…what about Daniel?”
Lila asked. “Who?”
Aurelia smirked at her. “Daniel Harrowind. Duke of Eastmoor. The one who stood up to defend you. The press loves him. He never says anything scandalous. Perfectly behaved. The very model of a boring royal. Before tonight, that is.”
Boring? Lila’s mind snagged on the word. Boring didn’t fit the man she’d seen, jaw set, steady in a tête-à-tête gone cruel.
Isadora’s mouth curved in a faint scoff. “Never causes a scene?”
Sabine nearly bounced as she shot to her feet, one arm raised like a pageant host delivering her line: “Oh! I’ll tell you what he said. He said, ‘Dear Rajkumari! Don’t let anyone tell you your brain is a problem. Everyone else is just stupid.’”
Her mother said, “Sabby, stop exaggerating,” although she chuckled.
Then Sabine swept into a bow aimed straight at Lila. “Honestly? Ten out of ten. Would date.”
Giggles rippled through the room. Heat rose to Lila’s cheeks, but she found herself laughing too, ducking her head into the safety of her notebook. “Oh. That man.”
She flicked her hand as if brushing it away. “He probably just felt bad for me. Which is understandable, considering I looked like I was about to stab someone with a breadstick.”
She heard her own words, choked, and backpedaled. “I’m not saying I would’ve stabbed anyone.” The flush spread hotter. “Obviously.”
Still, her brain kept racing, piling words on top of each other. “I didn’t even know who he was. For all I knew, he was a server in a tuxedo with a deep commitment to all things scientific.”
Celeste grinned at her. “He’s a duke, Rajkumari.”
“Yes, Ms. Forani, I know that now,” Lila huffed, sharper than intended. “But at the time, or any other time, it wouldn’t have mattered. Those things don’t go anywhere for me. And even if they did, my brother Arvin would have Opinions. Capital O.”
Isadora raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “It kind of was dramatic.”
Aurelia grinned. “The Duke of Eastmoor doesn’t usually notice anything. He practically sleeps through state dinners.”
Vivienne Rochat nodded. “He’s one of the highest-profile royals at ARUS. Always kept to himself. Until tonight.”
Eloisa tilted her head, a sly smile tugging. “And wasn’t it interesting how quickly he stood up for Lila? Not typical behavior for a snobby duke.”
Lila’s stomach fluttered. She wanted to deny it outright, but her throat stuck.
Aurelia leaned in, eyes bright. “Remember when your notebook fell right in front of him? When that massive waiter nearly bowled you over?”
Lila’s eyes went wide. “He did, didn’t he?”
Aurelia nodded. “I saw it all. And the Duke picked it up, your notebook, I mean. Turned it over once like he meant to close it…and then he just stared at it. Like it was a painting.”
Lila’s flush spread to her ears. “He did?
The words tumbled before she could stop them. “I know the drawing, too. Of all the pages it could’ve landed on, it had to be that one. The shading wasn’t even consistent. Wrong pencil weight. It was a draft. Messy. I hadn’t even labeled the sediment layers.” Her voice pitched higher, horrified. “He probably thought it was abstract art or was just confused. Oh, my god, who looks at a pit diagram and thinks, This girl. Let me heroically defend her at a global summit?”
Silence. All of them stared at her.
Lila groaned and slapped her hands over her face. “Why am I still talking?”
Eloisa’s hand found her arm, warm and steady. “Honestly, it’s a little cute.”
Celeste, deadpan as ever: “And mildly disconcerting. Mildly.”
Isadora’s sculpted brows waggled. “Maybe he just likes stratigraphy.”
Lila lowered her hands, face blazing. “Well, it’s a critical field, Lady Chang.”
A soft knock and a man and a woman stepped in, black suits pressed to perfection, Hightower crests gleaming faintly on their lapels. She recognized them instantly; they’d been at the ballroom doors earlier, all scanning eyes and motionless vigilance.
Hotel security.
One inclined his head, voice low and even. “Ms. Forani. May we have a word?”
Lila’s pulse jumped. Celeste didn’t hesitate. She simply got up and walked to the door, brow furrowing into one clean, sharp line. Professional.
Lila wanted to ask, What kind of word? About what? But the question lodged in her throat as the door clicked shut behind them.
Silence settled after the door closed. Lila adjusted her notebook on her lap, the faint urge to write something, anything, buzzing at her fingertips.
The four of them exchanged quick glances, none of them lingering for long. Uneasy.
“You know,” Aurelia said after a moment, her voice lighter than the look on her face, “after tonight, I think we’ve earned the right to use first names.”
Lila’s head came up at that. First names. Such a simple thing, but it felt like dropping a heavy cloak.
Eloisa smiled first. “Is that a royal decree?”
“It certainly is,” Aurelia said with mock pomp.
A laugh slipped out of Lila, quick and nervous. “Thank goodness. Titles always make me feel like I’m about to get a letter grade in etiquette.” Which wasn’t far from the truth.
Isadora’s expression eased. “I’d rather be Isadora than Lady Chang anytime.”
And introductions were again made.
“Eloisa.”
“Lila.”
“Aurelia.”
“Vivienne.”
“And, of course, I’m Sabine, or you can call me Saby.”
Lila felt a slight warmth in her chest at that. For once, the air between them wasn’t stiff with formality. It almost felt…easy.
Then the door opened. Celeste had come back.
Lila turned with relief when the door opened. “Ms. Forani, or can I finally call you ‘Celeste’ –?”
She stopped short. Celeste’s face was all wrong. Those sharp, steady eyes carried something heavier now, angry.
Isadora was already rising. “What is it?”
Celeste crossed her arms tight, as if holding herself together. Her voice was even flatter than usual. “We can’t leave this room. We’re under investigation. A detective is on his way to question us.”
Aurelia sat forward so fast her teacup rattled. “Excuse me?”
The word burst out of Lila, her voice pitching higher than she meant. “Why?”
Celeste pressed her lips together, then spoke. “Someone stole every royal artifact in the museum. Crowns, scepters, coins, everything. And we were the last ones seen inside. So security says we’re the prime suspects.”
The air seemed to still. Lila’s mind scrambled, trying to place the words into some logical order. All of it? Every piece? Impossible. Unthinkable. Yet the weight of Celeste’s tone left no room for doubt.
For a moment, no one moved.
Vivienne finally spoke, quietly, stunned. “What else did they tell you?”
“Just that, that we’re under investigation. No, not you, Madame,” Celeste said quickly, flicking her gaze toward Sabine. “And not Sabine. Just us five. We were the last ones seen in the museum before the collection disappeared.”
Lila’s fingers tightened around her notebook. She could remember it too clearly, their laughter in the gallery, the relics behind glass, her own sketches. Her joy about it all.
Aurelia swore softly. “That’s absurd. We didn’t steal anything.”
Celeste grimaced. “They don’t know that. Not yet.”
“But why would they even think you did it?” Sabine’s wide eyes darted from face to face.
Isadora’s sharp eyes fixed on Celeste. “Details, Celeste. Now.”
“I don’t have any. But a detective is coming in an hour.” Celeste’s jaw tightened. “We’re ordered to stay put. Madame Rochat, Saby, you should go. There’s no reason for you to get caught in this.”
Lila’s heart thudded. Ordered to stay put, suspected of theft. It was so ridiculous that she wanted to laugh out loud, but there was nothing funny about it.
Vivienne straightened, her hand resting firmly on Sabine’s shoulder, who was already preparing a loyal rebellion.
“No,” Vivienne said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes gave her worry away. “She’s right, Saby. Let’s go.”
Sabine turned those wide, desperate eyes on Celeste. “But, Celeste!”
Celeste’s reply came softer than usual, though still unyielding. “We’ll talk in the morning. Saby. I’ll be okay.”
Vivienne gave the rest of them one last look, careful, composed, but lined with worry. “Be careful,” she said quietly.
Celeste nodded once. “Promise.”
Sabine lingered at the door, unwilling to leave, until her mother guided her out. The door shut, and the silence that followed spread through the room, leaving the space feeling colder and emptier than it had been before.
Lila’s voice came out smaller than she intended. “But…the museum security was supposed to be state-of-the-art. That’s what they said on the tour: thermal sensors, biometric locks, twenty-four-hour surveillance.” She remembered the tour guide’s self-satisfied tone, pointing out details she had dutifully scribbled down in her notes. And now, all apparently worthless.
Celeste’s posture was as tense as drawn wire. “If Hightower doesn’t want to look incompetent on every front page tomorrow, they’d better start investigating properly. Because we are not going to quietly carry this blame.”
A knock on the door. Eloisa said, “Come in!” The door opened again. Lila’s pulse caught, but it was only a uniformed attendant. He pushed in a gleaming dessert trolley, its wheels whispering against the parquet. Princess Aurelia’s room service had arrived.
Under the chandelier’s glow, the silver domes lifted to display what they had abandoned earlier: pistachio mille-feuille glistening with saffron syrup, thin strips of candied orange peel, Hightower’s almond cookies arranged in neat spirals, even a croquembouche stacked high with golden profiteroles and gilded with threads of caramel and spun sugar.
The women froze in stunned silence. Lila blinked at the display, dazed, as if her mind couldn’t quite register it. Only Eloisa managed a word, her voice too bright, too careful.
“Thank you,” she said, the forced politeness hanging awkwardly in the air as the attendant inclined his head politely and withdrew without a word, the door clicking shut behind him.
Lila stared at the trolley, her gaze fixed on the mille-feuille. She remembered the joke she had scrawled into her notebook earlier, the way it had made the ladies smile. Layers pressed together, fragile but holding. Now the pastry sat on the dessert trolley like a mocking echo, its beauty cold and uninviting.