now taking place. He also knew he wasn’t in a position at the moment to do anything other than as his sovereign instructed.
“The contents of the note will not be made public,” he continued with a pointed glance toward Gwen, “but we know why he was taken. Whoever took the prince is demanding that Penwyck withdraw from the treaty we are about to sign with Majorco.”
“That’s the ransom demand? That we not sign?”
Harrison’s confirming nod was as tight as the muscles knotting his gut.
Majorco was an island thirty miles southeast of Penwyck. Like the island of Drogheda to the east, it was a principality. At least it had been until the last of the ruling family died off last year and left them without an heir. The existing parliament had taken over quickly enough to form a democracy, but their military had fallen apart.
The country’s new leaders had asked Penwyck for protection and proposed an alliance that had quickly become part of a larger agreement the king had been unable to refuse.
“You know that withdrawal from the alliance isn’t an option,” he carefully reminded her. “The treaty with Majorco has become crucial to our trade agreement with the United States. That alliance must go through at all costs.”
The queen visibly paled. “Not at all costs, Admiral.”
“You know how important this is to the kingdom.”
“You will not sacrifice my son.”
Even as the queen spoke, Gwen moved toward her, graceful in her silence, and stopped protectively a few feet from her side. He didn’t at all appreciate that she was looking at him as if he’d snatched the prince himself.
“I assure you that is not our intention. We will find him,” he insisted, because the alternative wasn’t one he was willing to accept. “Our analysts are already working on the note to see where it came from. Intelligence is also profiling every radical and subversive organization that might feel threatened by that alliance.”
Gwen’s glance caught his. “Who brought it?” she quietly inquired. “The note. Who delivered it here?”
“Please answer her,” the queen asked when he hesitated.
“A commercial courier service delivered it to the royal offices for King Morgan. We’re checking now to see who paid for the delivery.
“We’re taking care of everything,” he assured the older woman, wishing the younger one would leave. “But we’ll have to speak later about what remains to be done regarding the alliance.” He paused, a muscle in his jaw jerking, as it tended to do when inner frustration leaked out. It would have been so much simpler to take care of all his business with the queen right now. But, right now, because of the petite blonde staring icicles at him, he couldn’t. “It’s no longer safe to speak by telephone. There’s too much risk of conversations being intercepted,” he explained, ignoring the chill. “It will be best if we meet to talk.”
The queen said nothing. She simply stared at him long enough for him to get the feeling that the alliance was the last thing on her mind before giving him a rather numb nod.
“Please keep me informed,” she murmured.
“I will.”
“About my son,” she clarified.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he replied, and watched her give her lady-in-waiting a look of pure distress before she walked regally across the antique Aubusson carpet to the tall double doors.
Harrison could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees in the time it took her to step into her salon and close the door with a dignified click.
“I’ll let myself out,” he muttered, and turned on his heel.
Gwen would have been more than happy to let him leave on his own. As shaken as Marissa had looked to her, she would much rather have gone after her friend, but duty demanded that she escort the queen’s guest from the room.
“Her Majesty wouldn’t hear of it,” she returned politely, and turned ahead of him. “I’ll see you to the door.”
She was fairly certain he’d expected her to stay put. He was, after all, the sort of man who ordered and expected people to obey.
She tended to bridle around any man, other than the king, who automatically expected such total deference. There were many like him in the circles in which she moved. Her own father being one of them. Yet, even her father wasn’t as hard or ruthless as the admiral was rumored to be.
To be fair, ruthless or not, she knew that if anyone could be counted on to find the prince it would be the man following her across the room and the men he commanded on the Royal Elite Team. The RET consisted of the best of the best, the cream the king himself had skimmed from his Royal Intelligence Institute with its top scientists, doctors, military and economists. All were at the admiral’s disposal.
“May I ask something of you, Admiral?” Feeling as protective as a sister of the woman she had served for the past ten years, she reached for the gilded handle of the door. “For Her Majesty?”
“Put that way, I can hardly refuse.”
“Then, please,” she requested, overlooking the flatness, or maybe it was the fatigue, in his tone, “don’t burden Her Majesty with details of the trade alliance.”
His eyebrows knit into a single slash. “Excuse me?”
“The alliance,” she repeated, wishing he wouldn’t frown at her with such displeasure. “It’s the king’s project. All the queen needs right now is information about her son. You should speak with His Majesty about anything else.”
Her tone was faintly disapproving, her manner utterly calm and certain. At that moment, with her cool guard firmly in place and the soft vulnerability he’d glimpsed nowhere in sight, she looked very much like the very proper matron of a school for incorrigible young boys.
He was in no mood for a reprimand. Or to be told what he should or shouldn’t do, something that seldom happened to him, anyway. Taking her hand from the latch, surprised to find her slender fingers so warm, he replaced it with his own and turned to face her.
Despite the way she clasped her hands in a knot, the way she looked up at him made her seem every bit as regal and poised as their queen.
“Lady Corbin,” he began, his tone a shade shy of patient, “I realize it’s your job to protect Her Majesty from whatever she doesn’t wish to deal with around here. You screen her visitors and answer her mail and do whatever is required of you to insulate her from what takes place beyond the scope of her duties and these walls. But there are forces at work here about which you haven’t a clue.”
Most people would have backed down. The faint-hearted would even have backed away. Remarkably, admirably, she did neither—though he did catch a telltale hint of color rising beneath her maddeningly calm facade.
“And those forces would be?”
“Nothing you’re cleared to know about.”
“The alliance with Majorco is hardly top secret, Admiral.”
