Free Secrets of a Reckless Princess by Annabel Wolfe

individual target, Governor?”
    Ran looked his old friend in the eye. “I am.”
    “I was afraid of that,” Ian muttered, tucking his communication device back in his pocket. “Leaders are being targeted then. That disturbs me.”
    “You are telling me this?” Ran gave a mirthless laugh. “My son just became the Consort of Princess Jayla of Anasta. Surely the most powerful colonies are the most attractive to whoever is doing this.”
    And it was not something he was going to point out to his wife, who worried over Marc already.
    Anasta hadn’t yet responded to the warning, but with this new development on Mega 3, he hoped to get a message soon.

    * * * *

    They argued like children, Marc discovered to his amusement, and perhaps it was a good thing he’d spent so much time in the diplomatic corps. Jayla narrowed her eyes and stared at Damon, every inch the royal princess. “This meeting is very important.”
    “You are telling me that?” Damon returned her scathing look with nothing more than a raised brow. “I am the one with my future riding on the open-minded grace of the Ruling Council. Grace, by the way, I am unconvinced exists.”
    “At the least you could have worn the assigned tunic.”
    “No. I am what I am, Jay,” Le Clerc said stubbornly. “Changing my clothes to the regimental diplomatic uniform isn’t going to fool anyone and may even lessen my credibility. They know what they are agreeing to. They expect to see me . The trappings are superfluous.”
    “Do you always have to do everything the most difficult way?” She looked, adorably—in Marc’s opinion—irritated, a slight flush to her cheeks, her sleek pale hair tossed back and her green eyes disapproving. She was dressed to impress in a scarlet flowing tunic past her knees, the trim a pale gold color that exactly matched her shining hair. Marc, also, well-used to governmental formalities on all different kinds of planets, wore a full-dress Anasta official uniform that had been delivered to him just that morning. Damon, on the other hand, was casual in a loose white shirt and fitted dark pants, his boots not particularly new.
    He looked considerably more comfortable, Marc had to acknowledge wryly, but then again, he wasn’t the new consort of Anasta either. The sacrifice was worth it, in his opinion. He could change later.
    “Do you always have to insist on conformity?” Damon muttered, refusing to be cowed by her imperious criticism. “I’m a full-grown male and well past the time in my life when you could instruct me on what to wear. My clothes have nothing to do with the issues we face.”
    “That sort of attitude is always what gets you in trouble,” Jayla pointed out.
    Marc laughed, which won him a glare from both the participants in the quarrel. “I’d stay here and watch until the two of you came to blows, but—”
    “My Lord Consort?” The interruption was in conjunction to the door lifting into the anteroom with no warning. “The Queen would like to see you at once.”
    The new title was a little startling, but he could get used to it. Marc nodded, straightened his tunic, and sent both Jayla and Damon a swift glance. “It looks like we are about to have our audience. Try and behave for a few minutes if you find it possible.”
    The anteroom seemed unusually full, but Marc wasn’t all that familiar yet with what was normal and wasn’t when it came to the court protocol on the planet, though he had naturally studied it as much as possible before his arrival. He entered first but paused to let Jayla precede him into the actual council room, and in that calculated moment, he turned to Damon. “This is as important to me as it is to you. Let me speak first and set it up. I am the diplomat to your revolutionary. We need each other. I’ll do my job first, and trust me, I’m good at it. Then it is up to you.”
    “You’re going to need all your skill, Kartel.” Damon agreed with surprising acquiescence considering