Free Royal Protocol by Christine Flynn

I’m feeling a little desperate right now because there is a young man out there who is caught up in something that is none of his own doing. He’s in danger and I fear for him for that. As for devious,” she concluded, her voice still low, “I am no more so than you.”
    Something faintly dangerous flashed in his eyes. “I’m doing my job.”
    “So am I.”
    “Then keep in mind as part of your job that Penwyck does not negotiate with subversives. Ever. When you do, you give them power.”
    “They already have power. They have the prince.”
    She had a point. He wasn’t about to concede it, however. “They have power,” he said grimly, “only if we concede that their collateral has value.”
    Disbelief lowered her voice to an appalled rush of air. “Of course it has value. Their ‘collateral’ is a human life.”
    “It’s a royal human life,” he emphasized, “which makes it worth even more. But only if we let them know we perceive them as a threat.”
    “You don’t think that Prince Owen perceives them as one?”
    Droplets spotted her jacket, landed on his cheek. He stepped closer, too caught up in her failure to comprehend logistics to care that the rain was falling faster. She clearly couldn’t separate her sympathies from strategy. But then, she was an ambassador’s daughter, the sort of woman who’d been schooled in manners, diplomacy and social grace. Now she lived her life tucked away in the palace, working for a woman who was protected and coddled and undoubtedly as blissfully unaware as her lady-in-waiting of the delicate maneuverings that went on in their government nearly every single day.
    “We don’t yet know who we’re dealing with,” he admitted, refusing to waste any more time playing games with her. He didn’t care, either, that he had her back up again. There was something he needed to make sure she—and the queen—understood. “Even if we did, this is a military operation. Not a diplomatic one. You’re not to talk to your father about this. Neither he nor anyone else is to know what these people are demanding.” He kept his tone deliberately even. The warning was only in his eyes. “Is that clear?”
    Her chin edged up. “It was clear when you mentioned it yesterday morning.”
    He had no idea why her cool poise never failed to push his buttons. “As for talking it out nicely,” he continued, determined to make that coolness crack, “that isn’t even an option. I’m sure it must seem to a woman like you that there is a more civilized way to handle people who refuse to play nice, but I assure you, tea and diplomacy have no place in this scenario. Orders will be given to do whatever is necessary to protect the integrity of the Crown.”
    It was as obvious as the hard edge sharpening his voice that he thought her utterly clueless about what went on in his world.
    Despite the knot his chauvinistic attitude put in her stomach, her tone remained deceptively, impressively calm.
    “Admiral Monteque,” she said, using the distance of formality like a shield. She felt safer behind it, far less vulnerable. She always had. “I would appreciate it if you would stop talking to me as if I am the leak your mencan’t seem to find. I have no intention of saying anything to my father or anyone else about what is going on.
    “You also don’t need to remind me of the lengths to which the military will go to get its job done,” she continued, the knot growing tighter. “I was an officer’s wife for eleven years. My husband did whatever was necessary to protect the Crown. He gave his life doing it.”
    For a moment the only sound to be heard was the faint tick of raindrops on leaves. Even the birds had quieted, taking refuge under eaves and passageways.
    Gwen barely noticed.
    “I never did understand what happened that night,” she admitted, thinking of how little men like him had told her of the events that had led to her husband’s death. “But I don’t believe for a single