Royal Protocol by Christine Flynn Read Free Book Online Page B

had died during an assassination attempt on King Morgan ten years ago.
    “They’ll find him,” she murmured, touching the queen’s sleeve. “We both have to believe that.”
    Marissa’s hand covered hers, her touch as desperate as her voice. “It doesn’t sound as if they’re even concerned about him, Gwen. I doubt the admiral would have even mentioned him if I hadn’t asked myself.”
    Gwen doubted it, too. “That has to be because of everything else that is happening right now. You know yourself how focused these men are.” She wasn’t defending the admiral. She couldn’t. “But he did say that Intelligence is still on it,” she reminded her. “That means hundreds of men are working to find him even now.”
    Troubled eyes lifted to hers. “Thank you,” the queen whispered. “I know somewhere in my mind I realize that they’re working around the clock. It just didn’t seem so when the admiral was here. I’d been waiting all night for news.” With her free hand she pinched the bridge of her nose to ease the pain above it. “It’s just so difficult not being able to do anything myself and having to rely on everyone else for information.”
    “I wish you’d told me about the king.”
    Marissa’s hand fell, the gesture weary, her tone apologetic. “I wish I could have. But it was made very clear to me that it was too sensitive for anyone but those who had to know. I wasn’t told myself until recently that this had been going on for weeks.”
    “Weeks? But I’ve seen His Majesty. Just yesterday, infact. He was speaking with Old Pierre in the kitchen garden.”
    “That was Broderick.” Fatigue and stress merged in her deeply exhaled breath. Her glance turned pleading. “But no one is to know that, Gwen. The only reason I’m telling you is because of what you’ve heard already. I know it will go no further.”
    “I heard nothing,” Gwen assured, her mind reeling with the intrigue someone—the RET undoubtedly—had been engaged in. “But His Majesty. King Morgan,” she emphasized, thinking of how incredibly the king’s twin had played him. “How is he?”
    “He’s as the admiral said. They’re calling his condition critical but stable. Dr. Waltham seems to feel he could come out of the coma, but if he does, there is a possibility that certain symptoms will linger for a very long time.”
    “You’ve seen him?”
    “Twice a day since they told me. I’ve gone after you’ve retired for the night and instead of going for my morning walk with the hounds.”
    Sympathy tugged hard. “It’s no wonder your mind hasn’t been on your schedule,” Gwen murmured, only to find herself reminded of Harrison’s decidedly imperious command.
    Catching the sudden displeasure in Gwen’s expression, the queen frowned. “What is it?”
    “Another problem, I’m afraid.” Giving her friend a cautious look, she squeezed her hand in a show of support and slipped from the edge of the bed. The thought of Harrison filled her with a sudden need to pace. “Monteque said the dinner couldn’t be canceled.”
    “Of course it can.”
    “That’s what I told him. But he said it’s too important.I even pointed out that it would benefit Prince Owen because his captors will think we’re doing what they want and not signing the alliance.”
    Reaching the small white and gilt chest holding a large Waterford crystal lamp, she turned to pace toward the Louis XVI armoire. “He said that if we don’t proceed with the preparations, the prince could be in more danger.”
    That wasn’t exactly a direct quote. But it was close enough to get his message across. She wasn’t about to be as blunt as he had been and tell a woman whose husband was in a coma and whose son was being held heaven-only-knew-where that her son’s life wouldn’t be worth squat if the party didn’t go on.
    “That makes no sense,” the queen replied flatly. She rubbed an aching spot on her forehead, “Unless,” she murmured, “he feels