Royal Protocol by Christine Flynn Page B

brings me to the other matters I must discuss with you.”
    The small clock on the mantel struck six o’clock with genteel pings. The ache in the queen’s head seemed to throb with each note.
    “I told you, Admiral, I don’t care about the other matters. I’ve agreed to what you wanted.”
    “There is still more to be decided.”
    “Not now.”
    “It has to be now,” he insisted, politely. “The next twenty-four hours are critical.”
    Looking numb, the queen simply shook her head and started to rise.
    “Your Majesty—”
    Gwen had resisted as long as she could. “Her Majesty is tired.” She stepped forward, inserting herself between him and the woman he didn’t appear to hear. He’d actually seemed to think that the queen was talking strategy moments ago. “Please leave her alone,” she quietly asked.
    Giving her a look that clearly said he would go when he was through, he deliberately stepped around her.
    “There is too much at stake to delay,” he insisted, utterly determined to do his duty. “You know our trade agreement with the U.S. is contingent on signing the alliance with Majorco. We have only five days left to negotiate certain points. You need to hear your advisors.”
    “Anything I need to hear can come through Lady Gwendolyn.”
    A muscle in his jaw jerked. “With all due respect,” he said, doing a commendable job of keeping his frustration from his voice, “that won’t work. The lady’s security clearance isn’t high enough to be privy to such matters.”
    “Then see that she gets whatever clearance she needs.” Fabric rustled as the weary regent moved between the divan and a footstool. “Thank you for coming, Admiral,” she murmured and, without another word, turned to her room.
    Because Harrison was there, Gwen stuck to formalities and dropped a quick curtsy as their queen departed.
    Because he had no choice, Harrison kept his mouth shut.
    He had a knack for never quite overstepping the line with the king or the queen. Not that he’d dealt that much personally with the latter before. But so far, his experience had served its purpose. He could suggest, recommend or advise, but he knew that to question a direct order would have definitely put him over it.
    That didn’t stop him from silently questioning what the queen wanted as the door to the salon closed with a decisive click. Feeling shackled, hating it, he bit back an oath and turned to meet the displeasure shadowing Gwen’s eyes.
    His eyebrows merged. “What?” he asked, practically biting off the word.
    “I didn’t say anything.”
    “No,” he agreed, frustration fairly leaking from his pores. “But I can tell that you want to. Go ahead and say it.”
    She didn’t much care for the fact that he could read her so easily. It seemed to put her at an even greater disadvantage than she already felt whenever she was around him.
    Wanting badly to avoid another disagreement, she sought to explain rather than accuse.
    “I was just thinking that you somehow missed Her Majesty’s point.” She could see his agitation. That she could actually feel it tugging the nerves in her stomach was even more disconcerting. “She couldn’t care less about that alliance right now.”
    “Well, she needs to care.” Aware that his voice had just risen, he glanced to the closed doors behind him. When he turned back to her, his voice dropped like a rock in a well. “Dozens of people are waiting for her decisions so documents can be finalized. The longer they have to wait for those decisions, the more easily our position could deteriorate. There is nothing more important—”
    “There is nothing more important to her than her child,” she quickly concluded for him. She rarely interrupted anyone. But he simply wasn’t getting it. The man was a brilliant tactician, intelligent to a fault, but this one simple fact refused to gel. “She is scared to death for her son. Imagining him in all sorts of horrible scenarios. I imagine she’s