The Royal Treatment

Morning sunlight filtered in through the windows of the security office located on the ground floor of the palace. The wood-paneled walls gleamed richly from years of careful polishing. Framed certificates and royal proclamations hung on the walls, and their glass fronts winked when a stray sunbeam glanced off of them. A row of bookcases lined one wall, and hundreds of leather-bound, well-read volumes rested alongside mementos left behind by former heads of security.

The RII—Royal Intelligence Institute—was responsible for the safety and security of the royal family. The guards posted outside, as well as J.T. himself, had been plucked from the different branches of the Penwyck military and assigned to the palace. Every man here was the best of the best.

Next door was the king’s office, and J.T. knew without having to be told that Sir Selwyn, the king’s secretary, would be there, positioned to keep out all intruders. A thin, wiry man, he was dedicated to his employer. Even to the point of putting up with Broderick, the man who so wanted to be king of Penwyck, but never could.

But until Morgan, the rightful king, either recovered from his illness or was succeeded by one of his sons, Morgan’s twin, Broderick, would remain temporarily in charge, reigning in his brother’s stead.

J.T. could not understand how twin brothers could be as different from each other as the king and Broderick were. Morgan was fair-minded and loyal, with an innate sense of decency. Broderick, on the other hand, couldn’t be trusted as far he could be thrown. But since it was J.T.’s sworn duty to protect the royals, he was bound to keep his opinions to himself and simply do his job.

As Franklin hung up the phone and leaned back in his black leather chair, J.T. turned to find the man studying him. “What’s this I hear about you and a female reporter having a public argument at the gate yesterday?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Not much got past Vancour. Which was why he was in charge of security around here.

“Not really an argument,” J.T. countered, crossing his right foot atop his left knee. “She wanted in. I disagreed. I won.”

Franklin’s bushy gray eyebrows lifted slightly. “So I heard. But the point is, we can’t afford to offend the press right now.”

“Offend her?” J.T. almost chuckled, but he knew it wouldn’t be appreciated. “With her attitude, she’s lucky she didn’t get shot. Lieutenant Gimble deserves a medal for putting up with her tirade.”

Franklin sighed and shook his head. “Ms. Erickson is a popular personality these days.”

J.T. shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like the direction this conversation was taking.

His boss continued. “The queen watches her People in Penwyck reports every day.”

“Yeah,” J.T. said. “Real in-depth reporting there. What was her last bit? About the cats who’ve lived in the palace?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the other man countered. “The point is, your former wife’s making a name for herself.”

“I know.” There were only a handful of people on this whole island who knew that he and Jade had once been married. They’d divorced long before she’d become an on-air personality. Vancour knew only because of the security check J.T. had had to pass before accepting the promotion to the palace guard.

But this was the first time in two years the other man had mentioned it.

“No way,” J.T. muttered, suspicion crawling through him. He pushed himself out of the chair. “You’re not suggesting we let her into the palace to do her interview, are you?”

“No.” Franklin propped his fingertips together as he thought about it. “Not yet, anyway. Soon, though. Won’t be able to avoid it much longer. What I’m suggesting is that you show her around the palace grounds for now.” He shrugged. “Give her a little and maybe she’ll be satisfied.”

J.T. doubted that. “Not her. She wants an interview and she won’t be satisfied until she gets it.”

“No interviews. Yet.”

There was something in his tone, an underlying edge of excitement, that caught J.T.’s attention.

“Is there news on the king?”

Franklin studied J.T. for a long minute, decided he had no qualms about telling him what he knew. Jeremy Wainwright was the most trustworthy man he’d ever known. The lad was headed for big things one day, Franklin mused. Maybe even this job.

And in this office, with the door closed, the two men could talk freely, without worrying about being overheard or quoted.

Nodding, he said, “The king’s doctors seem to think there are encouraging signs. It seems he may be rousing from the coma.”

“That is good news.” Hell, it was great news. As a citizen of Penwyck, J.T. had been as worried about his king as anyone else. And being a member of the inner circle, he’d been a part of the coverup that had been so dangerous to his country. “So does this mean that Br—”

“No.” Franklin stood up, too. “The king’s brother will remain as temporary head of the country.” Pacing, he seemed to be carefully considering something as he said, “And frankly, the easier we can make this on the queen, the better. Her Majesty is inundated with problems and trying to keep things running despite Broderick’s interference.”

J.T. nodded and waited for the man to continue. It didn’t take long.

“The RET is doing what it can. But security here is up to us.”

The Royal Elite Team was probably champing at the bit to do something—anything. But when it came to palace security, the RII was in charge. And J.T. was just competitive enough to enjoy knowing that the members of the RET were clearly unhappy with the situation.

“I understand,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure he knew where Franklin was going with this.

The older man laughed shortly and stopped his frenetic pacing to stare at him from across the room. “I don’t think you do, or you wouldn’t be so agreeable.”

“What’s going on, Franklin?”

“I need you to distract your ex-wife.”

“That’s going above and beyond the call of duty.” Dumbfounded, J.T. swallowed back a rising tide of anger.

“You know her best. Know how to keep her off track. Keep her happy.”

If he’d known how to keep her happy, J.T. thought, they’d still be married. This was a bad idea. Real bad. And he didn’t mind saying so. “Won’t work. Jade’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

“Just buy us a couple of days.”

“And then what?”

“She’ll get her interview and you won’t have to deal with her again.”

Now that should be good news. But the fact was, J.T. had done nothing but think about her since seeing her outside the gates. She’d haunted his every thought, stalked his dreams and filled his mind until he couldn’t even draw a breath without imagining her scent.

Now that he’d seen her again after three long years, he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to be rid of her. And that surprised him as much as it would have her.

Vancour walked across the room slowly, keeping his gaze locked with J.T.’s. “I need your cooperation in this, Wainwright. Your king needs it.”

J.T. studied him. There was something in the other man’s eyes that hinted at the seriousness of the situation. Well, hell, they’d all been living in a pressure cooker for weeks. Ever since the king had collapsed unexpectedly.

Placate Jade.

From a purely male standpoint, that wasn’t such a tough assignment. There was so much history between them, though. So much hurt and pain and misery. Yet before the pain, there had also been…a connection between them that had been stronger and deeper than anything he’d ever experienced before or since.

But she also had an argumentative streak that would give the most patient man in the world the urge to throttle her. Just remembering how she’d stood up to him, shaken the iron gates and glared at him without an instant’s hesitation was almost enough to make J.T. smile. A man his size didn’t usually meet people who weren’t instantly intimidated. Jade never had been, though, and he’d always admired her for it.

She wouldn’t be an easy woman to manipulate. And if Franklin Vancour thought she could be bought off by a walk through the palace gardens, he was sadly mistaken.

Still…if all the palace required was a few more days’ respite, maybe J.T. could pull it off. Maybe he could keep her busy enough that she wouldn’t notice that she wasn’t any closer to the interior of the palace than she’d been yesterday. And, if he spent enough time in her company, perhaps the attraction he felt for her would die a natural death. Maybe this was what they both needed to completely end what they’d finished three years ago. Maybe they needed to spend time together again to realize that it was all really gone.