Royal Lockdown. Rebecca York

some of the guests gasped. Others laughed nervously. To Shane’s amusement, the ambassador from Wintonia began shouting something belligerent about American incompetence.

      “What’s going on?”

      “Turn on the lights.”

      “This isn’t funny.”

      “Is it a terrorist attack?” a woman whispered to the man beside her.

      The large reception room had turned into a shadowy cavern, except for the radiance of the moon shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the candles flickering on the linen-clad tables.

      Shane cursed under his breath, remembering his earlier premonition. In the sudden darkness, he felt naked without a gun in his hand. But it would have been impossible to get into the reception with a weapon.

      He’d already marked the location of Ariana LeBron and her bodyguard, a guy named Manfred Werner. Shane started toward them, shouldering his way through the immobilized party guests, just as the lights flicked back on again.

      People blinked in the suddenly renewed brightness as gasps and nervous comments were replaced by sighs of relief.

      Shane found the princess and her muscular bodyguard and was relieved to see that the brawny man was doing his job. He had moved her into a corner where she wouldn’t get trampled if people suddenly started to panic.

      With the light level back to normal, a murmur of conversation and questions had started up in the room. Everybody, including Shane, wanted to know what had happened. To find out, he needed inside information—or outside information, depending on how you thought about it.

      He saw his friend Ben Parker across the room and wove his way through the crowd toward the FBI agent.

      Parker looked as if he was staring into space, but Shane knew he was listening to a transmission through his earpiece. Hopefully, his government sources were telling him what had caused the momentary blackout, and he’d be willing to share the information with a friend.

      When Parker appeared to be ready for a live conversation, Shane asked, “What was that business with the lights?”

      The agent’s expression turned disparaging. “Just the usual summer problems with Boston Power and Light. They need to update some of their equipment.”

      “No chance of a repeat?”

      “The mayor and the president of the power company don’t think so.”

      “You guys still going to allow both the president and the vice president to be here?”

      “We’ve got it under control,” Parker bit out.

      “Thanks,” Shane answered, still on edge, but thinking the momentary blackout had given him a perfect opportunity. Everybody was focusing on what had just happened. They wouldn’t be thinking about the Beau Pays sapphire at the moment.

      ARIANA FELT MANFRED SHIFT his position. He’d curved his body around hers earlier and now he straightened, tugging at his jacket.

      “Thank you,” she murmured.

      She knew the physical contact had made him uncomfortable, but she also knew he’d been doing his job.

      “Do you think that happens often in the United States?” she asked.

      “I hope not. But this is summer, and the Americans love their air-conditioning. There’s more drain than usual on the power system.”

      “Was it just this building, do you think?”

      “It was the whole city,” Manfred answered immediately. “I looked out the window and saw all the lights go out. There was nothing illuminated as far as the eye can see, except the motor-vehicle headlights and some boats in the harbor.”

      She shuddered. From her research, she knew that the population of Boston was six hundred thousand, and the metro area was much bigger. How far had the blackout extended? And what had happened during the moments of blackness?

      Was the crisis a good enough excuse for her to slip out of the reception now? Couldn’t she cite security concerns?

      Even as she asked the question, she silently admitted that her disappearance would be conspicuous. The news would surely get back to her father. He’d sent her all the way across the Atlantic to attend this reception, and he’d be disappointed in her if she slipped out so soon. Once again, she was reminded of her duty.

      Just as she finished the internal debate, the orchestra began playing “Hail to the Chief.” Even if she’d wanted to leave, it was too late now. Like everyone else in the reception hall, she turned toward the double doors that led to the elevators, watching the tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man stride in.

      In her royal role, she’d met many heads of state, and she saw instantly that President Stack had the presence of a ruler. Vice President Davis was also quite impressive, standing with the straight posture of a military man.

      “Thank you for coming, especially those of you who have traveled here from outside the United States,” the president said.

      “I believe the new international trade agreement that our countries have signed is a good step toward global cooperation. Whether we like it or not, we’ve entered the era of a global economy. And helping that economy run smoothly benefits every nation of the world, no matter how large or how small.

      “I’d like to especially welcome some of our distinguished guests.”

      He named the British secretary of commerce, the French foreign minister and then looked in her direction.

      “And we’re particularly honored to have Princess Ariana of Beau Pays with us this evening.”

      She gave him a gracious smile, then turned to acknowledge the applause that filled the room, glad that she hadn’t ducked out before this moment. She didn’t love being singled out, but she understood that her royal status added cachet to the occasion. Many of the people here would go home and talk about meeting her, even if they’d been no closer than the other side of the room.

      She was happy that the president had specifically mentioned her country’s participation in the agreement. Beau Pays might be small, but her father and her grandfather had made a point of cooperating in treaties and initiatives that would benefit the world community.

      Her training allowed her to pretend that she didn’t mind the extra attention the other guests were giving her. Yet she couldn’t shrug off an unsettling feeling that prickled at the back of her neck. The feeling that someone in the room did not wish her well.

      Beside her, Manfred was scanning the formally clad men and women, and she suspected he was picking up the same vibes that she had. Was there someone here who had a bone to pick with Beau Pays?

      Perhaps now was the time to leave.

      She was about to tell Manfred to alert their driver when a movement in the crowd made her glance up to find Shane Peters striding toward her, looking inordinately pleased with himself, she noted.

      As he stopped in front of her, she felt Manfred tense and knew that she had to defuse the situation at once before her bodyguard took the man out in the hallway and demanded to know why he was getting so close to his charge.

      Smoothly, she gestured toward the newcomer. “Manfred, this is Shane Peters, an old friend of my father’s.”

      Peters didn’t miss a beat. “I came over to introduce myself, but it seems you’ve been reading my bio.”

      “Yes, I recognize you from your dossier,” she answered, deliberately making it sound as if there were a secret file on the man. Up close he was even more devastatingly handsome than he had been from across the room, and she wanted to put some distance between them. If not physical distance, then emotional distance.

      Really, the “dossier” contained only general information of the sort she’d found on the other people who would be here tonight.

      “I