McKinnon's Royal Mission. Amelia Autin

erase it. Something about the cold detachment in her voice was all too familiar—it reminded him of the way his grandparents had always spoken to him, the morally outraged grandparents who’d raised their unwanted bastard grandson from a sense of duty, not a sense of love. The grandparents he hadn’t seen since the day he joined the US Marine Corps when he turned eighteen. The grandparents who’d been eager to see Trace walking out their door, never to shame their doorstep again.

      Now his heart went out to the young man who had only been trying to help, but who had been cut off at the knees by a touch-me-not princess. A whole year, he thought grimly. I have to spend a whole year guarding this green-eyed bitch?

      The princess was smiling graciously now, speaking with the State Department representative in English that held only the barest hint of an accent. Trace remembered from her dossier she spoke five languages fluently—one fewer than he did—and had a PhD in mathematics, but he was no longer impressed by her intelligence. Brains, but no heart. I’ll take heart over brains every time.

      “Your Serene Highness, may I introduce Alec Jones and Liam Jones,” the State Department representative said, turning to present to the princess the men who would be guarding her during her stay in Colorado. “And Trace McKinnon. He’s the head of the team, and will be your primary bodyguard.”

      “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” the princess said with a lovely smile. She shook each man’s hand. The Jones brothers, trained as they were in diplomacy, said all the right things. But when she offered her hand to Trace he looked down at her, remembering how she had withered one of her Zakharian bodyguards with a few carefully chosen words. She won’t wither me.

      He smiled and shook her hand, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Princess,” he said softly. The insulting inflection was so subtle the State Department representative didn’t catch it, but the Jones brothers did, and they both shot sharp glances at Trace. He didn’t care about that. All he cared about in that instant was whether or not the princess got the message. She did. She had been pale before, but Trace could have sworn she went a shade whiter. Her lovely smile faded and her eyes took on a guarded expression.

      “Mr. McKinnon,” she said in a voice that never wavered, that never betrayed what he knew she must be thinking. “I have been told you once spent six months guarding the US Embassy in my country. I would enjoy talking with you about that experience sometime.”

      How the hell does she know that? he wondered in shock. He glanced at the State Department representative who shook her head slightly, indicating that information hadn’t come from them. He recovered quickly. “Special Agent McKinnon,” he corrected her. “And I think you’ll find Colorado reminds you a lot of Zakhar,” he said smoothly. “Especially the mountains.”

      She nodded and turned toward the Rockies, looming smoke blue and haze purple in the distance. When her gaze returned to Trace’s face, her smile returned, too. “That is one reason I chose to teach at the University of Colorado. I hope to soon feel at home here.”

      More people had deplaned during the introductions, including two more men Trace tagged as part of the princess’s security detail, and now there was a sizeable retinue gathered around the princess, including the four men he’d originally pigeonholed as bodyguards. Six altogether, Trace noted approvingly. More than enough. But better too many than too few.

      “This way, Your Serene Highness,” the State Department representative said, indicating several limousines that had discreetly pulled up behind them.

      The princess began walking toward the first limousine in the line, her low heels clicking faintly on the concrete tarmac, but Trace steered her firmly to the second one. “No, Princess,” he said. “It will be safer for you this way. One of my team will ride in the car in front, and the other will ride in the car behind. You’ll ride in here, with me.”

      She turned startled eyes on him, and Trace found himself falling into those deep, green depths. “I did not realize,” she said, for his ears only. “Am I really in such danger here?”

      Trace shook his head. “After today there will only be one bodyguard at a time. Other than your Zakharian bodyguards, that is. But until we get you settled in and establish a routine, I’d feel better if we play it safe.”

      She wrinkled her brow. “Play it safe?” she asked. “I am sorry, but I...”

      “Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” he explained. “Take extra precautions.”

      “Oh.” A self-deprecating smile flitted across her face. “Thank you for explaining. My English is—”

      “Your English is probably better than mine,” he replied. “Unless you’re native born, though, a language’s idioms can be difficult to master.”

      “True,” she said, with a smile that invited understanding.

      But Trace wasn’t feeling particularly understanding at the moment. He held the door open for her. “If you please, Princess.”

      Her eyes sought his, and he could see the question she wouldn’t voice engendered by the subtle insult embodied in that one word. What have I done to you?

      He couldn’t tell her he’d heard her cruel words earlier, not without giving away he understood Zakharan. And that would defeat half his purpose in guarding her. I’d better tone it down, he told himself. No matter what I think of her personally, I’ve got a job to do.

      When she was seated inside, he turned to the bodyguard who had tried to help her earlier. “If you want to sit in the front with the driver, go ahead. I’m going to ride shotgun.” And he slid into the seat beside the princess.

      The cavalcade had already begun before the princess asked him, “Ride shotgun?”

      Trace chuckled at the innocently curious note in her voice. He couldn’t help himself. “It actually means sitting beside the driver of a vehicle, providing armed protection. Like me, now. You’re not driving, but I’m still sitting beside you, armed and ready to do whatever’s necessary to protect you.”

      She said something under her breath he had to strain to hear. “Even though you do not like me.”

      “Yeah,” he said, “even though.” Her head snapped up, as if she was surprised he’d heard her. Or surprised he openly acknowledged his dislike.

      She stared at him for a moment, her green eyes widening. Then she drew a deep breath and said, “I think we have somehow started incorrectly.” There was honest contrition in her face. “If I have offended you in some way, I apologize.”

      Trace couldn’t hide his surprise. An apology? From her? That didn’t jibe with her insulting words earlier to her Zakharian bodyguard. But he couldn’t have misunderstood. It was a knack he had with regard to languages. Just as he had been able to soak up the Afghani language during his tour of duty there, not to mention the various tribal dialects that confused the hell out of most of his fellow soldiers, it hadn’t taken him more than three months to master the rudiments of the Zakharian language. And by the time he’d left Zakhar three months later he was speaking the language like a native.

      No, he couldn’t have misunderstood her. But maybe, just maybe, there was an explanation. It’s not like me to jump to conclusions, he thought. Why did I? He had a suspicion, but he didn’t want to admit it. Especially not with the effect those green eyes were having on him. Safer to dislike her. But it was a tenuous safety at best.

      * * *

      The cavalcade drove through the iron gates of the palatial estate the king of Zakhar had purchased in the Boulder foothills and furnished for his sister’s year-long stay. Even though Trace had been here weeks earlier checking out the security measures and having new ones installed, he still couldn’t help mentally whistling through his teeth at the size and grandeur. But now that he’d seen the number of people accompanying the princess he realized the estate wasn’t too big—not if it had to accommodate a small army.

      Trace