“Fascinating.” I might not have warm and fuzzies for my charge, but I find their island sovereignty and its vast differences incredibly interesting.
Imagine… no military.
“Just remember,” Kynan intones with a pointed look, “we’ve been hired by the US government, not Bretaria. You don’t answer to the king or to his security forces, but you will need to work in conjunction with them. You’ll need to cooperate, but they also know if they want our aid, we are in charge of the US operations when she comes here.”
I nod in understanding. Often, heads of foreign states will hire us directly, but that’s usually for black ops work. When foreign diplomats travel through the United States, we will provide our own government agencies at said diplomat’s disposal. Protection is often handled through the Secret Service and at our government’s expense and pleasure and is in turn passed off to the taxpayers.
In this instance, Bretaria holds no formal relationship with our government, and there are no trade relations. Our government can’t legitimately use its resources—funded by tax dollars—to protect the princess.
It can, however, use private slush funds and pools of pork-barrel money to hire our agency, and I’m sure the request to help protect Princess Camille was filtered down from a high-ranking member of Congress, or perhaps even the president.
Regardless, my first-in-line boss is Kynan, but after that, I will answer to my government and not to the Bretarian people I’ll be working with. It will make for an interesting dynamic.
“And once we take over her protection?” I ask Kynan, as he’s clearly had more than one conversation with the Bretarians about our assistance.
“You’ll be her shadow,” he says with a smirk and leans back in his chair. I grimace and think that perhaps I’ll wear earbuds and crank some Metallica, so I don’t have to listen to her prattle, as I’m sure princesses are prone to do.
I’m not sure where my notions come from. I don’t know a single princess. Haven’t seen a movie or read a book about one. I know Princess Diana was a big commodity, but I don’t know much about her as she died when I was young, and what I see in the news about other royals is that they’re fond of fancy clothes and polo ponies. I guess that’s why I don’t think there will be much substance, and someone without substance is nothing but fluff, which I find irritating.
“Jackson,” Kynan grumbles irritably. “You haven’t heard a damn word I’ve said.”
A slight flush crawls up the back of my neck, and I manage a sheepish look of apology. “Sorry… mind drifted to the task.”
Kynan rolls his eyes. “While in Bretaria, your services won’t be overly important. The palace sits in the center of the island atop a fortified butte protected by twenty-foot stone walls built a few hundred years ago. It would be nearly impossible for someone to breach the family compound to kidnap Princess Camille, and in her almost twenty-five years of existence, an attempt has never been made.”
“She’d be vulnerable to an inside job,” I point out.
Kynan nods. “I’m sure they’ve considered that, and I hope their vetting process is thorough. But it’s also why they want you there earlier than expected so they can test our mettle.”
“I get that,” I mutter. While we are the best at what we do, none of us would be offended by being tested. “They won’t be disappointed in what they see.”
“Got that right,” Kynan growls, his pride in the company he’s built and the respect it’s earned evident in his tone.
I have the same pride in Jameson. I just wish my dad would respect it as well so I can have pure fulfillment in what I’m doing.
CHAPTER 2
Camille
“I pulled out the melon-colored dress for you,” Netty says as she bustles about my suite. “It’s perfect for your afternoon tea with Mrs. Delmonde and her very handsome son.”
I sit at my vanity table, examining my brows for stray hairs to pluck, and heave a sigh. I set my tweezers down and turn in my seat. “Mrs. Delmonde’s son is in no way worthy of me or my title. It’s a waste of time.”
Netty doesn’t look at me but clucks her dismissal. “Of course he’s worthy. His family is solid and runs a shipping empire.”
I scoff and turn back to my mirror, nabbing the tweezers. “He’s not royalty. Princesses do not marry non-royals, no matter how wealthy they are.”
Which isn’t true. My parents would love me to marry a royal, but a very rich man would work just as nicely. As evidenced by the fact they’ve set me up with a Delmonde.
Netty makes that clucking sound again, something I’ve heard my entire life; it’s how she expresses her disapproval of my thoughts. I should bristle at not being taken seriously, but why bother? I’m expected to marry and produce an heir before I succeed the throne upon my father’s demise.