“Perhaps ‘progressive’ is a relative term.”

“Perhaps.” He smiled, because this particular debate was an old one. “Shipping is, naturally, our biggest industry, but tourism is not far behind. We have beauty, culture and an enviable climate. We are just,” he said with simplicity. “Our country is small, but it is not insignificant. We rule well.”

This she accepted without any questions, but if she’d had them, they would have flown from her mind by the sight of the palace.

It stood, as was fitting, on the highest point of Cordina’s rocky jut of land. It faced the sea, with huge rocks and sheer cliffs tumbling down to the water.

It was a place King Arthur might have visited, and would recognize if his time came again. The recognition came to Brie the same way everything else had, a vague feeling, as if she were seeing something in a dream.

It was made of white stone and the structure spread out in a jumble of battlements, parapets and towers. It had been built for both royalty and defense, and remained unchanged. It hovered over the capital like a protection and a blessing.

There were guards at the gate, but the gates weren’t closed. In their tidy red uniforms they looked efficient, yet fanciful. Brie thought of Reeve MacGee.

“Your friend spoke to me—Mr. MacGee.” Brie tore her gaze away from the palace. Business first, she reflected. It seemed to be her way. “He tells me you’ve asked for his assistance. While I appreciate your concern, I find the idea of yet another stranger in my life uncomfortable.”

“Reeve is the son of my oldest and closest friend. He isn’t a stranger.” Nor am I, he thought, and willed himself to be patient.

“To me he is. By his own account he tells me we’ve met only once, almost ten years ago. Even if I could remember him, he’d be a stranger.”

He’d always admired the way she could use such clean logic when it suited her. And willfulness when it didn’t. Admiration, however, didn’t overshadow necessity. “He was a member of the police force in America and handled the sort of security we require now.”

She thought of the neat red uniforms at the gate, and the men who sat in the car following the limo. “Aren’t there enough guards?”

Armand waited until the driver stopped in front of the entrance. “If there were, none of this would be necessary.” He stepped from the car first and turned to assist his daughter himself. “Welcome home, Gabriella.”

Her hand remained in his and the light breeze ruffled between them. She wasn’t ready to go in. Armand felt it, and waited.

She could smell the flowers now. Jasmine, vanilla, spice, and the roses that grew in the courtyard. The grass was so green, the stone so white it was almost blinding. There had to have been a drawbridge once, she was sure of it. Now there was an arched mahogany door at the top of curved stone steps. Glass, sometimes clear, sometimes tinted, glistened as it should in palaces. At the topmost tower a flag whipped in the wind. Snowy white with an arrogant diagonal slash of red.