“From here Cordina looks so fanciful. So pink and white and lovely. It seems as though nothing bad would ever happen there.”

He looked with her. “Fairy tales are traditionally violent aren’t they?”

“Yes.” She smiled a little looking up at the palace. How bold it looked, she thought. How bold and elegant. “But then no matter how much it looks like one, Cordina isn’t a fairy tale. Does your practical democratic American mind find it foolish—our castles, our pomp and protocol?”

This time he smiled. Perhaps she didn’t remember her roots but they were there, dug in. “I find it intelligently run. Lebarre is one of the best ports in the world regardless of size. Culturally Cordina bows to no one. Economically, it’s sound.”

“True. I, too, have been doing my homework. Still …” Brie ran her tongue over her teeth before she leaned back and circled her knee with her arms. “Did you know that women weren’t granted the right to vote in Cordina until after World War II? Granted as though it were a favor, not a right. Family life is still very Mediterranean, with the wife subservient and the husband dominant.”

“In theory, or in practice?” Reeve countered.

“From what I’ve seen, very much in practice. Constitutionally, the title my father holds can pass only to a male.”

Reeve listened, looking across the water as she did. “Does that annoy you?”

Brie gave him an odd, searching look. “Yes, of course. Just because I have no desire to rule doesn’t mean the law itself isn’t wrong. My grandfather was instrumental in bringing women’s suffrage to Cordina. My own father has gone farther by appointing women to positions of importance, but change is slow.”

“Invariably.”

“You’re practical and patient by nature.” She gave a quick shrug. “I’m not. When change is for the better, I see no reason for it to creep along.”

“You can’t overlook the human element.”

“Especially when some humans are too steeped in tradition to see the advantage of progress.”

“Loubet.”

Brie sent him an appreciative look. “I can see why my father enjoys having you around, Reeve.”

“How much do you know about Loubet?”

“I can read,” she said simply. “I can listen. The picture I gain is one of a very conservative man. Stuffy.” She rose, stretching so that the bikini briefs went taut over her hips. “True, he’s an excellent minister in his way, but so very, very cautious. I read in my diary where he tried to discourage me from my tour of Africa last year. He didn’t feel it proper for a woman. Nor does he feel it proper for me to meet with the National Council over budget matters.” Frustration showed briefly. She was, Reeve noted, learning fast. “If men like Loubet had their way, women would do no more than make coffee and babies.”

“I’ve always been of the opinion that such things should be joint efforts.”

She smiled down at him, obviously amused and relaxed. “But then, you’re not such a traditionalist. Your mother was a circuit-court judge.” At Reeve’s steady look, her smile widened. “I did my homework,” she reminded him. “You weren’t a subject I overlooked. You graduated from American University summa cum laude. Under the current circumstances, I find it interesting that you have a degree in psychology.”