has an impeccable record.'
'I've met him,' Justin said. 'He's been on the Palace staff since Beth was eight or ten. That doesn't make him a likely suspect.'
'No,' Chou agreed, 'but that's exactly what we need to look for—an unlikely suspect. There is no one who is likely.'
The two men sat in silent meditation, Chou stroking his drooping mustache, Zyrr frowning and chewing on his inner lip.
'I suppose I'd better speak with Dover,' Chou said at last. 'Do you want to attend?'
'Why don't I speak with him?' Justin suggested. 'If you call on him he's going to know that something is up. Even if he's innocent, a casual mention of the interview could start rumors.'
'The PGS questioning a member of the Queen's Own,' Chou mused. 'Yes, it might raise questions. You can talk to him more casually. But I'd like to be present—concealed—if possible.'
'We can work something out. Can you get into my suite at the Palace without being noticed?'
Chou merely smiled.
'Then before I leave here I'll try to set up an appointment with Dover so you know when to meet us.'
Twenty minutes later, Zyrr had made the appointment for later that same day. Returning to the Mount Royal complex, he was accosted by Michelle Henke.
'Hi, Mike.'
'Justin! You're the very man I was hoping to find.'
Zyrr doubted that the Honorable Michelle had found him by accident. Already, the confident young woman left little to chance.
'What can I do for you?'
'It's Monroe. He's becoming increasingly despondent. We're worried that he's going to suicide. He won't tolerate anyone but immediate family near him, so we've been taking turns sitting with him, but right now everyone is scheduled elsewhere. Michael and I are set to be at the viewing next; Calvin is out meeting with some of the young turks, trying to sway their vote for one of Beth's projects, Mom is—'
'I get the picture. Do you need me to take care of Monroe?'
'Would you? Michael's with him now.'
'Do you think Monroe would come to my suite? Someone is coming to meet me there.'
Mike tilted her head thoughtfully. 'I don't see why not. A change of setting might be good for him. If he fusses, you can have your appointment redirected to Uncle Roger's office.'
Justin glanced at his chronometer. 'I'll run over and relieve Michael one way or another.'
'You're a prince!' Mike gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
'Not yet,' he smiled.
Laughing, the Honorable Michelle hurried off to don her uniform for the viewing.
Mike, Justin mused as he walked over to King Roger's office, couldn't fail to make an impression on young Michael. He'd be willing to bet that the Crown Prince was being not so subtly indoctrinated in the virtues of a Navy career.
When the guard at the door signalled Prince Michael that Justin had arrived, Justin was admitted with indecent haste.
Michael must have taken the initiative to have his valet bring his formal wear to the office so that he could dress while he waited, for he stood by his father's desk, nearly attired in his court finery.
'Justin!'
'You're the second person in ten minutes to greet me with such delight,' Justin said wryly. 'I suppose I should be honored. Mike has filled me in and I'm here to spell you with Monroe.'
'Thanks, Justin.' Michael gestured to where the treecat lay limp and bedraggled on his perch. 'He's quit eating, only drinks a little water. Beth says she thinks the only thing keeping him from quitting is knowing that we're worried about him.'
'So we want to stay close.' Justin completely agreed.
He walked over to the limp 'cat and stroked him, suppressing his shock when he felt how sharply the 'cat's backbone stood out beneath the fluffy camouflage of his coat. The cat's eyes were closed and not even a hint of green flickered when Justin tried to tickle him under his chin.
'Are you even certain that he's conscious?' he said, shocked.
'No,' Michael said wearily. He seemed years older than the boy who had burst into tears at the memory of his argument with his father. 'The vet said that Monroe isn't conscious much of the time, but that he can probably still feel our concern.'
The Crown Prince extended his arm. 'Can you help me with my cufflinks, Jus? These are Dad's. They're harder to snap tight than my old ones.'
'No problem.'
Justin fastened the cufflinks and straightened the lace front of the boy's dress shirt. When King Roger I had become the first monarch of the Kingdom of Manticore, he had commissioned an artist to design court dress. His only dictums had been that the new attire would be comfortable, elegant, and equally suited for male or female wear.
The artist had done his work brilliantly, Justin thought as he helped Michael into his jacket. The tail coat worn over tailored trousers had been borrowed from ancient England. The ruffled shirt with its lace cuffs had been taken from a slightly earlier time. There was no hat to create awkward clutter, and the footwear consisted of low- heeled boots that looked elegant while permitting the wearer to stand comfortably for hours.
By tradition, each noble house had its garb tailored in colors corresponding to those of its family's crest—in the case of the Wintons dusky blue trimmed with silver, although the Queen wore the red and gold of the Star Kingdom of Manticore. Awards, marriage alliances, and the like were indicated by slim bands at the cuffs. Since tradition also dictated that the fabrics be sumptuous brocades, a gathering of the nobility was awe inspiring indeed.
Commoners wore clothing of similar cut, but avoided both brocades and color combinations that directly mimicked an aristocrat's heraldry. However, Members of Parliament were encouraged to allude to the district they represented in the colors they elected to wear.
On the few occasions in his pre-Elizabeth life where a uniform would not serve, Justin had opted for rather generic colors. Since his official engagement, however, he wore a combination of Gryphon's bronze and dark brown with bands in the Winton colors at his cuffs. Idly, he thought that before he dismissed his valet, he had better make certain his clothing was ready for tonight.
When Michael had left, Justin crossed to Monroe.
'Come on, fellow. Time for a change of venue.'
The treecat didn't budge from his perch. However, when Justin picked him up he came away with only a token grasping of his claws.
'You need some fresh air, Monroe,' Justin said firmly, aware that even weakened, Monroe could do him serious harm. 'Don't fuss.'
Monroe didn't and, although they attracted some attention as Justin carried the 'cat through the back ways to his suite, they arrived without incident.
Settling Monroe on a heap of pillows at one corner of his sofa, Justin conferred with his valet about the condition of his formal wear, then dismissed the man until he should call for him.
When Monroe rejected his bribes of celery and he failed to locate Chou, Justin settled down, feeling slightly disgruntled, to wait for his appointment with Padraic Dover.
For Padraic Dover the time since King Roger's death had been an exercise in frustration. The first stage of the plan had gone so smoothly that he had naively believed the second would as well, but he couldn't even get near the Queen, much less find time to charm her.
Part of this was his own duty roster. His seniority proved to be a bane, granting him special honors such as standing watch over the King's body. If Queen Elizabeth was not in a meeting, making a public statement, or keeping vigil with her father's body, she was closeted with family members. Once, briefly, their paths had overlapped during the viewing, but although she'd greeted him, there had hardly been opportunity for
