Nathaniel tossed his suitcase in the master suite of the St. Simons Island cottage. This had been the royal family’s American getaway since 1902. “Liam,” he said, jogging down the stairs. “Let’s head to the Rib Shack, see if we can locate Susanna.” His chief security officer fell in step off of his right shoulder. They’d arrived on the island an hour ago, set up the chief and staffers he’d brought along at the Prince and King Hotel before heading for the family cottage. Listening to their syncopated