Protecting the Princess

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “We’re at the marina.” He laid out the bare facts of the situation. “There aren’t too many people around. I’m going to take you to my boat.”

  He watched indecision war across her face. Would she trust him? Given the accusations that had been made against him in the past, he knew she’d have every right not to trust him. But she also had no other alternative, and he’d have to have her cooperation if he was going to get her out of the city alive.

  And he had to get her out of the city. As a sentinel in the royal guard, he’d taken a vow to protect the royal family. There was no doubt in his mind that every minute she stayed in Sardis, her life was in greater danger.

  “How am I going to get to the boat without anyone seeing me?”

  Her question was an excellent one. With her golden-blond hair, inherited from her American mother, Princess Anastasia would easily stand out among the mostly darker-haired Lydians at the marina, especially since her dramatic curls were styled in an elaborate formal hairdo.

  He couldn’t risk letting anyone even suspect the princess was with him. He was certain her life would depend upon that.

  “I’ll carry you. You’ll fit in my duffel bag.” The enormous military-size bag was meant to carry everything a soldier needed during deployment. It was more than big enough for the petite princess.

  Her mouth dropped open, and her head peeked up higher.

  Kirk looked around warily. So far no one was paying them any attention. The explosions would have been clearly visible from the marina, and most of those milling about appeared to be caught up in discussions, or on the phone, staring toward the place where the smoke still rose, gesturing toward the plumes, no doubt trying to determine what had happened.

  Fortunately, though the Jeep he’d driven belonged to the royal household, there was nothing about the vehicle to identify it as such. And nimble Jeeps were common enough on the steep terrain and narrow streets of Sardis, Lydia’s capital city.

  Unfortunately, plenty of folks, including the royal guards who’d been standing at the gates, had surely seen the princess riding with him as they left the palace. If anyone wanted to locate her, they wouldn’t have to ask around long before they figured out she was with him. He would have to hurry if he was going to get her out of Sardis before anyone caught up to them.

  Reluctance filled her face, but to her credit, the princess didn’t protest his plan. She ducked low while he emptied the canvas bag of what he could—his royal guard uniform and some books. These he stowed in the locked compartment under the rear seat. The key to the compartment was on the key ring he’d taken from the cabinet.

  “Can you wriggle in there?” He settled the open military duffel over Stasi’s head.

  The petite princess fumbled inside the oversize bag, and Kirk hopped out, circling around to her side of the Jeep and helping her tuck her feet inside before carefully upending the bag with her in it, and tucking the folds of her dress in after her.

  Fearful eyes watched him pull the zipper up toward her face. He could see a hundred questions on her lips and knew she had to be afraid. Of the insurgents, and also, of him.

  “I’ll keep you safe.”

  She gave a tiny nod, and he zipped the bag closed.

  Hefting the strap over his shoulder, he carried her as gently as he could without making a show of it. He tossed his head back and tried to look carefree as he made his way toward the boardwalk.

  The youngest member of the Royal House of Lydia had always been light. This wasn’t the first time he’d carried her. Growing up best friends with her elder brother, Thaddeus, Kirk had spent most of his childhood playing with the royal siblings: Thaddeus, Alexander, Isabelle and Anastasia. He’d always had a soft spot for tiny Stasi, born almost two months premature, who’d tried so hard to keep up with the older children.

  While the royal siblings seemed content to run on without her, Kirk had never been willing to leave her behind. From the time he was seven and she was old enough to hold on, somewhere around the age of two, she’d been an almost constant fixture perched atop his shoulders as they’d played games in the royal garden, or gone zipping through the halls of the royal palace.

  That had been years ago, before her brother’s disappearance had turned the royal family and most of the Kingdom of Lydia against him. Many Lydians, the king and queen included, doubted he’d actually killed Thaddeus or even been witness to his accidental death, but he’d still gone on trial—most likely in an attempt to pressure him to reveal Thad’s whereabouts since the body had never been found. Once the jury had found him not guilty for lack of evidence, he’d been untouchable, and a judge had ordered him back to his post in the royal guard.

  He wasn’t welcome there. He was tolerated at best, either by those who hated him for not revealing where their future king had gone, or by those who were jealous of all the media attention he’d been shown, his picture splashed across every newspaper for almost two years before the matter was settled.

  He hadn’t carried Stasi in far longer than those six years, but she still felt light as he tried to remove her from the danger in Sardis. Kirk shuddered to think what may have become of the royal family. Somehow, the explosions that had rocked the royal world on its edge had tipped his back into alignment. He now had a chance to prove himself to them—to demonstrate, beyond any doubt, that he would do anything to protect them. More than that, he could show them that he would never have committed the crime he’d been accused of.

  At the sight of trouble up ahead, Kirk neither slowed nor rushed his steps. He drew nearer to a Lydian soldier who patrolled the marina.

  The man held out his Uzi like a crossing guard beam. “Kirk Covington?”

  “Yes.” Kirk was used to folks he didn’t know recognizing him. Though his picture didn’t fill the papers as much these days, his name still landed in the tabloids often enough. People either loved or hated him. Most of those associated with the royal family fell into the latter group, and Kirk got the sense this soldier was one of them. But his experience with the media had taught him to stay one step ahead of those who might question him.

  Before the soldier could ask him anything, Kirk leaned a little closer to the man. “Do you know anything about those explosions up on the hill?”

  The man seemed to weigh his answer. “There’s been some sort of attack. They may be locking down the city shortly.”

  “Ah.” Kirk nodded. “Then I suppose if I’m going to get away for the weekend, I’ll have to take my boat out now.”

  The soldier seemed to shuffle in place. Kirk got the sense he didn’t really know what was going on, but the man was certainly keyed up over what had happened. He needed to get moving before the soldier thought to question him further.

  “I won’t keep you.” Kirk tipped his head to the soldier and stepped around him.

  He continued down the pier to where his sailboat sat in the water. Behind him, he heard the static buzz of the soldier’s radio, and his ears pricked up at an urgent-sounding transmission, though he couldn’t make out any words.

  But at the soldier’s confirmation back, Kirk picked up his pace. Were they on to him? Had someone spotted him leaving the palace with the princess and alerted the soldier already?

  A second later the soldier shouted back at him, confirming his worst fears.

  “Kirk Covington? I need to ask you some questions.”

  Kirk broke into a run. Slim as his odds seemed of making sail before the soldier caught up to him, he couldn’t let anyone find the princess. If the massive explosions and the rumors he’d heard were any indication, all the members of the royal family had been targeted for assassination.

  Boots pounded down the pier behind him. The man was armed. Kirk couldn’t risk drawing his fire—not with the princess slung over his back.

  He set t
he duffel down behind him on the pier and turned to face the soldier just as the man flung himself through the air toward him.

  TWO

  With a roar, Kirk leaped at the man, catching him by the arms, mindful of the soldier’s gun that could send a deadly spray of bullets across the pier with a touch of the trigger.

  He couldn’t let the man get a shot off. Stasi was far too vulnerable tucked inside his duffel bag. At the same time, Kirk realized he needed to get rid of this soldier quickly. No doubt there were others in the area. The last thing he needed to do was draw the attention of more of them.

  Overpowering the man’s grip on the gun through the sheer advantage of his strength, Kirk pried the weapon from the soldier’s hands and flung it through the air. It splashed into the sea.

  The man’s hands flew to his sidearm.

  Kirk jabbed his knee between the soldier’s hand and his holster before he could reach his gun. Eager to end their scuffle as quickly as possible, Kirk shoved the man backward, sending him tumbling face-first into the Mediterranean. Weighed down as he was by his munitions, Kirk figured it would take the soldier a while pull himself out of the sea, though the water wasn’t quite deep enough to drown in. The soldier would be fine.

  Unwilling to spare even a split second to see how long it took his attacker to surface, Kirk grabbed the duffel bag and bounded toward his sloop, setting the bag that held Stasi gently down on the deck, unfettering the boat, shoving off with a mighty heave and powering up the trolling motor that would propel the boat until he could pick up a breeze in the open sea.

  Navigating the lightweight craft through the crowded marina, Kirk focused on putting some distance between his boat and the soldier. He glanced back in time to see the uniformed man swimming toward a pier support. Kirk hoped he’d have to struggle to climb out of the sea in his heavy gear—that would at least buy him a little more time. And he prayed the man hadn’t gotten a decent look at his boat.

  Once he’d maneuvered his sailboat into the open sea, Kirk hauled the duffel into the boat’s small cabin and pulled back the zipper.

  The fluffy folds of Stasi’s royal skirt didn’t budge.

  Was she okay? She hadn’t suffocated in there, had she?

  “Your Highness?” He pushed back the flouncy fabric, and Stasi peeled her hands from her face and blinked up at him. She was trembling, from her shoulders to her lower lip, to the tears that shimmered on her cheeks.

  “Are you okay?”

  She hiccupped.

  Kirk wished there was something more he could do for her—some way to comfort her or dry her tears, but there wasn’t time. Any number of folks might have seen him leaving the harbor. “I’m sorry.” The words seemed so inadequate against the terrors they’d both just witnessed. Had her family members all been killed?

  “Where are we?” Her voice shook as she disentangled herself from the inside of the bag.

  “At sea. You’re safe for now. I need to go back up and steer. You stay below. We can’t risk anyone seeing you.”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, but Kirk didn’t have time for her questions. Instead, he turned and went back above, closing the cabin door behind him. She appeared to be overcome with fear and shock, and he prayed she’d be okay until he got her to relative safety. Then he’d do what he could to reassure her.

  But not now. She had to stay out of sight for now. Sardis Bay tended to be crowded. He needed to be where he could steer the craft through the busy waters.

  The nation of Lydia shared the Mediterranean coast with Albania and Greece. Her capital city of Sardis was also her primary port. Beyond the marina, the cove of Sardis Bay was protected on the north by a finger of land that jutted toward an archipelago. Tourists and Lydians alike loved the white-sand beaches that rimmed the small islands, which extended for almost fifty kilometers beyond the mainland.

  The islands had once formed a peninsula that was connected to the capital city, and centuries before, the royal family had built a stronghold on the rocky promontory at its tip. Now the ruins of that fortress lay at the outermost tip of the stretch of islands. No one ever ventured to the Island of Dorsi.

  Dorsi was said to have been contaminated by land mines during the world wars, though no one could ever agree what enemy had placed them, since Lydia had remained neutral throughout those conflicts. Besides that, the massive blocks of limestone that teetered in ruinous towers were rumored to fall at the slightest provocation, especially when disturbed by those who didn’t belong there.

  The island itself was such a formidable rock that there didn’t seem to be any decent spot to anchor, and if that weren’t deterrent enough, the periphery of the island was dotted every twenty feet or so with fearsome signs, warning potential visitors of certain death should they venture there.

  Kirk would take an indirect route to the Island of Dorsi. If anyone tried to follow him, he could hopefully lose them among the islands, especially with evening coming on. The evasive measures would take time, and it would likely be sundown by the time he and the princess arrived on the Island of Dorsi. He could only pray they would arrive safely.

  Anastasia slumped down on one of the cushioned benches that lined the sides of the boat’s cabin. The summer evening was warm, but she still felt a distinct chill and hugged herself while she tried to bite back the tears that threatened to fall.

  Terror squeezed her heart. She’d heard enough of Kirk’s encounter with the soldier at the pier to realize they’d come quite close to being discovered. She hadn’t even been certain, until he’d zipped back enough of the bag for her to see out, that she hadn’t fallen into the hands of those who’d targeted her family.

  At the mere thought of her family, her heart clenched. What had happened to her parents and siblings? The explosions had been so huge, the black smoke so thick, it was difficult to imagine that they might have escaped unscathed. Had they perished in the attack?

  The horrifying thought was more than she could bear, and she reeled as fearsome thoughts washed over her. What would become of her family? Was she the only member of the Royal House of Lydia who’d survived? What if the assassins tracked her down? Where could she possibly go from here, alone and hunted?

  When Kirk had zipped her into his bag, she’d felt a helplessness unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Though the extralarge military duffel had allowed sufficient room for her petite frame, she’d realized as Kirk carried her toward his boat that she was completely at his mercy. What if anything happened to him? What if his motives weren’t pure?

  Stasi thought back to the days following her brother’s disappearance. Her mother, Queen Elaine had been frantic. Her father, King Philip, had insisted that Thaddeus would check in anytime—that he’d simply needed some time to himself. But as the hours had grown into days, it had become obvious that the crown prince wasn’t coming home. Kirk Covington had been the last person to see him alive. Witnesses had watched the two of them take off in Kirk’s boat one morning. Kirk had returned that evening alone, and had remained tight-lipped about what had happened to Thaddeus, where he was or whether he was even alive.

  Kirk had been the only person of interest throughout the investigation. Thad and Kirk, both strong young men with fiery personalities, had been known to get into fights before. Stasi recalled their wrestling matches growing up. Thaddeus had always been a tad bigger than Kirk, being six months older, but Kirk had been more ruthless, and the more tenacious fighter.

  The prosecution had argued Kirk and Thad had fought, that Kirk had underestimated his own strength and accidentally killed the heir to the throne, then covered up his death. But after a lengthy trial, there hadn’t been enough evidence to convict him of the crime. He’d been ordered back to his post as a sentinel with the royal guard, and was untouchable after that.

  The memories swirled in her mind
, the betrayal she’d felt when she’d first heard Kirk had been involved with her brother’s disappearance and possible death. Her brother had trusted Kirk. She’d trusted Kirk, looked up to him, adored him, even more than she’d adored her older brother. She’d begged him for answers, but every time she’d questioned him, he’d simply said, “I’ve told you all I can.”

  But he hadn’t ever told her anything.

  What if he had sailed off with her brother and killed him? Were the rumors true? Was she even now in the same boat her brother had been in?

  Just as terror began to choke her and waves of sorrow wash over her, Kirk poked his head into the dark cabin. The sinking sun outlined his broad shoulders. “You can come out now if you keep your head down.”

  “Okay.” Her voice wobbled, but she held back her tears and stood. At the very least she wanted to see where they were and where Kirk was taking her.

  She’d kicked off her high-heeled shoes and now followed him barefoot onto the deck, the hem of her long gown brushing against her toes. The little boat dipped among the gentle waves, and Stasi had to focus on keeping her legs steady.

  The first stars twinkled in the eastern sky, so much brighter out at sea than they ever were in the city. The red light of the setting sun spilled like blood across the western sky, coloring the sea, and Stasi tried not to read it as an omen of her family’s fate.

  Shuffling forward to stand near Kirk at the prow, she tried to evaluate their position, but between the darkening sky and her tear-blurred vision she could hardly see anything. In the dark of the boat’s cabin, the horror of what she’d seen on the streets of Sardis had seemed so far away, like a scene from a movie, like something she could walk away from when the lights came on.

  But out here on the deck, with the same balmy breeze that had warmed her when the first blast had struck the motorcade, the reality didn’t seem so distant, the bloodred waters painting too vivid an image of what may have happened. Her stomach lurched with the rocking of the boat.