Rachelle McCalla - Protecting the Princess

Kirk bent his head close to hers in the flickering candlelight. “I just don’t want you to worry.” He took a step back and spread his arms wide. “Enjoy this beautiful island. Your brother loved this place. Your ancestors did, too.”

He looked down at her.

She tried to raise a smile to her lips, but sorrow and fear wouldn’t let her. “My code name is Juliet?” There were too many details for her to keep track of them all, but she figured that one might be important if she had to contact her brother again. “What is Thad’s code name?”

“Regis.”

“And yours?”

Kirk turned his back to her, pulling a pillow from the storage space that had looked so much like the rest of the stone wall before he’d lifted its secret lid. “You don’t need to know mine.”

“But what if—”

He gently tipped up her chin with the tips of his fingers. “It will all come out all right.”

Looking into his eyes, which were earnest and sincere, Stasi wished she could believe him. “How do you know?”

“God is in charge. And God is good.”

She took a shaky breath. “How could God let a thing like this happen?”

“Your Highness—” He spoke her title slowly, sweetly. She liked the sound of it on his lips. “It is night now, but the sun will shine again. Have faith.” He dropped her chin and walked away through the darkness.

As she watched him go, she clutched her little candle. Her heart twisted out a desperate prayer that everything would come out all right, somehow—though she couldn’t imagine how.

The moon was high when Kirk docked his boat and resolutely stepped onto the pier. He’d formed a plan in his mind as he’d sailed into Sardis, and now he headed for his parents’ place, a small cottage behind the palace. Albert and Theresa Covington both held high positions in the royal household. If there was any news, they would know it. And he needed them to see that he was all right. After all that had happened, he knew they would be worrying.

He carried his duffel bag back to the Jeep, which was parked, undisturbed, where he’d left it. A good sign. It meant that, however coordinated the attack on the royal family might have been, whoever was behind it had not yet gotten around to making an organized search for the Jeep. That much made sense. They’d probably have much more urgent priorities.

The sound of the lapping sea faded as Kirk started the vehicle. It was after midnight and no one appeared to be anywhere around. Kirk drove toward the palace and parked along a side street a couple of blocks away, pulling out his personal items from where he’d stashed them, tossing them into the duffel bag, then walking the rest of the distance.

Skirting the rear gate of the royal grounds, Kirk decided to scale the wall instead of using his thumbprint to gain entry. Granted, the print would be easier, but his entrance would be recorded in the security computer. He couldn’t risk giving away his location—not with the likelihood that someone might soon get around to looking for him.

Fortunately, he’d had plenty of practice scaling the castle walls with Thaddeus when they were growing up. He made it over without any trouble and found his way to the cottage.

There was still a light on in the kitchen. Kirk tried the door and found it locked, but he knocked and his mother answered, pulling him into a tight hug, and then, a moment later, shaking him by his shoulders.

“They said you’d been killed at the marina,” Theresa Covington accused her son.

His father, Albert, rose from his seat at the table. “Folks saw you driving Princess Stasi in a Jeep. It was on the news. There’s a rumor that the two of you were killed and your bodies thrown into the sea.”

“Did you believe it?” Kirk asked, looking back and forth from one parent to the other. He wasn’t at all surprised that someone might report him dead, and Princess Stasi killed, too. But he thought his parents had more faith in him than to believe such an obviously false report.

“We don’t know what to believe.” His mother wore a wary expression. “They’re reporting the whole royal family has been killed in an ambush.”

“And yet—” his father leaned in and spoke quietly “—from what I’ve heard, there aren’t any bodies—not that fit the royal family, anyway. Two drivers and a guard were killed in the blasts. I knew all three of them.” As the longtime head butler and estate manager at the palace, Kirk’s father knew everyone who worked there—even those who worked outside of the main castle.

Kirk felt the sting of loss that innocent people had died. But at the same time, his father’s words buoyed his hope. If the bodies of the royal family hadn’t been found, then they still were alive. Somewhere. “Stasi will be glad to hear it.”

“She’s alive, then?” Theresa Covington finally let go of her son’s shoulders.

“Alive and safe, for now,” Kirk assured them both. “I don’t know who barricaded her in her room, but thank God they did—that’s why she missed her ride in the limousine. She was with me in the Jeep when the first blast hit. But that’s where the truth of that rumor ends. I got her out of Sardis as quickly as I could.”

“But now what will you do?” his father asked.

“I was hoping to learn what’s happened to the rest of her family—she’s desperate for news of them. I’d like to believe they’ve survived. If we can locate any of them, I’ll take Stasi to them. Otherwise, I’ll take her to Thaddeus. In the meantime, though, I may have to hide her. I’ll need supplies.”

His parents tensed when he mentioned the name of the presumed-dead heir to the Lydian throne. Though Kirk had assured them long ago that Thaddeus was alive and well, he knew they, like the rest of the Lydian population, still sometimes wondered if he hadn’t possibly committed the crime he’d been accused of. His folks had stood by him, but he hadn’t given them any more reason to believe him than he’d granted anyone else. He’d promised Thad. And he was a man of his word.

Kirk had many questions for his parents. “Who was behind the attacks? And what do they want?”

“I’ve not heard a motive, and no one has claimed responsibility yet.” Albert pointed to a small television set in the corner of the kitchen that was broadcasting news updates with the volume turned low. “I don’t know what will happen, or what will become of the Royal House of Lydia.”

“What about the two of you? Headed back to the U.S.?” Kirk’s parents were both American citizens. His mother had been best friends with Queen Elaine when they were both girls, growing up in a small town near Atlanta, Georgia. When Elaine had married then-Prince Philip, Albert and Theresa had come to Lydia to work for her. They’d remained close friends with the royal family, and Theresa was still best friends with Queen Elaine. But given the circumstances and their known allegiance to the royal family, they would likely be safer back in America.

At his suggestion, his parents exchanged worried looks.

“We’ve talked about it,” Albert admitted.

But Theresa shook her head. “There’s no threat to our lives. As long as the royal family remains unaccounted for, I feel we have to stay. What if one of them tries to contact us? I came to Lydia to help my best friend. I can’t run out on her in her time of need.”

Kirk appreciated his parents’ devotion. He felt the same way. “Still, I think you should keep a low profile. Everyone knows how close you are to the king and queen.”

“Many people are loyal to the king and queen. If the insurgents go after all of them, there will be no one left in Lydia,” Albert predicted.

“Good point.” Kirk appreciated his father’s attitude. He stood and paced the room nervously. Much as he would have loved to learn more about what was going on, he’d promised Stasi he’d be back. And no one else knew where she was. If anything happened to him, she’d be on her own.