Protecting the Princess

Royalty on the run

A series of explosions took out the royal motorcade and threw the country of Lydia into chaos. Princess Anastasia missed her limo, and doesn’t know what has become of the rest of her family. Whisked away from her native country for her protection, Stasi is dismayed that her life is now in shambles. But at least she’s not alone. Kirk Covington pledges to keep her safe. He’s a royal guard…and the man she’s spent years blaming for her brother’s disappearance. Now she’ll have to trust him with her life—and her heart—in order to regain the throne.

“Get down,” Kirk ordered.

Stasi’s eyes widened as she looked at him. What was happening? Were Kirk’s actions related to the attack? She already doubted she could trust the man. He’d been linked to such a horrible crime before.

“Down,” Kirk commanded, his open palm pushing her head below the level of the dashboard.

She grabbed his wrist and tore his arm away from her royal head. “No. I won’t do what you say.”

Kirk stopped the Jeep with a jerk and glared at her. “Don’t fight me. Don’t you see? The royal family has been attacked. If anyone sees you, they’ll know you weren’t killed. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

Stasi looked at him dumbly. Too much didn’t make sense. “What do you mean? You think someone might try to kill me?”

“Please.” Kirk’s voice plunged to pleading depths. “You’ve got to stay down. Your life is in danger.”

Stasi shrunk in her seat, but her eyes didn’t leave Kirk’s face. “What are you going to do with me?”

“I’m going to hide you, if I can.” He looked around at the empty streets. “But you’ve got to do what I say.”

Protecting the Princess

Rachelle McCalla

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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On the Sabbath we went outside the city gate to the river, where we expected to find a place of prayer. We sat down and began to speak to the women who had gathered there. One of those listening was a woman named Lydia, a dealer in purple cloth from the city of Thyatira, who was a worshiper of God. The Lord opened her heart to respond to Paul’s message. When she and the members of her household were baptized, she invited us to her home. “If you consider me a believer in the Lord,” she said, “come and stay at my house.” And she persuaded us.

—Acts 16:13–15

To Eleanor, my princess, who taught me to wear pink and enjoy jewelry.

You are stronger than you think you are. I love you.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my loving and supportive family, who insist they enjoy frozen pizza, freeing me from cooking so I can write. I love you all!

Thanks also to my awesome friends whose insights contributed to the factual accuracy of this book. Special thanks to Lonny Douthit, my cousin who flies helicopters, who patiently tried to explain them to me. Any errors are mine, not his!

And to all the friends who chimed in on my efforts to name the Crown Prince—because of you, he is not Xerxes or Phineas or Arthur. Thank you. And let me not forget all those friends who supplied terms and words when my brain ran dry. Because of you, the-woman-behind-the-ticket-counter-who-sells-tickets-at-the-airport shall henceforth be known as a ticketing agent. Ah. So much better.

And special thanks to my editor extraordinaire, Emily Rodmell, for her insight, expertise and patience with my frantic Friday afternoon email barrages. Enjoy your weekend in peace, you’ve earned it!

Disclaimer: The people and events of this story are fiction. There is no nation of Lydia, although there was a woman named Lydia mentioned in Acts chapter 16 of the Bible, and she had a house church in that area of the world. Beyond that, this story is the fruit of my imagination, and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

ONE

Her Royal Highness Princess Anastasia of Lydia grabbed the doorknob and gave it a turn, but when she tried to push the door open, it wouldn’t budge.

Stasi blinked. How strange! Her door had never given her any problems before. She tried again, this time pushing harder, but with no success. Finally, throwing all her weight into it, she shoved the door with her shoulder. Nothing.

Had someone barricaded her door so it wouldn’t open?

Stasi looked around her suite uneasily.

She was trapped inside her own room, and the royal motorcade would be leaving any minute for the state dinner.

Refusing to give in to the panic she felt, Stasi grabbed her phone and dialed the number for the palace managers.

Theresa Covington answered.

“I’m trapped inside my room—and the motorcade is leaving any second!” She fingered her sapphire necklace uneasily.

“I’ll send someone immediately.”

“Thank you.” Stasi ended the call and waited, glancing nervously around, wondering why her door wouldn’t open, and if the peculiar disturbance had anything to do with the other unusual trespasses she’d experienced lately. She knew of at least three other times in the past few weeks when items in her room had been eerily displaced—not stolen outright, but disturbed, as though they’d been rooted through, and then put back slightly out of order.

Footsteps approached from the hallway outside her door. “Your Highness?” A voice sounded from the other side, and she watched the doorknob turn. “Your Highness?”

“Yes!” She practically threw the door open, prepared to thank whoever had rescued her, but she startled backward when she recognized the man on the other side of the door.

Kirk Covington.

So, Theresa had sent her son.

“Thank you.” Stasi glanced at the chair Kirk had pushed aside. Had it been propped against her door, preventing her from getting out? She didn’t have time to analyze what had happened, so she brushed brusquely past him and hurried down the wide marble staircase. Dashing as quickly as she dared in her high heels across the gracious foyer, she flung herself through the front palace doors and blinked.

The twenty-foot-tall wrought-iron gates closed behind the last of the royal limousines a hundred meters away.

Her stomach sank.

The royal motorcade had left without her! She bit her lip, ready to cry after the ordeal of the last few minutes.

“Your Highness?” Kirk had followed her down the stairs. “Have they gone?”

“Yes.” She straightened her posture to royal perfection. It wouldn’t do to let Kirk Covington see her distressed.

“I’ll drive you.”

Stasi froze.

“I can drive myself. I’m a perfectly capable driver.” She hoisted up the fluffy skirt of her long evening gown as she stepped outside and descended the palace steps.

“Yes, I suppose you could drive yourself—” Kirk kept pace with her, hauling an enormous military-style duffel bag over his shoulder, as if he’d been en route to somewhere when his mother sent him to free her from her room “—but then what are you going to do with your car once you arrive at the state dinner? There won’t be valet parking, and if you have to hunt for a space…”

“Fine.” She didn’t let him get any further, but glanced at the bag he carried as they ducked into the garage. “You’re sure it’s no trouble?” Stasi didn’t want to spend any more time in Kirk’s presence, but she had to catch up to the rest of her family in the motorcade.

“None at all.”

“Then, thank you. Which car shall we take?”

“The Jeep.” He placed his thumb against the touch pad of the cabinet that housed the keys to the royal vehicles. When his thumbprint registered, a green light illuminated, and Kirk opened the cabinet, pulling out the keys and snapping the cabinet locked shut again. “Come on.” He jogged past several other vehicles and empty bays to the waiting Jeep, tossing the large duffel bag he’d been carrying into the backseat.

Stasi hoisted her skirt and hurried after him, climbing into the passenger seat just as Kirk got the vehicle into gear. Worries swirled in her head, but she did her best to quiet them.

So what if Kirk Covington had been accused of murdering her brother Thaddeus, the heir to the throne of Lydia, six years before? He’d been best friends with her brother forever before that, and there had never been enough evidence to prove he’d committed any crime. Her brother’s body had never been found. Kirk had been eventually been cleared of all charges and reinstated to his position as part of the royal guard. Kirk was innocent, wasn’t he?

Besides, what could possibly happen on the way to the state dinner?

For most of her life, Kirk had been a trusted friend. She still didn’t believe he was a dangerous man, or that he’d ever done anything to hurt her brother. But she was nearly certain he knew more of what had happened to Thaddeus than what he’d confessed. Regardless of the real facts, Kirk had been the most hated man in Lydia for the last six years. If she was seen with him, she’d never live it down.

Kirk pressed the button to open the side gates of the palace courtyard. “We’ll take Mursia Street as far as State Street. I should be able to get right up beside the motorcade at the intersection. You can hop out and catch up with your family. No one has to see you arrive with me.” He seemed to anticipate her reservations as the Jeep rattled down the narrow cobblestone road.

“Excellent.” Stasi fumbled with her seat belt and tried to tell herself not to be so nervous. She’d be fine. From the vantage point of the high road, she could just catch a glimpse of the motorcade ahead of them as the buildings and alleyways flashed by. Much as she wanted to prompt him to hurry, she knew Kirk was driving as quickly as the narrow streets would allow. And though the pedestrians were few on the side street, it wouldn’t be safe to travel too fast.

“Who barricaded your door?” Kirk asked as they bounced along.

“I don’t know.”

“Was it a prank?”

“I don’t think so.” The only people who had ever played pranks on her had been Thaddeus and Kirk, but that had been years ago. “It might be related to the other break-ins I’ve had lately.”

“What other break-ins?” Kirk paused at a stop sign and met her eyes. He looked startled.

“Weren’t you briefed on them?” As a member of the royal guard, Kirk should have been made aware of each incident report.

“I haven’t heard a peep about anything having to do with you or your room. Was anything stolen?”

“Oddly enough, no. I keep careful track of all my jewelry—that’s why I noticed things had been moved. But nothing was missing.”

Kirk’s eyes returned to the road. They were catching up to the motorcade—just in time.

Stasi tried to suppress the tremble in her voice. “Someone has been in my room before. Things have been moved. I spoke with Viktor Bosch directly.” As the head of the royal guard, Viktor had insisted on handling the incidents himself.

Before Stasi could sort it out, Kirk shifted gears again as they paused at another stop sign. “We’re almost there.”

Stasi took advantage of their position to crane her neck, looking to where the motorcade would be passing by.

How strange.

She placed a tentative hand on Kirk’s arm and pointed down the angular bend of road to where the motorcade sat.

“They’re not moving. Why aren’t they moving?”

Kirk’s warm hazel eyes met hers for just a second, and she saw sincere fear there.

Something was terribly wrong. There were still several more blocks to go before the first limousine would reach the State House. And the royal motorcade never stopped until it reached its destination.

An ear-piercing squeal rent the clear evening, and Stasi’s fingers tightened around Kirk’s arm instinctively. With a loud explosion, an orange ball of fire erupted above the front of the motorcade.

Right where her parents’ car had paused.

Though buildings blocked her sight of the spot, Anastasia had little doubt the massive fireball had erupted from the head limousine, or very close to it.

“No.” Her lips trembled. “No. No.” She shook her head in disbelief.

As though to reinforce the reality of the situation, another furious explosion rocked the earth, this time closer to the rear of the motorcade.

But her brother, Prince Alexander, and her sister, Princess Isabelle, would be riding toward the rear of the motorcade.

Right where the blast had struck.

Another bright ball of fire seared the sky.

Kirk punched the vehicle into gear and whipped the Jeep into a tight turn.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?” Stasi couldn’t believe the horrific sight she’d just witnessed—was still witnessing, as another loud explosion rocked the city behind them.

“Get down,” Kirk ordered.

Stasi’s eyes widened as she looked at him. What was happening? Were Kirk’s actions related to the attack? He’d been linked to such a horrible crime before.

“Down!” Kirk’s open palm pushed her head below the level of the dashboard.

She grabbed his wrist and tore his arm away from her royal head. “No. I won’t do what you say.”

Kirk stopped the Jeep with a jerk and glared at her. “Don’t fight me. Don’t you see? The royal family has been attacked. If anyone sees you, they’ll know you weren’t killed. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

Stasi looked at him dumbly. Too many disturbing things had happened that day. “What do you mean? You think someone might try to kill me?”

Throwing a glance in the direction of the motorcade, Kirk leaned close to her ear. His voice rumbled in low tones. “I’ve heard rumors.” Kirk was a sentinel in the royal guard. Stasi wondered if that was where the rumors he’d heard had originated. “I didn’t think there was any substance to it. Clearly I was wrong.”

“Rumors of what? This attack?”

Kirk’s hazel eyes closed as another blast rent the air. Pain struggled across his face. When he opened his eyes, his tone was patient, yet intense. “An insurgent uprising. A coup to overthrow your father’s government. Assassinating the royal family.”

“My family?” Stasi could barely muster the words. She felt as though her breath had been stolen.

“Please.” Kirk’s voice plunged to pleading depths. “You’ve got to stay down. Your life is in danger.”

Stasi shrunk in her seat, but her eyes didn’t leave Kirk’s face. “What are you going to do with me?”

“I’m going to hide you if I can.” He looked around at the empty streets. “But you’ve got to do what I say.”

Numbly, Stasi nodded, hardly able to believe what she was agreeing to. But really, she had no choice. She’d have to trust the man who’d been accused of killing her brother.

When Stasi all but disappeared into the pouf of her royal gown on the floor of his Jeep, Kirk tossed his canvas military duffel bag on top of her and prayed no one would stop them. The open Jeep offered little in the way of cover, and now that the loud explosions had ceased, the people who had rushed inside at the first sign of trouble began to peek curiously out of the buildings they passed.

Kirk took back roads to the marina. The attack shocked him, but he’d always been a man of action. He’d find a way to get the princess to safety, then come back and ask questions. Besides, it was likely too soon for anyone to know why the attacks had happened or who was behind them.

He slowed their vehicle as they approached the marina and found an out-of-the-way parking spot not far from the rocky cliffs. It was still a long trek to his sailboat, but that stage of the trip didn’t worry him nearly as much as what he was about to do.

Killing the engine, Kirk leaned over and lifted the duffel bag just enough to allow him to see Stasi’s frightened blue eyes looking up at him.

“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.