Protecting the Princess. Rachelle McCalla
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 the 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