Saving the Princess

by Helena Newbury

I ran at him, staggering a little. I was still seeing double and I couldn’t be sure of hitting him, so I spread my arms wide and charged, ramming him back into a rack of servers. Then I brought my fist up under his chin.

  He stumbled back, bleeding from a split lip... and pulled out a knife. But I had this. I was angry, fired up. I’d tear him apart.

  I stepped back a little, getting my balance... and went right into the smoke that was belching from one of the damaged computers. I blinked and coughed. And suddenly, I could feel it coming for me, bearing down on me like a runaway freight train. No! Jesus, no, not now!

  But it was no good. I was frozen, the memory rushing towards me. A house in Iran, where my eyes were gritty with sand and my lungs were clogged with dust. Where everyone I cared about was dead.

  “You can’t protect her,” panted Lukin. “Look at you.”

  I tried to hold it back. I used all my strength, but the memory had the weight of a planet, it would crush me when it hit—

  Lukin kicked me viciously in the leg and I fell to the ground. I could barely see him, anymore. All I could see was the brown, swirling dust. The look on Baker’s face when I shot him.

  “You did us a favor,” said Lukin. He fell to his knees astride me and raised the knife. “Killing’s too good for a Lakovian bitch. You brought her right to us. Maybe we can take her alive.”

  Kristina. She needed me. And I remembered what she’d told me.

  I closed my eyes and thought of her in plaid shirt and jeans. And the horses, snorting as she stroked them. I thought of fresh, clean air and a sunset in Texas. That’s where I wanted to be.

  I stopped trying to hold back the memory... and sidestepped, instead. I felt it pass by me, so close I could feel the wind on my face, and then slam home, heavy and real and terrifying. But I was outside it, looking in. Maybe for the first time, I could see it for what it was: the past.

  My eyes opened and I surged up off the floor. I grabbed Lukin’s throat in one hand and drove him back and back, then twisted and slammed him down on the floor. My fists hammered his face as I screamed at him in fury.

  And then he groaned and went still and I slumped atop him, panting. It was over.

  I heard a tiny noise behind me, almost undetectable. I opened my eyes and, on the computer screen in front of me, I saw the reflection of General Novak.

  Then he brought his rifle down on my head and everything went black.

  72

  Kristina

  The gunfire coming down from the fourth floor had stopped and we’d made it to the bottom of the stairwell. We were nearly there! The studio was right at the stop of those stairs!

  But every time we tried to advance, withering gunfire pushed us back. Master Sergeant Hadley shook his head. “There are too many of them,” he yelled.

  I was still hunched over: I couldn’t straighten up properly without my chest exploding into agony. Where’s Garrett? He should have been back by now. “We have to finish this,” I croaked.

  Hadley winced as bullets splintered the doorframe inches from where we were huddled. “It’s too dangerous. I’m sorry, Your Majesty. We have to pull back.” He turned and began looking for a route back downstairs.

  Cold despair flooded through me, draining the last of my strength. We’d failed. We’d failed and millions of people were going to die.

  I thought of Silvas Lukin and his hatred. Of Aleksander and his need for revenge. Of Jakov and his struggle to fit in. The last war was still claiming victims. How many generations would this next one condemn? We had to stop this now. Here. Today.

  I gritted my teeth... and heaved myself upright. As all the bruised parts of my chest were stretched, the pain was so bad, I nearly passed out. I grabbed hold of the doorframe and squeezed it as hard as I could, determined not to scream. “No,” I told Master Sergeant Hadley.

  The three remaining marines all turned to look at me, their eyes wide. They were scared. They just wanted to go home to their wives and kids. They’d seen their friends shot. They had Hadley to lead them, but right now, they needed something else. And I tried my best to give it to them.

  I was smaller than any of them, but I stood as tall as I could. “I know that you’re not from my country,” I said, my voice shaking with pain. “I know this isn’t your war. And I’m not asking you to fight because of some treaty, or because of orders, or because the President asked you to. This is about lives. Millions of people who are going to be killed.” I drew in a shuddering breath. “So you can give up and go home or you can fight on but don’t tell me it’s too dangerous! Because those people are civilians and they’re facing annihilation. And the only thing, the only thing standing between them and those bastards is you.”

  There was utter silence for a few seconds. Then Master Sergeant Hadley said, “What do you say, marines?”

  The other two responded immediately, with a yell they must have heard right through the building. “Oorah!”

  And they raced up the stairs with me right on their heels. The soldiers who’d been holding us back sprayed bullets down at us, but they were firing in panic: they hadn’t been expecting us to suddenly rush them. I felt the bullets hiss right by us, one barely missing my face, but none of them hit.

  On the far side of the huge studio, I saw Aleksander standing before a semicircle of cameras, addressing the nation. If we could just cover the thirty feet or so of open space and get in front of the cameras, we’d be on the air.

  We sprinted forward, but soldiers swarmed to intercept us, some rushing at us and some firing from where they stood. There were too many of them. We’re not going to make it!

  Twenty feet from the cameras, a soldier slammed into one of the marines, tearing him away from our little group and carrying him down to the floor. Master Sergeant Hadley and the other remaining marine grabbed my arms and hauled me forward, firing to clear a path. “Keep going!” Hadley yelled. But just a few steps further on, the other marine fell, clutching at a leg wound.

  Hadley and I ran on. We were less than ten feet from the cameras, now. I could see Aleksander watching us out of the corner of his eye as he spoke calmly to the nation about how they must be brave in the coming war.

  Hadley suddenly spun and fell to the ground, clutching at his shoulder. I grabbed his hand and tried to haul him along with me. “No!” he snapped. “Leave me! Just go!”

  I looked up. A soldier was racing towards me, his hand already reaching down to grab me—

  I ducked and scrambled between two camera operators and—

  Everything stopped.

  I stood beside Aleksander, panting. At least ten rifles were pointed right at me from behind the cameras, but no one was shooting. They can’t kill me, I realized in shock. Not in cold blood, on live TV, without a trial.

  “Cut it! Cut the broadcast!” snapped Aleksander.

  A woman just behind the cameras, wearing a headset, shook her head, her face pale. She pointed to a glass-walled control room above us. Aleksander and I both looked.

  Emerik and Jakov were in there, guns drawn, making sure the technical staff kept broadcasting. Emerik gave me a nod.

  I stepped forward and looked right into the camera Aleksander had been talking to. “I need to speak to you,” I said to millions of viewers. “I need to tell you—”

  I broke off.

  Silvas Lukin had just burst into the studio, behind the cameras. He was holding a bruised and battered Garrett in front of him, and had a knife pressed against Garrett’s throat.

  Aleksander stepped close to me and whispered in my ear, too low for even the microphones to pick it up. I froze and listened, still staring into the camera. “This would have been tidier if you’d just been killed,” he said. “I don’t want a trial and an execution. So I’m going to make you an offer, one that lets you fix everything.”

  I kept staring at the camera listening, my breathing tight.

  “I’ll let you and the American live and exile you,” Aleksander told me. “You can go to Ca
rlonia and be with your parents.”

  I drew in a slow, shuddering breath of hope.

  “... all you have to do is tell the people that you were deceived by the Garmanians,” said Aleksander. “Say you’re handing power over to me and renouncing the throne.”

  It felt as if my insides had turned to ice. No!

  “Or you can watch him die right in front of you,” Aleksander whispered.

  73

  Kristina

  I knew, straight away, what Garrett would want me to do. He’d want me to do the heroic thing. The brave thing. The right thing. He’d want me to sacrifice him.

  But I just wanted him! I wanted the one man who made me feel safe, who wrapped me up in his strong arms and made the nightmares stop. The man I could trust, who’d stuck with me right to the end. Who’d never let me go. He’d saved me so many times. I couldn’t abandon him now.

  I looked at him. Our eyes locked.

  And he nodded.

  This went beyond love. He’d followed me because he believed in me. He believed I was a good leader. He’d trusted me and he was asking me to trust him, that he knew what he was doing.

  I took a deep breath and looked into the camera. I still didn’t know what I was going to say.

  Then I saw my own reflection in the camera lens. My hair was matted and filthy. I was dressed in military fatigues, I was bruised and scraped. I’d never looked less like a royal.

  But I still was one. And my father’s words rang in my head one last time. Being royal isn’t about doing what you want. It’s about doing what your people need.

  I knew what I had to do.

  “You have been lied to,” I told the cameras.

  Silvas Lukin’s face went wild with fury. He looked right into my eyes and I saw his forearm tense, about to slash Garrett’s throat.

  Garrett’s hand flashed up under Lukin’s armpit. The knife clattered to the floor and Lukin looked down in shock at his suddenly numb arm.

  Lukin looked up just in time to get Garrett’s fist in his face. A good, old-fashioned, meaty punch that had the full force of Garrett’s anger behind it. Lukin crashed to the floor, out cold.

  General Novak reached for his rifle, but Garrett snatched up Lukin’s knife and held the tip to the General’s throat. “Don’t,” he growled.

  The soldiers around him all swung their rifles to point right at Garrett. My heart nearly stopped.

  I stabbed my finger at Aleksander. “This man has conspired with General Novak to assassinate my father and me, to overthrow our country and to start a war with Garmania.” I wasn’t looking at the cameras, anymore. I was looking right into the eyes of the soldiers. This wasn’t about leaders and politicians now. It was about them: the grunts, as Garrett called them. It was what they did in the next few seconds that would decide everyone’s fate. “He’s willing to sacrifice you, and your wives and your children. He’s going to wipe out a nation, but Garmania is not our enemy, not anymore.” I took a deep breath. “There’s still time to shut this thing off. But I need your help. I need you to arrest these two men and put me back in charge!”

  “Shoot her!” snapped General Novak. “She’s a traitor! Garmania’s launched its bombers, they’re already on their way!”

  “I can save us,” I told them. “I can save our country. But I can’t do it alone.”

  “Follow orders!” bawled the General.

  “Save those people!” I yelled.

  “I am your commander!”

  “I am your Queen!”

  The soldiers all looked at me.

  And then every one of them turned to point their rifles at General Novak and Aleksander.

  I scanned the assembled military officials and found the one I needed. “Air Marshall Trathers!” I yelled. “Turn our bombers around!”

  He whipped out his phone and started snapping orders.

  “Someone give me a phone!” I said frantically. Emerik ran down from the control room and threw me one and I dialed the palace switchboard, then asked to be connected to the Garmanian Prime Minister. When he answered, the hate and distrust in his voice made my stomach twist. What if he didn’t listen?

  “Mr. Prime Minister,” I said, “there is a great deal to tell you and very little time. We have both been the victim of a plot to spark war between our countries. I know now that the attempts on my life and my father’s life were not your doing. The men responsible are in custody. I have turned around the bombers that were heading for your country. I ask you please to do the same.”

  There was no reply. I could hear his breathing, shaky with rage.

  “Sir,” I said. “I know you don’t like me. But I need you to trust me. I know I didn’t trust you. I should have listened, when you called me. Everyone told me that you just wanted war and I believed it, I let them convince me that you were different to me. But now I think you’re just the same.” I looked at the soldiers. “You want to save your people.”

  Still only silence, but his breathing had changed.

  “We have one chance to stop this, Mr. Prime Minister. One. Or our children will grow up hating each other.”

  There was a long silence. Then, “For a young woman, you have an old head, Your Majesty. I think your father would be proud.” He sighed. “I have ordered my bombers home.”

  I closed my eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister.”

  I ended the call and suddenly it all rolled towards me in a black wave: the days of barely any sleep, the emotional drain, the constant tension. I swayed and had to grab the podium to keep from falling over. “Is that it?” I asked weakly. I didn’t even know who I was asking: I didn’t have a lead advisor, anymore. “Is there anything else I need to do?”

  And then a big, warm presence was behind me. My feet left the floor and I was scooped up into his arms. He turned me to face him and I looked up into those clear, Texas-blue eyes.

  “Just one,” he said. And he kissed me, long and deep and true.

  Epilogue

  Kristina

  One Month Later

  Cool metal whispered past my hair. There was an undefinable sensation of lightness. Freedom.

  And that was it: I wasn’t a queen anymore.

  The official stepped back from my chair and bowed, my crown in his hands. He placed my crown in a velvet-lined box, picked up the King’s crown... and placed it on my father’s head. The thousands of people who filled the hall stood as one and cheered. The noise was deafening... and wonderful.

  My father had woken from his coma four days after I’d retaken power, but he’d needed another three weeks to get back up to strength. Now—finally—my reign was over.

  There was a knot of tension that had been right at the center of my chest, ever since my father was shot. It suddenly melted away and I wanted to groan at how good it felt. Instead, I leaned across to the chair next to mine, grabbed Garrett’s hand and squeezed it, and he squeezed back. God, it was good to be able to do that with everyone watching.

  A lot had changed, in the last month.

  In the aftermath of the TV broadcast, my policy had been complete honesty. I’d told the media everything: how I’d met Garrett, how he’d helped to save our country, how I’d initially been forced to keep our relationship secret but how I now hoped my people would welcome him. And once they’d heard our story, they did. There was a little muttering about tradition and him not being a prince from the older generation, but they hadn’t wanted to see their children sent off to war, so even they accepted him. And everyone else, especially the women, went nuts for him. I’d had to relate the part about him swearing his allegiance four times in interviews.

  Now, as he sat next to me on the stage, he was wearing a gray tailored suit with a crisp white shirt and a blue tie that set off his eyes. He looked even better than he had in the royal guard’s uniform. The tailoring of the suit showed off those huge, broad shoulders and his tight waist, while the white shirt was soft enough that it hinted at the strong curves of his pecs. The royal ha
irdresser had asked whether he could make Garrett look more “respectable” and I’d immediately forbidden it. Cutting his hair short or insisting he was clean-shaved would just be wrong. He was exactly as he was supposed to be.

  And yet we’d both changed, in ways people couldn’t see. There were no more nightmares for me, not when I had Garrett to cuddle up to in the night. And while he had a long way to go, he’d made the first steps to putting things behind him: the flashbacks were under control and he was talking to the therapist who’d helped me: gruffly and reluctantly, but they were talking.

  Garrett was talking to his dad, too. He’d flown home to Texas as soon as the situation in Lakovia was stable. His dad had begun to recover and apparently the pair had had a serious heart-to-heart. From what Garrett said, his dad understood his problems far better than he’d expected. Turns out, he hadn’t come through the marine corps emotionally unscathed either. Both of them were a lot happier for talking.

  Something that helped both Garrett and me was riding. Once Garrett’s wounds had healed, I’d re-opened the royal stables and we’d started going for long rides in Lakovia’s cool, misty forests. Garrett was right: there was something incredibly calming about being around horses. Calming... and romantic. Both times, when we’d been out, he’d given me this sudden, heated look. I mean, I wasn’t doing anything special, just riding alongside him in a long, white dress with a tight bodice, my hair streaming out in the wind. But suddenly he was sweeping me off my saddle and onto his horse and galloping deeper into the trees, where the guards couldn’t see us. And then, up against a tree, my skirts hoisted up around my waist….

  I flushed and grinned.

  We’d have more time for that, now. I was looking forward to just being a princess again. For now, at least. Someday, hopefully far in the future, when my father grew too old, I’d have to reign again. The night before, in bed, Garrett had asked me, “Is it less scary, now that you’ve done it once?”