H.R.H.

by Danielle Steel

  Christianna couldn't help wondering if his family had sent him away to get him out of her clutches. Victoria was not exactly anyone's idea of the ideal wife for a crown prince, no matter how besotted he was. Everyone who knew her said it wouldn't last. But she was having fun making plans for a wedding to be attended by a cast of thousands. It was definitely one Christianna didn't want to miss. The two cousins hugged and kissed as she left, and as soon as she arrived back in Vaduz, Christianna had to dress for a state dinner her father was giving that night, for visiting dignitaries from Spain. It was a formal dinner in the state dining room, with dancing afterward in the palace ballroom.

  She joined her father that night in a white chiffon evening gown and silver high-heeled sandals she had just bought in London. As always, she looked delicate, elegant, and exquisite. She smiled to herself, thinking of Victoria, as she walked downstairs to join her father. She wondered what he would have said if she had worn a tiara like their cousin. On Victoria, with her wild red hair, and smoking cigars, it looked just right. Christianna would have felt silly wearing one of theirs from the vault, or pretentious at the very least. Victoria had worn hers even at breakfast, and whenever they went out.

  Christianna hadn't seen her father yet in the brief time she'd been home. She had gone straight upstairs to dress, so she wouldn't be late for dinner. And as always, she was at his side, at precisely the right time. He smiled down at her with unconcealed pleasure. He was thrilled to see her back, and hugged her the moment he saw her.

  “Did you have fun in London?” he asked with interest just before the guests arrived.

  “It was fantastic. Thank you for letting me go.” She had called him several times, but didn't dare tell him all they were doing. She knew he'd worry, and all of it was harmless. But trying to explain it to him would have made it sound too racy. And everything had been fine. Better than that, it had been fabulous. Her cousin had been the perfect hostess, and had seen to it that Christianna had fun every minute she was there.

  “How serious do you think her engagement is this time?” her father asked, looking skeptical, and Christianna laughed.

  “Probably about as serious as the others. She says she's crazy about him, and she's planning the wedding. But I'm not buying a dress yet.”

  “That's what I thought. I can't imagine her as Queen of Denmark one day, and I'm sure her future parents-in-law can't either. They must be terrified.” Christianna laughed out loud at what he said.

  “She must be practicing to wear the crown. She wore one of her mother's tiaras the whole time I was there. I think she's setting a new fashion.”

  “I should have sent you with one of ours,” he teased her. He knew Christianna would never have worn it.

  The guests began to arrive then, and it was a serious, extremely circumspect evening. Christianna worked hard at dinner, speaking to the dignitaries on either side of her, one in German, and the other in Spanish. And she was relieved to dance with her father at the end of the evening.

  “It's not as exciting as London, I'm afraid,” he said apologetically, and she smiled. It had been a painfully dull evening for her, but she had expected it to be. It came as no surprise, but she attended many events like it to please her father. He knew that, and was touched by the effort she made. She was so diligent about her official duties and obligations, no matter how tiresome they were. She never complained. She knew there was no point, she had to do them anyway, and accepted it with grace.

  “I had enough fun in London with Victoria to last me for a while,” she said generously. She was actually exhausted after all the late nights she'd had. She had no idea how Victoria did that as a constant way of life. She was a seasoned partyer in London, and had been doing it for years. Unlike Christianna, she had never gone to college. She always said there was no point, she knew she'd never use anything she learned there. She attended art classes instead, and was actually a fairly decent artist. She especially loved to paint dogs dressed up as people. A shop in Knightsbridge was selling her paintings for a fortune.

  The guests at the palace in Vaduz went home long before midnight, and she followed her father slowly up the stairs afterward. They had just reached the door to her apartment when one of the prince's aides came looking for him. He looked as though it was urgent, and Prince Hans Josef turned to him with a frown, waiting to hear what it was.

  “Your Highness, we just got a report of a terrorist attack in Russia. It appears to be a very serious hostage situation, similar to the one in Beslan several years ago. It appears to be almost an exact duplicate, in fact. I thought you might like to watch it on CNN. Several of the hostages have already been killed, all children.” The prince hurried into Christianna's living room, and turned on the television set. All three of them sat down to watch in silence. What they saw was horrendous— children who had been shot and were bleeding, others being carried out of the building, dead. Nearly a thousand children had been taken hostage, and over two hundred adults. The terrorists had taken over a school, and wanted political prisoners released in exchange for the children. The army had surrounded the place, and there seemed to be chaos everywhere, with crying parents outside, waiting for news of their children. The prince watched the broadcast unhappily, and Christianna stared in horror. It was a grisly scene. They sat watching for two hours, and then the prince got up to go to bed. His assistant had long since left.

  “What a terrible thing,” her father said sympathetically. “All those poor parents waiting for their children. I can't imagine a worse nightmare,” he said, as he hugged her.

  “Neither can I,” Christianna said quietly, still wearing the white chiffon gown and silver sandals. She had cried several times as she watched, and her father had been moved to tears as well. “I feel so useless sitting here, all dressed up and unable to help them,” she said, as though she felt guilty, and he hugged her again.

  “There's nothing anyone can do, until they get the children out of there. It'll be a bloodbath if the army forces their way in.” The thought of that was even more upsetting, and Christianna dabbed at her eyes again. The terrorists had killed dozens of children. There were already a total of a hundred fatalities by the time they turned off the TV. “This is the worst situation I've seen since Beslan.” They kissed each other goodnight, and Christianna went to undress and put on her nightgown. A little while later, already in bed, she felt compelled to turn on the television again. By then the situation had gotten worse, and more children had been killed. Parents were frantic, the press was everywhere, and soldiers were milling in groups, waiting to be told what to do. It was mesmerizing watching it, and horrifying. It was easy to guess that many more lives would be lost as the night progressed.

  In the end, she lay awake all night and watched it, and by morning she had dark circles under her eyes, from the many times she'd cried, and lack of sleep. She finally got up, took a bath and dressed, and found her father having breakfast in his office. She was wearing a heavy sweater and jeans when she walked in. She had made a number of phone calls, before she went to look for him. And when she found him, he looked every bit as distressed as she did. By then the death toll had doubled, almost all of them children. As half the world did, her father had the TV on, and had been watching when she came in. His food was virtually untouched. Who could eat?

  “Where are you going at this hour, all dressed?” he asked, looking distracted. Liechtenstein had no official role to play here, but watching the tragedy unfold was leaving everyone feeling frantic and upset. This was no made-for-television movie. This was all too real.

  “I want to go there, Papa,” Christianna said quietly, with eyes that bored deep into his.

  “We have no official involvement or position on this situation,” he explained to her. “We're a neutral country, we have no reason to work with Russia on solving this, and we don't have an antiterrorist team.”

  “I don't mean in an official capacity. I want to go as me,” she said clearly.

  �
�You? How else would you go except in an official capacity, and we don't have any there.”

  “I just want to go as one human being helping others. They don't have to know who I am.”

  He thought about it for a long moment, pondering the situation. It was a noble thought, but he didn't think it was a good idea. It was too dangerous for her. Who knew what the terrorists would do next, particularly if they found that a young, beautiful princess was afoot? He didn't want her there.

  “I understand how you feel, Christianna. I'd like to help them, too. It's an absolutely terrible situation. But officially, we don't belong there, and on a private level, it would be too dangerous for you.” He looked grim as he said it.

  “I'm going, Papa,” Christianna said quietly. This time, she didn't ask him, she was telling him. He could not only hear it in her words, but sense it in her voice. “I want to be there to do whatever I can, even if only to hand out blankets, pour coffee, or help dig graves. The Red Cross is there, I can volunteer to work for them.” She meant it. He knew it. He suddenly suspected it would be hard to stop her, but he knew he had to try, as gently as he could.

  “I don't want you to go.” It was all he could say. He could easily see how distraught she was. “The area is too dangerous, Cricky.”

  “I have to go, Papa. I can't sit here any longer, feeling useless, watching it all on TV. I'll take someone with me if you want.” It was obvious from the look in her eyes and what she was saying to him that she felt she had no other choice.

  “And if I say no?” He couldn't tie her up and have her carried to her room. She was a grown woman, but he was adamant that she not go.

  “I'm going, Papa,” she said again. “You can't stop me. It's the right thing to do.” It was. But not for her. He would have liked to go too, but he was long past the impetuous compassion of youth, and too old to take the risk.

  “It is the right thing, Cricky,” he said gently. “But not for you. It's too dangerous. If they find out who you are, they could take you hostage, too. I don't think terrorists respect neutral countries any more than they do anyone else. Please don't argue with me about this.” She shook her head then, obviously disappointed by his reaction. But he felt obliged to protect her from herself. “You have a responsibility to our people here,” he said sternly. He tried everything he could. “You could be killed, or get hurt. Besides which, you have no technical or medical skills to offer. Sometimes untrained civilians, however well-intentioned, only make situations like that worse. Christianna, I know you mean well, but I don't want you to do this.” His eyes burned into hers.

  “How can you say that?” she said angrily, with tears swimming in her eyes. “Look at those people, Papa. Their children are dead and dying. Probably many more will die today as well. I have to go there. There must be something useful I can do. I'm not going to sit here, just watching it on TV. That's not who you taught me to be.” She was pulling at his heart, harder than she knew. She always did.

  “I didn't teach you to risk your life foolishly, for God's sake,” he said, angry in his turn. He was not going to allow her to bully him into it, no matter how hard she tried. The answer was still no. The problem was that she was not asking him, she was telling him. In Christianna's mind, there was no other choice.

  “You taught me about ‘Honor, Courage, Welfare,’ Papa. You taught me to care for and be responsible for others. You taught me to reach out to those in need, and do all I could to help them. What happened to honor, courage, and welfare, your family code? You told me that our lives are dedicated to duty and responsibility for all those who need us, no matter how much courage it takes, to stand for what I believe. Look at those people, Papa. They need us. I'm going to do what I can for them. That's what you taught me ever since I was a little girl. You can't change that now because you don't want me there.”

  “It's not the same when there are terrorists involved. They don't play by any rules.” He looked at her miserably, his eyes begging her not to go. And then she reduced him to tears, by turning her face up to his and kissing his cheek. “I love you, Papa. I'll be all right. I promise. I'll call you when I can.” He saw then that two of her bodyguards were standing in the doorway, wearing rough clothes. She had organized them to travel with her, even before she came to see him. She had meant every word she had said. And he knew then that unless he physically restrained her, she was going with or without his permission. For a moment he bowed his head, and then raised it again to look at her.

  “Be very careful,” he said gruffly, and then he looked at the guards with daggers in his eyes. He was every inch the reigning prince, and even if Christianna defied him, the two men knew there would be hell to pay if anything happened to her. “Don't let her out of your sight for a minute. Do you understand that? Both of you.”

  “Yes, we do, Your Highness,” they said rapidly. It was rare to see him angry, but he looked it now. In fact, he was not angry but worried. More than that, he was terrified for her. He couldn't have tolerated losing this child he loved so much. Thinking that made him realize how the people must have felt losing their children as the terrorists were murdering them one by one, in order to get their friends released from prison. It was an exchange of terrorists for children, a horrifying exchange, and an impossible situation for all involved. And as he thought of it again, he knew she was right. He didn't like it for her, but he admired her courage and her desire to go. She was doing just exactly what he had taught her: to lay down her life if need be in service to others. Indirectly, her wanting to go there was entirely his fault.

  After Christianna went back to her bedroom to get her backpack, her father walked her and her two bodyguards to the car.

  “Go with God,” he said as he hugged her, with tears in his eyes.

  “I love you, Papa,” she said calmly. “Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.”

  She got in the car then, with the two men. All three of them were wearing boots and warm jackets. She had called for a reservation on the flight several hours before. She was planning to find the Red Cross, and volunteer once she got there. She had seen on CNN that they were on the scene, doing whatever they could.

  The prince stood watching until the car went through the gates. She hung out the window and waved to him with a victorious smile. She blew him a kiss and mouthed the words I love you, and then they turned the corner and were gone. He walked back into the palace with his head bowed. He was sick over her going, but he knew there had been absolutely nothing he could do to stop her. She would have gone in any case. All he could do now was pray for her safety and safe return. More than she knew, he admired her with all his heart. She was a remarkable young woman, and as he walked into his office, he felt a thousand years old.

  Chapter 4

  Christianna and her two bodyguards drove to Zurich and flew from there to Vienna, where they boarded a flight to Tbilisi in Georgia, which was a five-and-a-half-hour flight.

  They landed in Tbilisi at seven o'clock that night, and half an hour later, they took an ancient, wornlooking small plane to Vladikavkaz in the southern Russian territory of North Ossetia. The plane was crowded, the interior looked threadbare and poorly maintained, and the turbo-prop plane shuddered noticeably on takeoff. It had been a long day on the first plane, and all three of them looked tired when they got off the final flight just before nine o'clock that night.

  The bodyguards she had brought with her were her two youngest ones. Both had been trained in the Swiss Army, and one of them had served before that as an Israeli commando. She had chosen the right men to accompany her.

  She had no idea what she would find when she reached Digora, where they were going, some thirty miles from Vladikavkaz, where they had landed. Christianna had made no definite arrangements beyond the flight. She was going to look for the Red Cross as soon as they arrived at the scene of the hostage situation in Digora, and offer them whatever assistance they needed. She assumed they would be allowed at the scene, and hoped she was right. She was not
afraid of what would happen, and had made no efforts to secure a place to stay or a hotel room. She wanted to work at the scene, around the clock, if necessary. She was prepared for long hours on her feet, and no sleep, while she helped either the frantic parents or the wounded children. She had taken first-aid training in school, but other than that she had no specific skills, other than youth, a good heart, and a willing pair of hands. And in spite of her father's frantic warnings, she wasn't worried about whatever potential dangers she might encounter. She had been willing to take the risk, and she was sure that for those outside the school the terrorists had taken over, the risk was slight. In either case, she wanted to be there. And she knew her bodyguards would protect her, so she felt safe.

  Her first run-in with an unexpected stumbling block happened as she came through immigration at the airport. One of her bodyguards handed the customs officer all three of their passports. Her agreement with them had been that under no circumstances were they to reveal her royal identity once they got to Russia. She hadn't anticipated it being a problem before that, and was startled when the customs official stared at her passport at length, and then at her. The photograph was a good likeness, so it was obviously not that.

  “It's you?” he asked, looking slightly belligerent. He was speaking to her in German, as he had heard her speak to one of her bodyguards in German and the other in French. She nodded assent, forgetting the difference between their passports and hers. “Name?” And then she knew what it was.