She must have known the slight touch against his shoulders couldn’t possibly be the source of his protest, because she leaned back just enough to look him in the eye. She looked guilty.
Had he hurt her feelings? “I just don’t think we ought to be so close to each other.”
Her wide blue eyes reminded him of a kitten who’d been caught getting into mischief. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Where are my manners? I’m the one who’s had all the social training.”
“Don’t apologize.” Kirk felt even worse. “You were perfectly within the bounds of appropriate behavior.”
“My behavior was unbecoming of my station.” She looked utterly chastened.
Kirk’s heart gave a lurch. He wanted to say something to erase the awkwardness he’d injected between them, but what was there? Nothing that wouldn’t bring them right back together again. No, he needed to push her away. It was for the best.
He cleared his throat. “I have probably been sending inappropriate signals. We’ve gotten close these past few days.” He tried to clear his throat again, but something seemed to be stuck in it. “I’m the one who should apologize. And I’ll do my best to keep an appropriate distance between us from now on.”
“Oh.” Stasi’s mouth hung slightly open, and she looked a bit lost. Then she scooted back across the taxicab seat, putting more space between them. “I shall do the same.” She gave him a small smile.
He nodded at her, unwilling to trust his voice again, and unsure what to say, anyway. They’d be at the airport soon, and surely both of them would need to rest on the flight. And once they arrived in Atlanta, Kirk was determined to make certain Stasi was safe before he left her again. But then he would leave her. He had to.
Stasi stared out the window at the clouds that floated past the plane, glad that they’d been able to purchase tickets for the earliest flight to Atlanta, and even more grateful that the first-class accommodations weren’t full. They could talk, if they needed to, with little chance for anyone to overhear them.
But more than talk, she knew she ought to sleep on the ten-hour flight. She needed her rest—Kirk had reminded her of as much before settling back in the seat beside her—but she couldn’t get her churning mind to slow down.
Had she been wrong to leave her parents behind? Would they be okay in Milan with General Lucca? And what were they involved in, anyway?
Even as she stewed over those thoughts, Stasi found herself thinking over and again about all that Kirk had done for her. She wanted to throw her arms around him and thank him, but he wouldn’t let her.
Why not?
She let herself steal a look at Kirk as he rested. His face had taken a few more blows in their latest skirmish, but the marks only served to highlight his ruggedness and soften her heart.
His eyes opened slightly. “Can’t sleep?”
“I have too much on my mind,” she confessed. “But don’t let me wake you.”
He sighed and sat up a little straighter. “I’ve just been resting my eyes. My mind is racing a hundred miles an hour.”
“Have you reached any conclusions?”
“Just that I wish I’d listened more carefully to your brother. I fear it may be dangerous to try to contact him at this point,” he whispered.
Though there wasn’t anyone sitting near them, and the closest passengers appeared to be asleep, Stasi had learned the hard way not to trust anyone. She leaned a little closer to Kirk and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “I was going to try to pick your brain about that. Do you think these events are connected to what happened six years ago?”
“I’m nearly certain of it. Your brother left because he said your father had made a deal with the devil, and Thad refused to be a part of it. He didn’t go into details, and I didn’t ask him for any.”
It confirmed what Stasi had feared. “When those men arrived to take me away, Lucca said something like ‘the transfer is long overdue.’ I think he meant transferring me from the care of my parents, to whoever those men work for. I’m sure it’s got to be related to the ambush on the motorcade, don’t you think?”
“Somehow.” Kirk nodded wearily. “I also think there’s a reason why your mother sent the crown jewels to you. It was more important than sending you a message. She wanted to get them away from General Lucca.”
“But why?” Stasi let out a long breath. “It’s more complicated than I thought. What are we up against? Who are we fighting? And what are they after?”
“They’re after the crown of Lydia, I’m almost certain of it.” Kirk’s lips thinned to a narrow line.
“But what do they want with me? I’m the youngest. Besides which, if Valli and his brothers wanted our father’s throne, why are they keeping Dad alive? You’d think they’d get him out of the picture and step in and take it.”
“There’s got to be more to it than we can see.”
Stasi closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, overwhelmed. It was more than she could sort out. And yet, someone knew what was going on. She plucked up Kirk’s hand that rested nearest her. “Pray,” she whispered.
He raised an eyebrow, but a slow smile spread across his lips. “God knows what’s going on,” he said in a hope-filled tone. “Do you think He’s going to explain everything to us?”
“Maybe not all at once, but the Psalms say, ‘Your word is a lamp to my feet.’ Sometimes God doesn’t light the whole path, just the next step. If He can show us the next step, and then the step after that, eventually we will get it all sorted out.”
“However it happens, it can’t hurt to pray.” Kirk eased himself a little closer to her, and bent his head in prayer.
Stasi poured her heart out to God and held tight to Kirk’s hand. She prayed for guidance and protection and wisdom, and toward the end of her prayer, she prayed for Kirk. “Lord, I know I don’t deserve Kirk’s friendship. I was so cruel to him for so many years. You’ve seen fit to help me through him, and I’m forever grateful. Bless him for all he has done for me, and heal his injuries.”
The words came from her heart, and she didn’t expect them to be reciprocated. But in the next breath, she heard Kirk praying for her. “Thank You, God, for entrusting the princess into my care. Help me to protect her, from any and every threat. Thank You for making her a talented, delightful person. Amen.”
Though Kirk had ended the prayer, Stasi kept her head bowed and her eyes pinched tight shut as the meaning of Kirk’s words sunk in. When she dared to open her eyes, she found him watching her.
“I haven’t offended you, have I?” Sincere concern shone on his face.
“My talents?” Her voice was raspy, her throat dry. She might have attributed it to the dry air on the plane, but she knew in her heart there was more to it.
“Your jewelry—I don’t know much about it, but obviously the savvy shoppers of Milan know beauty when they see it.”
Stasi blinked rapidly. “You think I should put my name on my jewelry line?”
“Wouldn’t it sell better with your name on it? And by letting people know that you’re supporting your sister’s mission trips, you’d be raising awareness for her cause. Does she even know that you’re supporting her?”
“No,” Stasi confessed. “I’ve always done it anonymously.”
“There’s something to be said for anonymous giving,” Kirk conceded. “But in your case, given the circumstances, I think your efforts would be more effective if you used your name.”
“Possibly.” Stasi sighed. “But that’s the least of my concerns. You’re assuming we’ll get through all this.”
“Didn’t we just pray that we would?”
“True. But there’s still so much we need to sort out. I don’t know who to believe or who to trust anymore.”
Kirk looked at her with sadness
simmering in his hazel eyes.
She squeezed his hand. “Except for you. I trust you.”
“Thank you.” He settled back into his seat with a weary smile. “You need your rest.”
Stasi felt grateful that Kirk was able to rent a car in Atlanta using one of his credit cards.
“I just hope nobody’s tracing my activity,” he murmured in her ear after swiping the card.
“There’s a chance they might have been watching us at the airport,” Stasi reminded him. “If they saw what flight we took, your credit card isn’t going to tell them anything they don’t already know. But this is supposed to be the world’s busiest airport. Even if they trace us here, it should take them a while to track us down.”
“I hope to be gone by then.”
Kirk insisted on carrying Stasi’s bags to the car.
“You’re injured. I can carry my own bag,” she protested.
“I’m not on my deathbed.” He also insisted on driving. “I know the way to Porterdale. My grandparents live near there, too,” Kirk reminded her as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Both of my parents went to school with your mother growing up.”
“That’s right.” Stasi observed the way he took all the correct turns without being told. “I suppose you grew up visiting down here, too.”
“On occasion. More during my teenage years.”
“I wonder why we didn’t travel together, then? Or get together when we were down here?”
Kirk cleared his throat. “My grandparents weren’t always happy about the situation, with my parents living in Lydia, and all of that.”
“Why not?” It was the first Stasi had ever heard anything about Kirk’s grandparents. The idea that they might not be thrilled with Albert and Theresa’s choices intrigued her. “Lydia is a fine place to live. And your parents have very high positions at the royal palace. They ought to be proud of them.”
“It’s nothing against Lydia.”
“What is it, then?”
Kirk scowled at the road, and for a long moment, Stasi thought he wasn’t going to say any more. But once he’d merged onto Interstate 20, he cleared his throat. “Have you heard of the Covington Textile Company?”
“I’ve seen their signs in the area. Are they related to you? I always assumed they were named after the town of Covington.” She stifled a gasp. “Is the town of Covington named after your family?”
“According to the official town record, it’s named after the Brigadier General Leonard Covington, but I don’t know when he was ever there. My ancestors settled in the area long before the town was incorporated, but some folks don’t want to believe they have any stake in the place.”
“You think the story about the general was invented? But who would start such a rumor?”
“My mother’s family.” Kirk kept his eyes on the road.
From what little Stasi could see of his profile view, he looked sad. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have time.”
Kirk gave her a resigned look. “My father’s ancestors started the Covington Textile Company. They got along fine until my great-grandfather took over as a young man. He was a drunk and would have run the company into the ground had it not been for my mother’s grandfather. He was their manager. He ran the place, built it up into a fine success, and eventually bought the whole company, even keeping the name, but telling everyone it was named after the town, which was named after the general.
“My great-grandfather claimed he was cheated, that his manager embezzled the money that was used to buy the company out from under him.”
“Was there any truth to that?”
“If there was, the evidence is long gone.”
“So your father’s family didn’t like your mother’s family.”
“Nor vice versa. After the buyout, the Covingtons lived in poverty. They tried to get back on their feet, even talked about taking the company back, but most of them had trouble with alcohol and the law. My mother’s family looked down their noses at them.
“Then my father came along. He was an honor student, and was headed to college to study business. Folks began to say he was determined to take the family business back.”
“Was your mother’s family scared?”
“Not until their daughter started dating him. When they found out, they refused to let her see him, and sent her on an all-expense-paid trip to Europe for a year, with her best friend to keep her company.”
“My mother.” Stasi smiled. She knew this part of the story. “Theresa and my mom visited Lydia, and my mom caught the eye of the young Lydian Prince. And they all lived happily—” Her voice caught. “Well, they lived happily ever after, until lately.” She shook her head. “So how did your parents get together after all that?”
“Mom came back to Georgia and found she and Dad were still in love. They wanted to run away together, so Elaine invited them to come to Lydia and work at the palace. It took their families a long time to forgive them—not until my grandfather nearly died of a heart attack, and decided he wanted to meet me after all. They tolerate me, but my parents still don’t come home very often.”
“It’s terribly sad,” Stasi concluded. “And yet, if they hadn’t been through all that, I wouldn’t be a princess.” She stared out the window as they neared the town of Covington, where they’d turn off to rural Porterdale, where her grandparents lived. She caught her reflection in the window and bit her lower lip, wishing her father would have abdicated and run off with her mother, instead of her mother leaving Georgia to become a queen.
What would it have been like to grow up in this town? Would she still have known Kirk? If she wasn’t a princess, she wouldn’t have to worry about the coup that was trying to overthrow her father’s government.
A sorrowful yearning took hold of her heart as she watched the countryside flash by with her reflection in the window superimposed on everything she saw, stamping her impression as though she belonged there. What would it be like to be a regular Georgia girl, as her mother had once been?
She stole a glance at Kirk. If she wasn’t a princess, perhaps he wouldn’t be so insistent on keeping a proper distance between them. Longing settled over her—for love and peace and a simpler way of life. Would she rather have Kirk than all the jewels of Lydia?
The idea stole her breath. Maybe she didn’t want to be a princess anymore, after all.
TEN
Kirk was surprised by the house Stasi led him to—a ramshackle farmhouse with several barns in various states of falling down. Granted, Kirk had always heard that Queen Elaine came from humble roots, but he hadn’t realized how rustic her childhood home had been. Though the Watkinses’ farm had its own charm, unlike the royal palace in Lydia, there was nothing extravagant about it.
The yard overflowed with all manner of flowers and animals: chickens, cats, bossy geese that honked and waddled after their car all the way up the drive, and a yellow three-legged mutt who limped over and sniffed Kirk’s hand curiously when he got out of the car.
“Isn’t it glorious?” Stasi’s eyes twinkled as she stretched from the car ride. “Look at Gramma’s roses.” She sighed at the enormous climbing blooms that appeared to have nearly swallowed up the house.
“They’re beautiful, but I’m a bit surprised—I’d think the parents of a queen would live in luxury.”
“Mother has begged them to let her move them, or fix up the place, but they refuse to change anything. It’s part of who they are, and also their opportunity to allow us to live like normal people whenever we came to visit them. Besides—” she smiled at him knowingly “—I believe my mother has made the same offer to your parents, but they insist on staying in that tiny cottage. It’s the same thing.”
A screen door opened with a squeal of hinges and a heavy-set woman in an apron and calico dress eased herself down the cement stairs. “Stasi?”
“Gramma!” Stasi flew at the woman and tackled her in a hug.
“Oh, my little princess! You’re alive! You’re not hurt? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming to visit?”
“I’m sorry, Gramma. I couldn’t risk calling. Where’s Grampa?”
“He’s inside trying to get that computer of his to tell him news about you. He’s gotten all of half a minute’s footage of your sister. She’s testifying before the United Nations. Darrel!” She hollered back through the screen door. “Stasi’s here!”
“Little princess!” A man in overalls appeared and scooped up Stasi in a bear hug. “How did you get here? How did you make it through all that?”
Kirk watched, unsure how to proceed, and more than a little surprised to find the royal princess’s mother came from such a humble background—and Stasi apparently loved everything about it.
“This is Kirk.” Stasi pulled him into their circle. “He rescued me. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. I wouldn’t even be alive.”
“You’d have made it all right—” Kirk began, but the words were squeezed out of him by her grateful grandparents, and Stasi had to caution them to be careful of his ribs.
While Stasi traded more hugs and news that her parents were indeed alive, the Watkinses led them inside, past piles of books and bags of cat food, plants perched in precariously tilted pots atop a jumble of furniture, and on every available wall, pictures of family. Snapshots of Stasi and her siblings hung side by side with pictures of what had to be cousins, posing with ponies and smiling from school pictures with gap-toothed grins.
“Gramma’s making strawberry jam.” Darrel Watkins explained as he led them through a steam-filled kitchen where four pots bubbled gooey red on the stove.
“It smells divine.” Stasi breathed deeply as they passed through.
“I’ll cook us up some pancakes later. We’ll pour the soft jam on like syrup.”
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