that fortress lay at the outermost tip of the stretch of islands. No one ever ventured to the Island of Dorsi.
Dorsi was said to have been contaminated by land mines during the world wars, though no one could ever agree what enemy had placed them, since Lydia had remained neutral throughout those conflicts. Besides that, the massive blocks of limestone that teetered in ruinous towers were rumored to fall at the slightest provocation, especially when disturbed by those who didn’t belong there.
The island itself was such a formidable rock that there didn’t seem to be any decent spot to anchor, and if that weren’t deterrent enough, the periphery of the island was dotted every twenty feet or so with fearsome signs, warning potential visitors of certain death should they venture there.
Kirk would take an indirect route to the Island of Dorsi. If anyone tried to follow him, he could hopefully lose them among the islands, especially with evening coming on. The evasive measures would take time, and it would likely be sundown by the time he and the princess arrived on the Island of Dorsi. He could only pray they would arrive safely.
Anastasia slumped down on one of the cushioned benches that lined the sides of the boat’s cabin. The summer evening was warm, but she still felt a distinct chill and hugged herself while she tried to bite back the tears that threatened to fall.
Terror squeezed her heart. She’d heard enough of Kirk’s encounter with the soldier at the pier to realize they’d come quite close to being discovered. She hadn’t even been certain, until he’d zipped back enough of the bag for her to see out, that she hadn’t fallen into the hands of those who’d targeted her family.
At the mere thought of her family, her heart clenched. What had happened to her parents and siblings? The explosions had been so huge, the black smoke so thick, it was difficult to imagine that they might have escaped unscathed. Had they perished in the attack?
The horrifying thought was more than she could bear, and she reeled as fearsome thoughts washed over her. What would become of her family? Was she the only member of the Royal House of Lydia who’d survived? What if the assassins tracked her down? Where could she possibly go from here, alone and hunted?
When Kirk had zipped her into his bag, she’d felt a helplessness unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Though the extralarge military duffel had allowed sufficient room for her petite frame, she’d realized as Kirk carried her toward his boat that she was completely at his mercy. What if anything happened to him? What if his motives weren’t pure?
Stasi thought back to the days following her brother’s disappearance. Her mother, Queen Elaine had been frantic. Her father, King Philip, had insisted that Thaddeus would check in anytime—that he’d simply needed some time to himself. But as the hours had grown into days, it had become obvious that the crown prince wasn’t coming home. Kirk Covington had been the last person to see him alive. Witnesses had watched the two of them take off in Kirk’s boat one morning. Kirk had returned that evening alone, and had remained tight-lipped about what had happened to Thaddeus, where he was or whether he was even alive.
Kirk had been the only person of interest throughout the investigation. Thad and Kirk, both strong young men with fiery personalities, had been known to get into fights before. Stasi recalled their wrestling matches growing up. Thaddeus had always been a tad bigger than Kirk, being six months older, but Kirk had been more ruthless, and the more tenacious fighter.
The prosecution had argued Kirk and Thad had fought, that Kirk had underestimated his own strength and accidentally killed the heir to the throne, then covered up his death. But after a lengthy trial, there hadn’t been enough evidence to convict him of the crime. He’d been ordered back to his post as a sentinel with the royal guard, and was untouchable after that.
The memories swirled in her mind, the betrayal she’d felt when she’d first heard Kirk had been involved with her brother’s disappearance and possible death. Her brother had trusted Kirk. She’d trusted Kirk, looked up to him, adored him, even more than she’d adored her older brother. She’d begged him for answers, but every time she’d questioned him, he’d simply said, “I’ve told you all I can.”
But he hadn’t ever told her anything.
What if he had sailed off with her brother and killed him? Were the rumors true? Was she even now in the same boat her brother had been in?
Just as terror began to choke her and waves of sorrow wash over her, Kirk poked his head into the dark cabin. The sinking sun outlined his broad shoulders. “You can come out now if you keep your head down.”
“Okay.” Her voice wobbled, but she held back her tears and stood. At the very least she wanted to see where they were and where Kirk was taking her.
She’d kicked off her high-heeled shoes and now followed him barefoot onto the deck, the hem of her long gown brushing against her toes. The little boat dipped among the gentle waves, and Stasi had to focus on keeping her legs steady.
The first stars twinkled in the eastern sky, so much brighter out at sea than they ever were in the city. The red light of the setting sun spilled like blood across the western sky, coloring the sea, and Stasi tried not to read it as an omen of her family’s fate.
Shuffling forward to stand near Kirk at the prow, she tried to evaluate their position, but between the darkening sky and her tear-blurred vision she could hardly see anything. In the dark of the boat’s cabin, the horror of what she’d seen on the streets of Sardis had seemed so far away, like a scene from a movie, like something she could walk away from when the lights came on.
But out here on the deck, with the same balmy breeze that had warmed her when the first blast had struck the motorcade, the reality didn’t seem so distant, the bloodred waters painting too vivid an image of what may have happened. Her stomach lurched with the rocking of the boat.
“You’re holding together well,” Kirk observed.
Stasi tried to nod, but a spasm of loss and terror clenched at her stomach. Was her family gone? Were they dead? All of them? As the boat rocked up and then down, Stasi leaned over the side, losing what was left of her lunch into the sea.
A moaning sob escaped her lips.
“It’s all right.” Kirk grabbed a towel from somewhere.
Stasi wanted to correct him, to assure him that nothing was right, or ever would be again, but all she could do was grab the low rail that edged the side of the boat, gagging and heaving nothing from her empty stomach.
“You’ll be all right.” He dabbed the corners of her mouth with the towel before she leaned forward and retched dry air toward the salt sea.
She shook her head and gasped for breath. Couldn’t he see? “I’m not.” She gripped her stomach as it threatened to lurch again. “Not all right. Nothing is all right.” She panted, trying to catch her breath and settle her shuddering stomach.
“Shh.” Kirk’s head bent suddenly close as he soothed her. “Deep breaths. Don’t gulp air. You’ll only make it worse.”
She shoved him away and took a step back. “How can I make it worse?” Her voice rose as she looked up at him. “How can I possibly make it worse?”
But rather than give her the space she desired, he stepped closer this time, his voice low, his hazel eyes flicking to the skyline and back to her. “Keep your voice down. If you get caught, I guarantee things will get worse in a hurry.”
Fear shot through her sorrow, deflating it somewhat. “Caught?”
A patient look settled across his features as he worked with the sails. “The rebels behind the attack this evening.” He spoke so quietly, she found she had to step closer just to hear him. “You don’t think they’ll be content to just scare you off, do you? That wasn’t a demonstration by an unhappy fringe group, in case you were wondering. No, that was a coordinated attempt, and I fear they may have the military on their side.”
His words were in plain English, the official language of Lydia,