Princess in Peril. Rachelle McCalla

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      The pressing danger provided excellent distraction. “We’ll proceed with extreme caution,” he echoed. “If at any point we encounter any person or anything that seems out of the ordinary, we’ll halt and assess the situation. If danger is apparent, we’ll retreat back the way we came.”

      “And if we cannot retreat into the catacombs?” The princess tipped her head forward as she spoke, and Levi felt the softness of her hair come to rest near his jaw.

      Levi didn’t feel he ought to push her away, yet the floral perfume she wore teased his nostrils. “Then God help us.”

      Isabelle pulled back from him.

      The cold air of her absence cleared his mind. He realized how his words must have sounded and rushed to explain. “We don’t know the size of the forces the insurgents have attacked with. If they take the cathedral and block our passage to the catacombs, then it would mean they’ve completely overwhelmed your father’s government, in which case I don’t know how we could possibly get you out of the country alive.”

      “Out of the country?” Isabelle backed farther away from him this time. “You said my father didn’t want me leaving the country, that it would send the wrong message to the insurgents.”

      “That was before the attack,” Levi corrected her. “You can’t expect to stay—”

      “I will not leave!”

      Levi’s hand flew out to cover her mouth. “Shh,” he hushed her, aware of how loudly her voice had echoed. She squirmed away from him. He hadn’t intended to clamp his hand over her royal mouth, but he couldn’t risk letting her voice give away their location when they didn’t know who might hear.

      Cautiously he removed his hand.

      Isabelle whispered angrily. “You said my father wished to avoid any sign of weakness—”

      “They think you’re dead.” He tried to reach for her shoulder to pull her back so he could reason with her, but she batted him away. “Princess Isabelle.” He spoke her name with caution.

      “The Royal House of Lydia is not dead. We live and we reign.”

      Levi was reminded by the emotion in her words that she’d been raised with a profound sense of duty toward her people, an obligation of leadership that had been deeply ingrained since birth. It wasn’t in her to run away when her government was challenged. How could he make her understand that she had to do just that?

      “Yes.” He spoke in the most soothing voice he could muster. “Yes, Lydia is ruled by your family, by the Royal House of Lydia.”

      “I am not dead,” she choked.

      He realized she was weeping. He didn’t blame her one bit. “You’re not dead,” he repeated, trying to think of what he could possibly say that wouldn’t make her more upset. What was there to say? It was likely the rest of her family had been killed. She had surely guessed that much already. As soon as the insurgent forces realized she had escaped, they’d come looking for her. But he couldn’t tell her that—not now—so he tried to reassure her as best he could.

      “You’re not dead, Princess. You’re alive, and I will do everything in my power to keep you alive. But right now we don’t know what the situation is out there. If the insurgents have taken control of the city—”

      “No!” Isabelle moved to push past him again. “No, they cannot take the city.” She turned as though she was going to stomp right up the stairs and demand to have rule returned to her.

      “Isabelle.” He pulled her back against him and this time held her tight so she couldn’t do anything rash. He pressed his mouth near her ear as he had in the car and spoke calmly but forcefully. “The insurgents want you dead. As long as they think they have already killed you, they won’t come looking for you. If they learn you’re really alive, they’ll hunt you down. Your only hope for survival is to stay out of sight and get out of Lydia as quickly as possible—before they have time to search for your dead body and wonder why they can’t find it.”

      “But the Royal House of Lydia has never given over control of the country. It is my royal duty—”

      “It’s your duty to stay alive.” As he held her tightly, he felt some of the fight leave her. “You can’t reclaim the throne if you’re dead. If you let me get you out of here, we can negotiate your rightful return to the throne.”

      “How can I run from my people like a coward?”

      “Your only other option is to face near-certain death. Who will defend your people then?”

      He felt her war with that decision as he held her, his arms still firmly rooting her in place lest she suddenly take off up the stairs.

      Finally she told him in a determined voice, “I still don’t trust you.”

      “It doesn’t matter if you trust me. All I ask is that you allow me to protect you.”

      A huff erupted from her nose, and her chin lifted off from where it had come to rest on his shoulder. “Have I made it that difficult for you?”

      “You did seem determined to stay in the car long enough for the insurgents to hit it.”

      “If you would have told me about the catacombs earlier—”

      “I didn’t know you didn’t know,” he defended. He relaxed his hold enough to let her move half an arm’s length away but no farther. He still didn’t trust her any more than she trusted him. “There may be moments up ahead when I don’t have time to explain everything. Whether you trust me or not, you need to follow my lead. If I have to stop and argue with you at every turn, it will give the insurgents an unfair advantage. I fear we must move very quickly.”

      Her shoulders rose and fell under his hands as she took a deep breath. “Up the stairs in darkness, through the cathedral and then what?”

      “The U.S. Embassy is across the street. They should be able to help us get out of the country.”

      Isabelle was silent. Levi could tell she was weighing her response. Based on the background information he’d been given, he could guess at what might be the cause of her silence.

      “I know you don’t care for the American ambassador,” Levi began.

      “Stephanos Valli remains in this country solely to retain the good will of the American government. If it were up to me, he would never be allowed to set foot in Lydia again.” Her words seethed with barely repressed anger.

      “We need the Americans to help us get you out of the country alive. If Valli was headed to the state dinner, it’s likely he won’t be anywhere near the embassy. His staff can get us out of the country.” Levi had never met Stephanos Valli, but he understood that the American ambassador had Lydian ancestry and ties to the most powerful people in their area of the Mediterranean. Valli had negotiated the engagement of the princess to one of those people, a billionaire businessman named Tyrone Spiteri. The engagement had ended in scandal. Levi had never been told the details, but he understood Isabelle’s bitterness toward the ambassador for his hand in such an embarrassing experience.

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