with eyes so startlingly green they seemed out of place on a granite face. He waited for her cue, an exchange that had become as natural as breathing to them.
She inclined her head, and he led her away.
They rounded the front of the church, following the procession that was fast losing its formation and reverent demeanor. People joined friends and family for the walk back to the village. They greeted each other. Someone laughed.
Mirie followed with Drei a step behind, feeling the wind sting, more bitter somehow as they left the churchyard. Once these people would have welcomed her easily among them. The women would have ordered her to refill buckets from the well and the men would have asked her to fetch glasses of ţuică. Now they had receded from her as silently as snow in the spring.
She was no longer the girl they had known. More important, she no longer felt like that girl. And that knowledge made her mood grow as leaden as the clouds that promised snow.
“The storm’s coming,” she said.
Drei glanced up. “Are you thinking about going back early?”
She nodded.
“What about the charity? The priest is behind us. He’ll expect you to say something to kick off the celebration.”
Mirie met his gaze, as green as the meadows for those few glorious weeks during summer. She could think of nothing she would rather do less right now than celebrate. “We may risk getting snowed in.”
There were no plows to clear the roads. Trans-Alps highways did not traverse the gorges of these steep passes. Not close enough for convenience, anyway. Not until Mirie could find some way of bridging the distance between opposing parties and get a majority to agree on what Ninsele’s future looked like.
If she ever got everyone to agree.
Drei only nodded. He would do whatever she decided, no matter how much effort it cost to rearrange their plans. But Mirie glanced into the storm clouds and knew she would have to take her chances. Tradition must be upheld. She may feel like a stranger right now, but her quick exit would be noticed. She was a conversation piece. Alba Luncă would tell tales of the princess who had hidden among them for generations to come.
She would leave no one disappointed with Bunică’s send-off. Especially since she wouldn’t be back to host the series of charity meals that would commemorate Bunică’s passing for the next year. Mirie would rely on others to host those. Today she would honor the woman who had given her life.
“We’ll cross our fing—” She broke off when she saw Drei.
He cocked his head to the side, his grip tightening on her elbow, bringing them to a sudden stop. Mirie knew he was receiving a report through his earpiece. Then he was in motion, pulling her hard against him, his arms like a vise as he spun her around.
“Go, go, go!” he yelled over his shoulder at the villagers. “We have gunfire. Get to the village. Quickly.”
Chaos erupted among those who had been nearest the grave site. Plaintive demands and fearful questions discharged into confusion. But none drowned out the sudden growl of an engine in the distance, unseen, yet swelling quickly, churning through the mountain stillness like the roar of an avalanche.
“The village,” Drei commanded. “Not the church. Get safely behind the gates.”
People started running, shouting, “To the village. To the village.”
“Quickly, Your Royal Highness,” Drei hissed while spurring her into a run.
Toward the church.
The priest broke away, vestments whipping around him as he bolted in the opposite direction. “I will sound the alarm.”
“Get the people to the gates, Father!” Drei shouted.
But the priest followed them to the church, following her when he should have been running in the opposite direction.
She tried to keep up with Drei, but the way he surrounded her with his big body kept her blind and off balance. His thighs rammed into the backs of hers with each step, forcing her to keep his pace and nearly sweeping her off her feet as he slammed into the churchyard gate, throwing it open.
The church steps proved her undoing, and she stumbled. Drei lifted her against him as though she weighed no more than air and dragged her up the remaining steps and across the threshold.
He spun around with practiced skill, using the building to shield her as he pulled open the door.
And in that instant, she glimpsed the priest flying through the open gate, and a military transport helicopter riding low just above the treetops, armed men bulging from the open sides.
Powerful engines reverberated through the gorge, the rhythmic swoop-swoop-swoop of the blades, the grumbling heartbeat of a conveyance that carried death. The sound was deafening, yet not loud enough to drown out the eruption of gunfire that stunned the morning.
Drei dragged her inside and pulled the door shut, but not before Mirie heard the familiar thuds of bullets pounding flesh.
No warning bells would sound the alarm in Alba Luncă today.
CHAPTER TWO
“IS HER ROYAL HIGHNESS to safety?” General Bogdanovich demanded over the audio device. “Secure her. Repeat. Secure her. We’ve eliminated three of the enemy on the road, but a team of six has entered the churchyard. We’re surrounding the perimeter, but we’re drawing fire from the copter.”
Drew could not respond. The doors of the church slammed open as if on cue, and footsteps pounded over stone.
Mirie stared up from beneath her hat, features drawn and eyes wide. She had pulled on her courage as she might her coat, but he saw the fear in her tight expression, in the dilation of pupils turning blue-gray eyes almost black.
He questioned her without words, and she inclined her head, confirming she was unharmed and functioning. She knew the drill, and she was no longer a terrified eight-year-old.
Drew reevaluated, unsure if they could make the escape route undetected. Their pursuers appeared to be well-funded paramilitaries, seizing the opportunity to eliminate the last royal of the House of Selskala, who had made herself an easy target for the first time in six years.
Raising his pistol, he cased the stairwell before leading Mirie down the steps to the crypt. There were no windows down here, only the dank cold of frozen ground. They moved quickly, sound buffered by stone. But the impenetrable dark finally forced him to lower his pistol and feel his way with a hand along the wall.
Their attackers would break into pairs. One team would head into the loft that ran along the back of the church and the bell tower. Another team would make its way to the sacristy and vesting room, which would lead them here to the crypt entry. The remaining team would canvass the nave with the rows of pews and alcoves of small side altars.
“Major Timko,” General Bogdanovich demanded in his ear. “Sit-rep. Is Her Royal Highness alive?”
The general wouldn’t be getting a situation report any time soon, so Drew tapped once
