H.R.H.

When honor, duty, tradition,

and her country's welfare

are all that can matter …

regardless of the price.

PRAISE FOR

DANIELLE STEEL“Steel pulls out all the emotional stops.… She delivers.”—Publishers Weekly“Steel is one of the best!”—Los Angeles Times“The world's most popular author tells a good, well-paced story and explores some important issues.… Steel affirm[s]life while admitting its turbulence, melodramas, and misfiring passions.”—Booklist“Danielle Steel writes boldly and with practiced vividness about tragedy—both national and personal … with insight and power.”—Nashville Banner“There is a smooth reading style to her writings which makes it easy to forget the time and to keep flipping the pages.”—Pittsburgh Press“One of the things that keep Danielle Steel fresh is her bent for timely story lines.… The combination of Steel's comprehensive research and her skill at creating credible characters makes for a gripping read.”—Newark Star-Ledger“What counts for the reader is the ring of authenticity.”—San Francisco Chronicle“Steel knows how to wring the emotion out of the briefest scene.”—People“Ms. Steel excels at pacing her narrative, which races forward, mirroring the frenetic lives chronicled; men and women swept up in bewildering change, seeking solutions to problems never before faced.”—Nashville Banner“Danielle Steel has again uplifted her readers while skillfully communicating some of life's bittersweet verities. Who could ask for a finer gift than that?”—Philadelphia Inquirer

PRAISE FOR THE RECENT NOVELS OF

DANIELLE STEELH.R.H.“A journey of discovery, change and awakening …a story of love found, love lost and ultimately an ending that proves surprising.”—Asbury Park Press “Steel's fans will be waiting for this one.”—BooklistSISTERS“Female bonding with a cozy slumber-party vibe.”—Kirkus Reviews“Legions of [Steel] fans … won't be disappointed.”—Publishers WeeklyCOMING OUT“Acknowledges the unique challenges of today's mixed families.”—Kirkus Reviews“[A] tender, loving novel.”—Fort Wayne Journal GazetteTHE HOUSE“Many happy endings.”—Chicago Tribune“A … Steel fairy tale.”—BooklistTOXIC BACHELORS“A breezy read … that will keep fans reading and waiting for more.”—Publishers Weekly“Steel delivers … happy endings in the usual nontoxic, satisfying manner.”—BooklistMIRACLE“Steel is almost as much a part of the beach as sunscreen.”—New York Post“Another Steel page-turner. Three strangers' lives become linked after a terrible storm ravages northern California.”—Lowell SunIMPOSSIBLE“Dramatic, suspenseful … Steel knows what her fans want and this solid, meaty tale will not disappoint them.”—BooklistECHOES“Courage of conviction, strength of character and love of family that transcends loss are the traits that echo through three generations of women …a moving story that is Steel at her finest.”—Chattanooga Times Free Press“Get out your hankies … Steel put her all into this one.”—Kirkus Reviews“A compelling tale of love and loss.”—BooklistA MAIN SELECTION OF THE LITERARY GUILD AND DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB

Also by Danielle Steel

BUNGALOW 2 LIGHTNING SISTERS WINGS COMING OUT THE GIFT THE HOUSE ACCIDENT TOXIC BACHELORS VANISHED MIRACLE MIXED BLESSINGS IMPOSSIBLE JEWELS ECHOES NO GREATER LOVE SECOND CHANCE HEARTBEAT RANSOM MESSAGE FROM NAM SAFE HARBOUR DADDY JOHNNY ANGEL STAR DATING GAME ZOYA ANSWERED PRAYERS KALEIDOSCOPE SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ FINE THINGS THE COTTAGE WANDERLUST THE KISS SECRETS LEAP OF FAITH FAMILY ALBUM LONE EAGLE FULL CIRCLE JOURNEY CHANGES THE HOUSE ON HOPE STREET THURSTON HOUSE THE WEDDING CROSSINGS IRRESISTIBLE FORCES ONCE IN A LIFETIME GRANNY DAN A PERFECT STRANGER BITTERSWEET REMEMBRANCE MIRROR IMAGE PALOMINO HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: LOVE: POEMS The Story of Nick Traina THE RING THE KLONE AND I LOVING THE LONG ROAD HOME TO LOVE AGAIN THE GHOST SUMMER'S END SPECIAL DELIVERY SEASON OF PASSION THE RANCH THE PROMISE SILENT HONOR NOW AND FOREVER MALICE PASSION'S PROMISE FIVE DAYS IN PARIS GOING HOME

To my beloved children,

Beatrix, Trevor, Todd, Nick, Samantha,

Victoria, Vanessa, Maxx, Zara,

with all my thanks and love for the

wonderful people you are,

with deep gratitude for how good you are

to me, how kind, how loving, how generous

with your hearts and time.

May your lives unfold with ease and grace,

May you find joy, serenity, and love,

and may all the opportunities you dream of be yours.

I wish you happy endings, happily ever afters,

friends, companions, and spouses who treasure you and

treat you with tenderness, love, and respect,

and children as exceptionally wonderful as you are.

If you have children like mine, you will indeed be blessed.

With all my love,

Mom/d.s.

Chapter 1

Christianna stood at her bedroom window, looking down at the hillside in the pouring rain. She was watching a large white dog, soaking wet with matted hair, digging excitedly in the mud. Every now and then he would look up at her and wag his tail, and then return to digging again. He was the Great Pyrenees her father had given her eight years before. His name was Charles, and in many ways he was her best friend. She laughed as she watched him chase a rabbit that eluded him and promptly disappeared. Charles barked frantically and then splashed happily through the mud again, looking for something else to pursue. He was having a great time, as Christianna was, watching him. It was the last of summer and the weather was still warm. She had returned to Vaduz in June, after four years of college in Berkeley. Coming home had been something of a shock, and so far the best thing about her homecoming was Charles. Other than her cousins in England and Germany, and acquaintances throughout Europe, her only friend was Charles. She led a sheltered and isolated life, and always had. It seemed unlikely she would see her Berkeley friends again.

As she watched the dog disappear toward the stables, Christianna hurried out of her room, intent on going outside and following him. She grabbed her riding slicker and a pair of rubber boots she used to muck out her horse's stall, and ran down the back stairs. She was grateful that no one noticed her, and a moment later she was outside, sliding through the mud and running after the big white dog. She called his name, and in an instant he bounded up to her, nearly knocking her down. He wagged his tail, splashing water everywhere, put a muddy paw on her, and when she bent to stroke him, he reached up and licked her face, and then ran away again as she laughed. Together, they ran side by side along the bridle path. It was too wet today to ride.

When the dog strayed from the path, she called his name, he hesitated only for an instant, and then came back to her each time. He was normally well behaved, but the rain excited him, as he ran and barked. Christianna was having as much fun as the dog. After nearly an hour, slightly out of breath, she stopped, the dog panting heavily beside her. She took a shortcut then, and half an hour later, they were once again back where they began. It had been a wonderful outing for both mistress and dog, and each looked as disreputable and disheveled as the other. Christianna's long, almost white-blond hair was matted to her head, her face was wet, and even her eyelashes were stuck together. She never wore makeup, unless she had to go out or was likely to be photographed, and she was wearing the jeans she had brought back from Berkeley. They were a souvenir of her lost life. She had loved every moment of her four years at UC Berkeley. She had fought hard to be allowed to go. Her brother had gone to Oxford, and her father had suggested the Sorbonne for her. Christianna had been adamant about going to college in the States, and her father had finally relented, though reluctantly. Going that far from home spelled freedom to her, and she had reveled in each day she was there, and had hated to come home when she graduated in June. She had made friends she missed sorely now, they were part of another life she missed so much. She had come home to face her responsibilities, and do what was expected of her. To Christianna, it felt like a heavy burden, lightened only by moments such as these, running through the woods with her dog. The rest of the time since coming home, she had felt as though she were in prison, serving a life sentence. There was no one she could have said that to, and doing so would have made her sound ungrateful for all she had. Her father was extremely kind to her. He had sensed, more than seen, her sadness since returning from the States. But there was nothing he could do about it. Christianna knew as well as he did that her childhood, and the freedom she had enjoyed in California, had come to an end.

Charles looked up at his mistress questioningly as they reached the end of the bridle path, as though asking her if they really had to go back.

“I know,” Christianna said softly, patting him, “I don't want to either.” The rain felt gentle on her face, and she didn't mind getting soaked, or her long blond mane getting wet, any more than the dog did. The slicker protected her, and her boots were caked with mud. She laughed as she looked at him, thinking it was hard to believe that this muddy brown dog was really white.

She needed the exercise, as did the dog. He wagged his tail as he looked at her, and then with a slightly more decorous step, they walked home. She was hoping to slip in the back door, but getting Charles into the house, in his disreputable condition, would be a greater challenge. He was too filthy to take upstairs, and she knew she would have to take him in through the kitchen. He was in desperate need of a bath after their muddy walk.

She opened the kitchen door quietly, hoping to escape attention for as long as possible, but as soon as she opened it, the enormous muddy dog bounded past her, dashed into the middle of the room, and barked with excitement. So much for a quiet entrance, Christianna smiled ruefully, and glanced apologetically at the familiar faces around her. The people who worked in her father's kitchen were always kind to her, and sometimes she wished that she could still sit among them, enjoying their company and the friendly atmosphere, as she had as a child. But those days were over for her as well. They no longer treated her as they had when she and her brother Friedrich were children. Friedrich was ten years older than she, and was traveling in Asia for the next six months. Christianna had turned twenty-three that summer.

Charles was still barking and, shaking the water off enthusiastically, had splattered nearly everyone around him with mud, as Christianna tried vainly to subdue him.

“I'm so sorry,” she said as Tilda, the cook, wiped her face with her apron, shook her head, and smiled good naturedly at the young woman she had known since birth. She signaled quickly to a young man, who rushed to lead the dog away. “I'm afraid he got awfully dirty,” Christianna said with a smile to the young man, wishing she could bathe the dog herself. She liked doing it, but she knew it was unlikely they would let her. Charles yelped unhappily as he was led away. “I don't mind bathing him …, ” Christianna said, but the dog was already gone.

“Of course not, ma'am,” Tilda said, frowning at her, and then used a clean towel to wipe Christianna's face as well. If Christianna had still been a child, she would have scolded her and told her that she looked worse than the dog. “Would you like some lunch?” Christianna hadn't even thought of it, and shook her head. “Your father is still in the dining room. He just finished his soup. I could send something up for you.” Christianna hesitated, and then nodded.

She hadn't seen him all day, and she enjoyed the quiet moments they shared when he wasn't working, and had a few minutes to himself, which was rare. He was usually surrounded by assorted members of his staff, and was in a rush to get to meetings. It was a treat for him to enjoy a meal alone, especially with her. She cherished the time they spent together. The only reason she had willingly come home from Berkeley was for him. There had been no other choice, although she would have loved to go on to graduate school just so she could stay in the States. She didn't dare ask. She knew the answer would have been no. Her father wanted her at home. She knew she had to be doubly responsible because her brother wasn't at all. If Friedrich had been willing to shoulder his responsibilities, it would have lightened the burden on her. But there was no hope of that.

She left her slicker hanging on a peg outside the kitchen, and took off her boots. They were noticeably smaller than any other pair there. She had tiny feet, and was so small she was almost a miniature. In flat shoes, her brother often teased her that she looked like a little girl, particularly with her long blond hair, which was still hanging wet down her back. She had small delicate hands, a perfect figure nothing like a child's, although she was very slight and always just a little bit too thin, and a face like a cameo. People said she looked like her mother, and somewhat like her father, who was as fair as she was, although both he and her brother were very tall, well over six feet. Christianna's mother had been as small as she was and had died when Christianna was five, and Friedrich was fifteen. Their father had never remarried. Christianna was the lady of the house, and was often her father's hostess now at important dinners or events. It was one of the responsibilities expected of her, and although she didn't enjoy it, it was a duty she performed lovingly for him. She and her father had always been extremely close. He had always been sensitive to the fact that it had been hard for her growing up without a mother. And in spite of his many duties, he had made every effort to be both father and mother to her, not always an easy task.

Christianna bounded up the back stairs in jeans, sweater, and stocking feet. She arrived in the pantry slightly breathless, nodded at the people there, and slipped quietly into the dining room. Her father was sitting at the dining table alone, poring over a stack of papers, wearing his glasses, with a serious look on his face. He didn't hear Christianna come in. He glanced up and smiled as she slipped silently into the chair beside him. He was obviously pleased to see his daughter, he always was.

“What have you been up to, Cricky?” He had called her that since she was a little girl. He gently patted her head as she leaned over to kiss him, and he noticed her wet hair. “You've been out in the rain. Were you riding in this weather?” He worried about her, more than he did about Freddy. Christianna had always been so small and seemed so fragile to him. Ever since losing his wife to cancer eighteen years before, he had treated their daughter like the priceless gift she had been to them when she was born. She looked so much like her mother. His late wife had been exactly the age Christianna was now when he married her. She was French, half Orléans and half Bourbon, the two royal families of France, who had been the ruling monarchy before the French Revolution. Christianna was descended from royal families on all sides. Her father's ancestors were mostly German, with cousins in England. Her father's native tongue was German, though he and Christianna's mother had always spoken French, as she did with her children. Once she was gone, in her memory, Christianna's father had continued speaking to his children in French. It was still the language in which Christianna was most comfortable, and which she preferred, although she spoke German, Italian, Spanish, and English as well. Her English had improved immeasurably during her years in college in California, and she was totally fluent now.

“You shouldn't go out riding in the rain,” he scolded her gently. “You'll catch a cold, or worse.” He always feared her getting ill, excessively so, he acknowledged, since the death of his wife.

“I wasn't riding,” she explained. “I just went for a run with the dog.” As she said it, a footman set her soup down in front of her, in delicate two-hundred-year-old gold-rimmed Limoges. The set had been her French grandmother's, and Christianna knew there were many equally handsome services of china from her father's ancestors as well. “Are you very busy today, Papa?” Christianna asked quietly as he nodded, and pushed his papers away with a sigh.

“No more than usual. So many problems in the world, so many things that can't be solved. Human problems are so complicated these days. Nothing is simple anymore.” Her father was well known for his humanitarian concerns. It was one of the many things she admired about him. He was a man worthy of respect, and was regarded with great affection by all who knew him. He was a man of compassion, integrity, and courage, and had set a powerful example for her and her brother to follow. Christianna learned from his example and listened to what he said. Freddy was far more self-indulgent, and paid no attention to his father's edicts, wisdom, or requests. Freddy's indifference to what was expected of him made her feel as though she had to attend to duties and uphold traditions for them both. She knew how disappointed her father was in his son, and she felt she had to make it up to him somehow. And in fact, Christianna was much more like her father, and was always interested in his projects, particularly those involving indigent people in underdeveloped countries. She had done volunteer work several times, in poor areas in Europe, and had never been happier than when she did.

He explained his latest endeavors to her as she listened to him with interest and commented from time to time. Her ideas on the subject were intelligent and well thought out, he had always had a deep respect for her mind. He only wished his son had her brains and drive. And he knew only too well that she felt she had been wasting her time ever since she got home. He had recently suggested that she consider studying law or political science in Paris. It was a way of keeping her busy and challenging her mind, and Paris was close enough to home. She had many relatives there, on her mother's side, could stay with them, and come home to see him often. Although she would have liked it, even at her age, there wasn't even the remotest possibility of her staying in an apartment on her own. She was still mulling over his plan, but she was more interested in doing something useful that would make a difference to other people, than in going back to school. At his father's insistence, Freddy had graduated from Oxford, and had a master's degree in business from Harvard, which was of no use to him, given the life he led. Her father would have allowed Christianna to study something more esoteric, if she chose to, though she was an excellent student and a very serious girl, which was why he thought law or political science would suit her well.

His assistant entered the dining room apologetically as they finished coffee, and smiled at Christianna. He was almost like an uncle to her, and had worked for her father during her entire life. Most of the people around them had worked for him for years.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Highness,” the older man said cautiously. “You have an appointment with the finance minister in twenty minutes, and we have some new reports on Swiss currency that I thought you might want to read before you speak with him. And our ambassador to the United Nations will be here to see you at three-thirty.” Christianna knew her father would be busy until dinner, and more than likely his presence would be required at either a state or official event. Sometimes she went with him, if he asked her to. Otherwise she stayed home, or appeared briefly at similar events herself. In Vaduz, there were no casual evenings for her with friends, as there had been in Berkeley. Now there was only duty, responsibility, and work.

“Thank you, Wilhelm. I'll be downstairs in a few minutes,” her father said quietly.

His assistant bowed discreetly to both of them, and silently left the room, as Christianna looked at him and sighed, her chin in her hands. She looked younger than ever, and somewhat troubled, as her father looked at her and smiled. She was so pretty, and a very good girl. He knew her official duties had weighed on her since she got back, just as he had feared they would. The responsibilities and burden they carried were not easy for a girl of twenty-three. The inevitable restrictions she had to live with were bound to chafe, just as they had him at her age. They would weigh heavily on Freddy too when he got back in the spring, although Freddy was far more artful about dodging his responsibilities than either his father or his sister. Fun was Freddy's only job now, a full-time career for him. Since leaving Harvard, he had indulged himself constantly. It was all he did, and he had no desire to grow up or change.

“Don't you get tired of what you do, Papa? It exhausts me just watching all you squeeze into every day.” His hours were seemingly endless, though he never complained. His sense of obligation was part of who he was.

“I enjoy it,” he said honestly, “but I didn't at your age.” He was always truthful with her. “I hated it at first. I think I told my father I felt like I was in prison, and he was horrified. One grows into it in time. You will too, my dear.” There was no alternate course for either of them, except the one that had been set for them at their birth and for centuries before. Like her father, Christianna accepted it as her lot in life.

Christianna's father, Prince Hans Josef, was the reigning Prince of Liechtenstein, a principality of 160 square kilometers, with thirty-three thousand inhabitants, bordered by Austria on one side and Switzerland on the other. It was entirely independent and had been neutral since the Second World War. Its neutrality set the stage for the prince's humanitarian interest in oppressed and suffering people around the world. Of all the things her father did, his humanitarian pursuits were what interested Christianna most. World politics were of less interest to her, and more her father's passion, out of necessity. Freddy had no interest in either, although he was the crown prince of the principality, and would step into his father's shoes as ruler one day. Although Christianna would have been third in line to the throne in other European countries, in Liechtenstein women were not allowed to reign, so even if her brother did not take his place as reigning prince, Christianna would never rule her country, and had no desire to do so, although her father liked to say proudly that she would have been capable of it, more so than her brother. Christianna did not envy her brother the role he would inherit from their father one day. She had enough trouble accepting her own. She knew that from the day she returned from college in California her life would be here now forever, carrying on her duties, and doing what was expected of her. There was no question and no choice. She was like a fine Thoroughbred racehorse with only a single course to run, that of supporting her father, in the small unimportant ways she could. More often than not, the work she did seemed utterly meaningless to her. She felt as though she was wasting her life in Vaduz.

“I hate what I do sometimes,” she said honestly, but she wasn't telling her father anything he didn't already know. He didn't have much time to reassure her, since he had the meeting with the finance minister in a few minutes, but the anguished look in his daughter's eyes touched him to the core. “I feel so useless here, Papa. As you said, with all the troubles in the world, why am I here, visiting orphanages and opening hospitals, when I could be somewhere else, doing something important?” She sounded plaintive and sad, as he gently touched her hand.

“What you're doing is important. You're helping me. I don't have time to do what you do for me. It means a great deal to our people to see you in their midst. It's exactly what your mother would have done, if she were still alive.”

“She did it by choice,” Christianna argued with him. “She knew when she married you that that would be her life. She wanted to do it. I always feel like I'm just passing time.” They both knew that if she followed her father's wishes, eventually she would marry someone of similarly high birth, and if he was a reigning prince like her father, or a crown prince like her brother, this was preparing her for that life. There was always the remote possibility that she would marry someone of lesser rank, but as a Royal Highness on one side, and a Serene one on the other, it was less than likely that she would marry anyone not of royal birth. Her father would never have allowed it. The Bourbons and Orléans were all Royal Highnesses on her mother's side. Her father's mother had been a Royal Highness as well. The reigning prince of Liechtenstein was a Serene Highness. By birth, Christianna was both, but her official title was “Serene.” They were related to the Windsors in England, the queen of England was their second cousin, Prince Hans Josef's family were Habsburgs, Hohenlohe, and Thurn und Taxis. The principality itself was closely allied to Austria and Switzerland, although there were no ruling families there. But every single one of Prince Hans Josef's and Christianna's and Freddy's relatives, and their ancestors before them, were of royal birth. Her father had told her since she was a little girl, that when she married, she was to stay within the confines of her world. It didn't occur to her to do otherwise.

The only time in Christianna's life when she had not been affected by their royal status on a daily basis was when she was away at college in California, where she lived in an apartment in Berkeley with a male and female bodyguard. She only confessed the truth to her two closest friends, who kept her secret religiously, as did the administration of the university, who were aware of it as well. Most of the people she had known there had had no idea who she was, and she loved it that way. She had blossomed in the rare anonymity, freed from the restrictions and obligations she had found so oppressive since her youth. In California, she was “almost” just another college girl. Almost. With two bodyguards, and a father who was a reigning prince. She was always vague when people asked her what kind of work her father did. Eventually, she learned to say he was in human rights, or public relations, sometimes politics, which were all essentially correct. She never used her own title while there. Few people she met seemed to know where Liechtenstein was anyway, or that it had its own language. She never told people that her family home was a royal palace in Vaduz, which had been built in the fourteenth century, and rebuilt in the sixteenth. Christianna had loved the independence and anonymity of her college years. Now everything had changed. In Vaduz, she was the Serene Highness again, and had to endure all that went with it. To her, being a princess felt like a curse.

“Would you like to join me at the meeting with our ambassador to the UN today?” her father offered, to try and cheer her up. She sighed and shook her head, as he stood up from the dining table, and she followed suit.

“I can't. I have to cut a ribbon at a hospital. I have no idea why we have so many hospitals.” She smiled ruefully. “I feel as though I cut one of those ribbons every day.” It was an exaggeration of course, but sometimes she felt that way.

“I'm sure it means a lot to them to have you there,” he said, and she knew it did. She just wished that there was something more useful for her to do, working with people, helping them, making their lives better in a concrete way, rather than wearing a pretty hat, a Chanel suit, and her late mother's jewels, or others from the official state vaults. Her mother's crown from her father's coronation was still there. Her father always said that Christianna would wear it on her wedding day. And she herself had been startled to discover how agonizingly heavy it was, when she tried it on, just like the responsibilities that went with it. “Would you like to join me at a dinner for the ambassador tonight?” Prince Hans Josef offered as he gathered up his papers. He didn't want to rush her, in her obvious misery, but he was late by then.

“Do you need me there?” Christianna asked politely, always respectful of him. She would have gone without complaint if he said yes.

“Not really. Only if you'd enjoy it. He's an interesting man.”

“I'm sure he is, Papa, but if you don't need me, I'd rather stay in jeans and go upstairs to read.”

“Or play on your computer,” he teased. She loved e-mailing her friends in the States, and still communicated with them often, although she knew that, inevitably, eventually the friendships would fade. Her life was just too different from theirs. She was a thoroughly modern princess, and a spirited young woman, and sometimes she felt the weight of who she was and what was expected of her like a ball and chain. She knew Freddy did as well. He had been something of a playboy for the past fifteen years, often in the tabloids, allied with actresses and models all over Europe, and the occasional young royal. It was why he was currently in Asia, to get away from being constantly in the public eye and in the press. His father had encouraged him to take a break for a while. The time was approaching for him to settle down. The prince expected less of his daughter, since she was not going to inherit the throne. But he also knew how bored she was, which was why he wanted her to go to the Sorbonne in Paris. Even he knew that she needed more to do than cutting ribbons to open hospitals. Liechtenstein was a small country, and its capital, Vaduz, a tiny town. He had recently suggested that she go to London to visit her cousins and friends. Now that she had finished school and was not yet married, there was too little to occupy her time.

“I'll see you before dinner,” her father said as he kissed the top of her head. Her hair was still damp, and she looked up at him with her enormous blue eyes. The sadness in them tore at his heart.

“Papa, I want something else to do. Why can't I go away like Freddy?” She sounded plaintive, like any girl her age who wanted a big concession from her father, or permission to do something of which he was unlikely to approve.

“Because I want you here with me. I would miss you far too much, if you went away for six months.” There was suddenly a spark of mischief in her father's eyes. He had been at his best when her mother was alive, and had led a life of responsibility and family ever since. There was no woman in his life, and hadn't been since Christianna's mother died, though many had tried. He had devoted himself entirely to his family and his work. His was truly a life of sacrifice, infinitely more than hers. But she also knew that he expected as much from her. “In your brother's case”—he smiled at his daughter—“it's a great relief at times to have him away. You know how outrageous he is.” Christianna laughed out loud. Freddy had a way of getting into mischief, and then being caught by the press. Their press attaché had had a full-time job covering for him since Freddy's Oxford days. At thirty-three, he had been a hot item in the press for the past fifteen years. Christianna only appeared in the press at state occasions with her father, or when opening hospitals or libraries.

There had been only one photograph of her in People magazine during the entire time she'd been in college, taken while she attended a football game with one of her royal British cousins, a handful of photographs in Harper's Bazaar and Vogue, and a lovely one of her in Town and Country, in a ballgown, in an article about young royals. Christianna kept a low profile, which pleased her father. Freddy was entirely another story, but he was a boy, as Prince Hans Josef always pointed out. But he had warned him that when he returned from Asia, there were to be no more supermodel capers or starlet scandals, and if he continued to draw attention to himself, his father would cut off his allowance. Freddy had gotten the point, and had promised to behave when he came home. He was in no hurry to return.

“I'll see you tonight, my dear,” Prince Hans Josef said as he gave her a warm hug, and then left the dining room as the footmen he walked past all bowed low.

Christianna went back to her own apartment on the third floor of the royal palace. She had a large beautiful bedroom, a dressing room, a handsome sitting room, and an office. Her secretary was waiting for her, and Charles was lying on the floor. He had been groomed and coiffed and bathed, and didn't look anything like the dog she had run in the woods with that morning. He looked gravely subdued and somewhat depressed over whatever they had done to clean him up. He hated being bathed. Christianna smiled as she glanced over at him, feeling more in common with the dog than with anyone else in the palace, or maybe the entire country. She disliked being coiffed and groomed and tended to as much as the dog did. She had been much happier running with him that morning, getting soaked and covered with mud. She patted him and sat down on the other side of the desk, as her secretary looked up at her and smiled, and handed Christianna her dreaded schedule. Sylvie de Maréchale was a Swiss woman from Geneva, in her late forties, whose children had grown up and gone. Two were living in the States, one in London, one in Paris, and for the past six years she had handled everything for Christianna. She was enjoying her job much more now that the princess was home. She had a warm, motherly style, and she was someone Christianna could at least talk to, and if necessary, complain to, about the boredom of her life.

“You're opening a children's hospital today at three, Your Highness, and you're stopping at a home for the elderly at four. That should be quite a short stop, and you don't need to make a speech at either place. Just a few words of admiration and thanks. The children at the hospital will give you a bouquet.” She had a list of names of the people who would be escorting her, and the names of the three children who had been chosen to present the bouquet. She was impeccably organized, and always gave Christianna all the essential details. When necessary, she traveled with her. At home, she helped her organize small dinners of important people her father asked her to entertain, or larger ones for heads of state. She had run an impeccable home for years, and was teaching Christianna to run hers, with all the details and attention to minutiae that made each event go well. Her directions were seamless, her taste exquisite, and her kindness to her young employer without limit. She was the perfect assistant to a young princess, and she had a nice sense of humor that bright ened Christianna's spirits when her duties weighed heavily on her. “You're opening a library tomorrow,” she said gently, knowing how tired Christianna was of doing things like that, after being home for only three months. Christianna's return to Vaduz still felt like a prison sentence to her. “You'll have to make a speech tomorrow,” she warned her, “but you're off the hook today.” Christianna was looking pensive, thinking of her conversation with her father. She didn't know where yet, but she knew she wanted to go away. Maybe after Freddy got back, so her father wouldn't feel so alone. She knew he had hated it when she was gone. He loved and enjoyed his children, and royal or not, he enjoyed his family more than all else, just as he had loved his marriage, and still missed his wife. “Do you want me to write your speech for tomorrow?” Sylvie offered. She had done it before and was good at it. But Christianna shook her head.

“I'll do it myself. I can write it tonight.” It reminded her of her homework in her college days. She found she even missed that now, and it was something to do.

“I'll leave the details about the new library on a sheet on your desk,” Sylvie said, then looked at her watch, startled by the hour. “You'd better dress. You have to leave in half an hour. Is there anything you'd like me to do for you? Or get out?” Christianna shook her head. She knew Sylvie was offering to get jewelry out of the vault for her, but all Christianna ever wore were her mother's pearls, and the earrings that went with them, all of which had been a gift to her mother from Prince Hans Josef. Wearing them meant a lot to her. And it always pleased her father to see Christianna in her mother's jewels. With a nod at Sylvie, she went to change, and Charles got up and followed her out of the room.

Half an hour later Christianna was back in the office, looking every inch a princess in a pale blue Chanel suit with a white flower and black bow at the neck. She was carrying a small black alligator handbag that her father had bought for her in Paris, with matching black alligator shoes, her mother's pearls and earrings, and a pair of white kid gloves tucked into the pocket of her suit.

She appeared elegant and youthful, with her long blond hair pulled neatly back in a long smooth ponytail. She was impeccable as she got out of the Mercedes sedan in front of the hospital and was warm and gracious as she greeted the head of the hospital and its administrators. She spoke a few words of thanks, acknowledging the work they would do there. She stopped to chat and shake hands with all the people pouring down the front steps to see her. They oohed and aahed at how pretty she was, how young and fresh she looked, how elegant her suit was, how unassuming her manner, and how unpretentious she was in every way. As she always did when she made public appearances, representing her father and the palace, Christianna went to considerable effort to make a good impression on all who met her, and as she drove away, everyone standing outside waved, and so did she, wearing the impeccable white kid gloves. Her visit to the hospital had been a complete success for all of them.

She laid her head back against the seat for a minute as they drove to the home for the elderly, thinking about the faces of the children she had just kissed. She had kissed hundreds of others like them, since she had assumed her duties in June. It was hard to believe, and even harder to accept, that for the rest of her life this was all that she would do—cut ribbons, open hospitals and libraries and senior centers, kiss children and old ladies, shake hands with dozens of people, then drive away and wave. She didn't mean to be ungrateful for her blessings, or disrespectful to her father, but she hated every moment of it.

She knew full well how lucky she was in so many ways. But thinking about it, and how futile her life was becoming and would continue to become over the years, depressed her profoundly. Her eyes were still closed as they pulled up in front of the senior center, and as the bodyguard who went everywhere with her opened the door for her, he saw two tears roll slowly down her cheeks. With a smile at him and the people waiting for her with looks of excitement and anticipation, with a white-gloved hand, she brushed the tears away.

Chapter 2

Prince Hans Josef stopped by Christianna's apartment that night, after his dinner for the ambassador to the UN. It had been an elegant party for forty people in the palace dining room and although he would have liked her there, Christianna wasn't missed. He had invited an old friend to help him host the event. They had gone to school together years before, she was a widow, and he thought of her as a sister. She was Freddy's godmother and had been a family friend for years. She was an Austrian baroness and had helped him to keep the conversation lively, not always an easy task at official events.

Once outside Christianna's apartment, her father found the door open. He could see her on the living room floor, with her arms around her dog, playing the music she had brought back from America full blast. The dog was sound asleep in spite of the noise. The prince smiled when he saw them, and walked quietly into the room. Christianna looked up and smiled when she noticed him observing her.

“How was dinner?” Christianna asked. He looked distinguished and tall in his dinner jacket. She had always been so proud of the fact that he was such a goodlooking man. He was truly the epitome of the handsome prince, and beyond that, a profoundly wise and kind man, who loved her more than life itself.

“Not nearly as interesting as it would have been if you had been there, my darling. I'm afraid you would have found it very dull.” They were in full agreement on that. She was happy not to have gone. Her two official functions that afternoon, at the hospital and the senior center, had been enough. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Opening a library, and then I'm reading books to blind children, at an orphanage.”

“That's a nice thing for you to do.” She stared up at him for a long moment, and didn't comment. They both knew that she was agonizingly bored and aching for something more important to do. She could see her life stretching ahead of her now, like an endless, bleak, and nearly intolerable road. Neither of them had anticipated how difficult her adjustment would be once she got home. It made him regret now that he had allowed her to go to California to college. Perhaps Freddy had been right. He had always said that he thought it was a bad idea. As outrageous as he was in his own life, Freddy had always been far more protective of her. And he was well aware of what a taste of a freer life could do to her. In the end, it had. She no longer felt suited to the life she was born to lead. She was like a beautiful racehorse trapped in a stall that was too small for her. Looking down at her, her father was acutely aware that she looked like any other young girl, playing her music too loud on her stereo. But they both knew all too well that she was no ordinary young girl. All Hans Josef could hope for her was that she would soon forget the inebriating taste of freedom she had become addicted to in the States. It was his only hope. If not, she would be miserable for a long time. Or even the rest of her life, which would be an awful fate for her.

“Would you like to go to the ballet with me in Vienna on Friday night?” her father asked solemnly, desperately trying to think of things she might enjoy doing, to enliven her solitary life. Liechtenstein had strong ties with both Switzerland and Austria, and the prince frequently went to Vienna for the opera or ballet. Until just before the Second World War, the reigning princes of Liechtenstein had lived in Vienna. When the Nazis had annexed Austria in 1938, Hans Josef 's father had moved his family and the court back to Liechtenstein's capital to watch over the country's “Honor, Courage, and Welfare,” according to the princely “house laws.” They had been there ever since. Christianna's father was the embodiment of the family code of ethics, and the sacred oath he had taken when he became reigning prince.

“That might be fun,” Christianna said, smiling up at him. She knew how hard he was trying to make her feel comfortable again. However much he loved her, his hands were tied. There was only so much he could do to ease her pain. To others, their lives may have looked like a fairy tale, but Christianna was in fact the proverbial bird in the gilded cage. And her father had begun to feel like her jailer. He had no easy solution at hand. It was going to be more fun for her when her brother got home from his extended stay in Japan, but having Freddy back always brought problems of a different kind. Life at the palace was a great deal quieter with the young prince away. They hadn't had a scandal to dissipate since he left, much to his father's relief.

Hans Josef then came up with another idea. “Why don't you go to visit your cousin Victoria in London next week?” It might do her good to get away. The young marchioness of Ambester was a first cousin of the queen, and exactly Christianna's age. She was full of mischief and fun, and she had just gotten engaged to a Danish prince. Christianna's face lit up as soon as he suggested the idea.

“That would be a lot of fun, Papa. You wouldn't mind?”

“Not at all.” He beamed at her. It pleased him to think that she might have some fun. There was nothing very exciting for her to do in Liechtenstein. “I'll have my secretary arrange it in the morning.” Christianna quickly got up and put her arms around his neck, as Charles groaned, rolled over, and wagged his tail. “Stay with her for as long as you like.” He didn't worry about her getting out of control in London, as he did about his son. Christianna was a very well-behaved young woman, who was always cognizant of her responsibilities to her position and to him. She had had fun in Berkeley, for four years, but had never gotten even remotely out of hand, at least as far as her father knew. The two devoted bodyguards who had gone to Berkeley with her had managed to keep a lid on things once or twice. Nothing serious, but like any girl her age, even a royal one, there had been a few brief romances, and a night or two of too much fun with more than a little wine involved, but she had come to no harm, and never to the attention of the press.

Her father kissed her goodnight, and she lay on the floor for a while longer, listening to the music, and then she got up and checked her e-mail before she went to bed. She had e-mails from her two college friends, checking in and asking her how her “princess life was going.” They loved to tease her about it. They had looked up Liechtenstein on the Internet, and had been stunned when they saw the palace in which she lived. It was beyond anything they could have imagined. She had promised to visit them both at some point, but for the moment had no plans to do so. Besides, she knew it would be different now. Their days of innocence and easy fun were over. Or at least hers were. One of her friends was already working in Los Angeles, and the other was traveling with friends for the summer. She had no other choice than to make peace with her own life, and make the best of it. She liked her father's suggestion of going to see her cousin in London.

On Friday morning she drove to Vienna with her father. They had to travel across the Alps, and it was a six-hour trip to the family's previous seat, Palace Liechtenstein in Vienna. It was spectacularly beautiful, and unlike the palace at Vaduz, which was their main residence, parts of the palace in Vienna were open to the public. The part that she and her father occupied was heavily guarded and somewhat secluded. Her apartment there was far more ornate than her rooms in Vaduz, which were beautiful but somewhat more human scale. At Palace Liechtenstein, she had an enormous bedroom with a huge canopied bed, mirrors and gilt everywhere, and on the floor a priceless Aubusson carpet. It looked like a museum, and a huge chandelier hung overhead, still lit by candles.

The familiar servants she had known all her life were waiting for her there. An ancient ladies' maid who had served her mother twenty years before helped her dress, while a younger woman drew her bath and brought her something to eat. She went to meet her father in his rooms at exactly eight o'clock wearing a black Chanel cocktail dress she had bought in Paris the year before. She was wearing small diamond earrings, her mother's pearls, and the ring she always wore, a chevalière with the family crest on it, on the little finger of her right hand. It was the only symbol she wore as a sign of her royal birth, and unless one was familiar with the crest, it was no more impressive than any other signet ring. The crest was carved into a simple oval of yellow gold. She had no need for symbols indicating who she was, everyone in Liechtenstein and Austria knew, and recognized her when they saw her, as they did throughout Europe. She was a remarkably pretty girl, and had appeared with her father just often enough to have caught the attention of the press for the past several years. Her brief disappearance to the States to study had been perceived only as a hiatus. Whenever she returned to Europe she was photographed, no matter how diligently she avoided it. And ever since she had come back for good, the press had been watching out for her. She was far more beautiful than most of the other princesses in Europe, and more appealing because she was so shy, reticent, and demure. It only excited journalists more because that was the case.

“You look beautiful tonight, Cricky,” her father said affectionately as she walked into his room, and helped him with his cuff links. His valet was standing by to assist, but Christianna liked taking care of him, and he preferred it. It reminded him of the days when his wife was alive, and he smiled as he looked at his daughter. He and her brother and cousins were the only people in Europe who called her Cricky, although she had used the name in Berkeley when she went to school. “You look very grown up,” he said, smiling proudly at her, and she laughed.

“I am grown up, Papa.” Because she was so small and delicate, she had always looked younger than her age. In blue jeans and sweaters or T-shirts, she looked like a teenager instead of the twenty-three-year-old she was. But in the elegant black cocktail dress, with a small white mink wrap on her arm, she looked more like a miniature of a model in Paris. She was graceful and lithe, her figure perfectly proportioned for her size, and she moved with grace around the room, as her father continued to smile.

“I suppose you are, my dear, although I hate to think of you that way. No matter how old you are, in my mind, you will always be a child.”

“I think Freddy thinks of me that way, too. He always treats me like I'm five.”

“To us you are,” Prince Hans Josef said benevolently. He was just like any other father, particularly one who had been obliged to raise his children without a wife. He had been both father and mother to them. Both agreed he had done a remarkable job, and never failed them once. He managed to juggle his duties to the state and those as a father with affection, patience, wisdom, and an abundance of love. And as a result, all three members of their immediate family were extraordinarily close. And even though Freddy was badly behaved much of the time, he had a profound love for his father and sister.

Christianna had spoken to her brother in Japan that week. He was still in Tokyo and having a wonderful time. He had been visiting temples, museums, shrines, and incredibly good although very expensive nightclubs and restaurants. Freddy had been the guest of the crown prince for the first several weeks, which had been too restrictive for him, and now he was doing some traveling on his own, with assistants, a secretary, a valet, and bodyguards of course. It took at least that many people to keep Freddy in even moderate control. Christianna knew what he was like. He told her the Japanese girls were very pretty, and he was going to China next. He still had no plans to come home, even for a visit, until the following spring. It seemed an eternity to her. While he was gone, she had no one even close to her age to talk to at home. She shared all her deepest confidences with her dog. She could talk to her father, of course, about important things, but for the daily banter that occurred among the young, she had no one at all. She had had no friends her own age as a child, which had made Berkeley even more wonderful for her.

Christianna and her father arrived at the ballet in the chauffeur-driven Bentley limousine, with a bodyguard in front as well, in which they had traveled earlier that day from Vaduz. There were two photographers waiting outside, who had been discreetly informed that Prince Hans Josef and the princess would attend the performance that night. Christianna and her father didn't stop to speak to them, but smiled pleasantly as they walked in, and were greeted in the lobby by the ballet director himself, who led them to their seats in the royal box.

It was a beautiful performance of Giselle, which they both enjoyed. Her father nodded off to sleep for a few minutes during the second act, and Christianna gently tucked her hand into his arm. She knew how heavily his duties weighed on him at times. He and his father before him had turned the country from an agricultural center into a major industrial force with a powerful economy and important international allegiances, like the one with Switzerland, that benefited them all. He took his responsibilities very seriously, and during his reign the country had flourished economically. In addition, he spent a considerable amount of time on his humanitarian interests. At the time of her death, he had established a foundation in his late wife's memory, and the Princesse Agathe Foundation had done an enormous amount of good work in underdeveloped countries. Christianna had been planning to talk to him about it. She was becoming more and more interested in working for the foundation, although he had discouraged her from doing so at first. He had no desire to allow her to join their workers on site in dangerous places. She wanted to at least visit them, and perhaps work in the administrative office if he allowed it, if she didn't go to the Sorbonne. He had made it clear that he preferred her to pursue her studies. She was hoping that if she started working for the foundation at the administrative level, she might be able to convince her father to let her take an occasional trip with the directors now and then. It was just her cup of tea. Theirs was one of the most prosperous and generous foundations in Europe, in great part funded by her father from his personal fortune, in memory of his late wife.

They returned to Palace Liechtenstein shortly before midnight. The housekeeper had tea and small sandwiches waiting for them, and Christianna and her father chatted as they ate them, talking about the performance. They often came to see the opera in Vienna too, and symphonies. It was close enough and provided a break from their otherwise serious routines, and Prince Hans Josef loved his little trips with his daughter.

He encouraged her to do some shopping the next morning. She bought two pairs of shoes and a handbag, but she was saving her energy for London. The kind of things she bought in Vienna were what she wore at state appearances and formal ceremonies like the ribbon cutting. The clothes she bought in London she wore at home in Vaduz, or in her private life, when she had one, which she didn't at the moment. She had spent the last four years in jeans, and missed them now that she was at home. She knew her father didn't want her leaving the palace in them, unless she was driving out in the country. Christianna had to think of everything ten times before she did it—what she said, what she wore, where she went, with whom, even the casual comments she might make in public that could be overheard and misquoted later. She had learned already as a very young girl that there was no such thing as privacy or freedom for the daughter of a reigning prince. It would have been far too easy to embarrass him or cause a difficult diplomatic situation if she offended someone. It was something Christianna was acutely aware of, and made every effort to respect, out of love for her father. Freddy was far more casual about it, much to everyone's chagrin, when he found himself in the midst of some mortifying situation, which up to now he had done often. Freddy just didn't think. Unlike him, Christianna always did.

She was also very interested in women's rights, which was a sore subject in her country. Women had only had the vote for just slightly over twenty years, since 1984, which was unthinkable. She liked to say that her arrival had brought them freedom, since the year of their emancipation was the one in which she'd been born. In many ways, it was still an extremely conservative country, in spite of her father's very modern ideas about economics, and his politically openminded views. But it was still a small country, bound by traditions that had existed for nine centuries, and Christianna felt the weight and burden of them all. She loved the idea of bringing fresh ideas back from the States with her, and developing more job opportunities for women, but with only thirty-three thousand subjects, and fewer than half of them women, there were painfully few women who would be affected by Christianna's youthful, energetic outlook. Nonetheless, she wanted to try. Even the fact that she could never inherit the throne was an archaic tradition. In other monarchies and principalities she would have been as eligible to rule as Freddy, although inheriting the throne was the last thing she wanted. She had no desire to reign, but she thought the traditional discrimination was inappropriate in a modern country, on principle. She mentioned it to her father's twenty-five members of Parliament, whenever she saw them, just as her mother before her had hounded them about giving women the right to vote. Little by little they were coming into the twenty-first century, but far too slowly for Christianna, and in some ways even for her father, although he was less a rebel than she was. Ideologically, he still had deep respect for their old traditions, but he was also three times her age, which inevitably made a difference.

They talked about her trip to London in the car on the way back to Vaduz. Her father had brought a briefcase bulging with papers to read on the trip, but the drive was long enough that he had time to chat with Christianna, too. She was going to visit Victoria on Tuesday. She cautiously suggested going alone, without guards, and her father was adamant about it. Ever worried about potential violence, he wanted her to take at least two bodyguards with her, maybe even three.

“That's silly, Papa,” she complained. “I only had two in Berkeley, and you always said America was much more dangerous. Besides, Victoria has one of her own. I only need one.”

“Three,” he said firmly, frowning at her. He hated even the remotest chance of her being in danger. He preferred to be overly cautious than to be cavalier.

“One,” Christianna bargained, and this time he laughed.

“Two, and that's my final offer. Otherwise you stay home.”

“All right, all right,” she conceded. She knew her brother had three with him in Japan, and a fourth for relief. Other royal families sometimes traveled with fewer bodyguards, but because it was public knowledge that their family and country were immensely rich, it put all of them at greater risk. It was about wealth, as much as about who they were, perhaps even more so. The prince's greatest fear had always been that one of his children would be kidnapped, and he was exceptionally cautious as a result. Christianna had long since made her peace with it, as had Freddy. He used his bodyguards to fetch and carry for him, albeit good-humoredly, and to get him out of messes he created, usually with women, or help him escape from a nightclub late at night when he was too drunk to walk. Christianna had far less use for hers, as she was much better behaved, and she had a comfortable, easy relationship with them, as they were very fond of her, and very protective. But she still preferred to go out alone, and almost never could. Her father simply wouldn't allow it, with good reason in some countries. He wouldn't even think of letting her travel to South America, although she had always wanted to go there. The stories about kidnappings of the wealthy and powerful were legion, and a Serene Highness with a vast fortune behind her would be a plum they couldn't resist. Prince Hans Josef preferred not to put temptation in their path in the form of his daughter. He forced her to confine her travels to the United States and Europe, and he had taken her to Hong Kong himself, which she loved. She said she wanted to travel to Africa and India next, which made him shudder. For the moment, he was relieved that she was satisfied with a week in London, staying with her cousin. That was as exotic as he wanted her to get, which was exotic enough. The young marchioness was extremely eccentric, given to outrageous behavior, and for several years had had both a python and a cheetah as pets. The prince had flatly forbidden her to bring them to Vaduz. But he knew that Christianna would have fun with her, and he knew also how much she needed it.

They returned to the palace in Vaduz after ten o'clock that night. The prince's assistant was waiting for him. Even at that hour, he had work to do. He was going to have a late supper at his desk, and Christianna decided to skip the meal entirely. She was tired after the trip and went to look for Charles in the kitchen, where he was sound asleep near the stove, and was instantly excited to see her when he heard her step. They went upstairs together, where her lady-in-waiting was sitting quietly, expecting her, and offered to run a bath.

“I'm fine, Alicia,” Christianna said with a yawn. “I think I'll go straight to bed.” The bed was already open, impeccable, and waiting for her. There was a large embroidery of their crest on her sheets. And there was nothing more for the woman to do, so with a curtsy she withdrew, much to her charge's relief. She had been lying when she said she was going to bed. She had every intention of taking a bath, but wanted to draw it herself. She preferred to be alone in her rooms.

After her lady-in-waiting left, Christianna stripped off her clothes and walked through her bedroom in her underwear, and went to check her e-mail in her small, elegant office. It was all done in beautiful pale blue silks. Her bedroom and dressing room were pink satin. The room had been her great-great-grandmother's, and Christianna had lived in it since birth with her nanny, until she retired.

She had no e-mails from America that night, and only a brief one from Victoria, which said how much fun they were going to have that week. She had all sorts of mischief planned, she hinted darkly, which made Christianna laugh. Knowing Victoria, she was sure she did. She had no doubt of that.

She wandered back to her bedroom then, still in her underwear, and finally went to run her bath. Wandering around with no one else in the room with her was a huge luxury and her only freedom. There were almost always servants, ladies-in-waiting, assistants, secretaries, and bodyguards around her. Privacy was a rare gift, and she enjoyed every minute of it. For a moment, it almost felt like being in Berkeley, although her surroundings were certainly very different. But it was that same sense of peace and freedom and being able to do whatever she wanted, even if all it meant was being able to take a bath, and listen to her favorite music. She put some CDs on from her student days, lay down on her bed for a minute while she waited for her enormous antique tub to fill, and closed her eyes. If she thought about it hard enough, she could almost feel herself back in Berkeley … almost … but not quite … thinking about it, she wanted to spread her wings and fly, or turn the clock back. It would have been so wonderful if she could. But those heavenly days of freedom were over. She was here now. Much to her chagrin, she had grown up. Berkeley was nothing more than a memory. And she was a Serene Highness forever.

Chapter 3

On Tuesday morning, bright and early, Christianna left the palace at Vaduz for London, and stopped in to see her father on her way out. He was already hard at work in his office, going over a stack of folders with a look of concern. He and his chief finance minister appeared to be having a serious discussion, and neither looked pleased with the result. Had she been staying home, she would have asked her father about it that night. She loved hearing about his policies and decisions, the shifts in palace positions, and the economic issues that came up. It was the only reason why she would have agreed to study political science at the Sorbonne, but she still hadn't decided yet. She loved the idea of getting out of Vaduz, but she wasn't enthusiastic about going back to school, even in Paris. She wanted to do something more important for humanity. She was currently more drawn to the foundation than to the Sorbonne.

“Have a wonderful time,” her father said warmly. He and the minister had stopped their discussion the moment she entered the room. The finance minister had no idea how much her father shared with her, or how much she knew. She was far more aware of the inner workings of the principality than her brother, and far more intelligent about them. All Freddy wanted to do was drive fast cars, and chase girls, or even faster women than the Ferrari he drove. “Give my best to our cousin. What do you and Victoria have planned, or do I even want to know?” he teased with a loving smile.

“Probably not.” She smiled back. But he wasn't worried. Whatever mischief Victoria had in store, he knew that Christianna was a very sensible girl. He was never even remotely concerned about that. “I'll be back in a week, Papa. I'll call you tonight.” He knew she would. She always did what she said, and had since she was a child.

“Don't worry about me. Just have fun. What a shame,” he then said, pretending to lament. “You're going to miss a state dinner on Friday night.” He knew just how boring she thought the dinners were.

“Do you want me back?” she asked seriously, her disappointment not showing on her face. If he wanted her to, she would have come back for him, although she would have been disappointed to cut her London visit short. But for both of them, responsibility and duty were the name of the game, and the code by which they lived.

“Of course not, silly girl. I wouldn't dream of it. Stay longer if you like.”

“I might,” she said, looking hopeful. “You wouldn't mind?”

“Stay as long as you like,” he reassured her, as she hugged him again and shook hands with his minister politely, and then with a last wave at her father, Christianna left.

“She's a lovely girl,” his finance minister said to him, as they went back to their work.

“Thank you,” Hans Josef said proudly. “Yes, she is.”

Her driver took Christianna to the airport in Zurich with her two bodyguards, and four security officials put her on the plane.

Once on board, it was obvious that someone important was traveling, all the flight attendants appeared to be buzzing around her. They offered her champagne, which she declined, and immediately after takeoff, they brought her a cup of tea. One bodyguard was sitting next to her, the other was across the aisle. All the way to London she read a book about the application of economic policies, which her father had recommended to her. And an hour and a half later they landed at Heathrow Airport, where a limousine was waiting for her. She was whisked through customs, with nothing to declare, and two airport security police joined forces with her bodyguards, and took her to the limousine. They took off immediately, and less than an hour later, the car pulled up in front of Victoria's small, elegant house on Sloane Square. She was one of the few titled women in London who had an enormous fortune, thanks to an American mother, an heiress who had married a title and left her daughter a vast inheritance when she died two years ago. Victoria was having a fabulous time with the money, and didn't mind it at all when people said she was spoiled. She knew she was, and was having so much fun she was never embarrassed by her extravagant way of life, and she was extremely generous with her friends.

She opened the door for Christianna herself, and stood there in blue jeans, a T-shirt, and high-heeled red alligator shoes, with huge diamond earrings and a stunning tiara sitting slightly askew on her bright red hair. She squealed the moment she saw her cousin, threw her arms around her, and escorted her inside, as Christianna's two bodyguards carried in her bags, and the butler ushered them upstairs.

“You look fabulous!” she said to Christianna, as the tiara slid slowly toward her ear, and Christianna started to laugh.

“What are you doing with that thing on? Should I have brought mine? Are we going somewhere tonight?” Christianna couldn't think of a single place she would have worn a tiara, except maybe to a ball given by the queen. And Victoria hadn't warned her of anything important going on.

“It just seems too stupid to leave it sitting in the vault. I thought I'd get some use out of it. I wear it all the time.” It was so typical of her.

She was wild, eccentric, and beautiful. She was extremely tall, nearly six feet, and completely undaunted, she went everywhere in six-inch heels, platforms preferably. She wore either miniskirts or jeans, her skirts were so short they almost looked like belts, and she was always swathed in diaphanous tops that seemed to drip and fall and were always slipping to reveal one breast and her creamy white skin. She was a spectacular-looking young woman. She had done some acting and modeling, gotten bored with it, and tried painting for a while. She was actually quite good at it, but she never stuck with anything for long. She had just gotten engaged to a Danish prince, whom everyone said was totally besotted with her, but knowing her as well as she did, Christianna was not entirely convinced that the engagement would last long either. Victoria had been engaged twice before, once to an American, and the second time to a well-known French actor who had left her for someone else, which Victoria said was incredibly rude. She had had a new boyfriend herself by the following week. She was by far the most eccentric person Christianna knew, but she loved spending time with her. They always had so much fun together. They stayed up all night, went to parties, and danced at Annabel's. Christianna always met interesting people with her. Victoria also drank a lot and smoked cigars. She lit one now as they sat down in her living room, which was a jumble of both modern and ancient art. Her mother had left her several Picassos, and there were books and art objects everywhere. Christianna was ecstatic just being there with her. It was the exact opposite of her quiet life in Vaduz with her father. Being around Victoria was like watching a circus act on the high wire. You never knew what would happen next. Watching her was breathtaking.

They chatted for a few minutes about their plans for the next week. Victoria said her fiancé was in Thailand on an official tour, and she seemed to be taking full advantage of it, going out every night, although she claimed to Christianna that she was madly in love with him, and this one would stick. Christianna wasn't as sure. Victoria mentioned in passing that they were having dinner at Kensington Palace that night, with several of their cousins, and afterward they'd all go out.

The phone must have rung ten times during their conversation, and Victoria answered it herself. She gushed and laughed and teased as her two pugs, four Pekingese, and a Chihuahua ran around the room barking. She no longer had the cheetah or the snake. It was a total madhouse, and Christianna loved it. She loved visiting her.

Victoria asked Christianna about her love life, as a maid quietly served them lunch. They had oysters and salad, which was a new diet the already-too-slim redhead said that she was on.

“I don't have a love life,” Christianna said, looking undisturbed. “There's no one for me to go out with in Vaduz. I don't really care.” There had been someone she liked in California, but it had ended when she went home, and it hadn't been serious, just good company while she was there. They had parted good friends. And as he had told her before she left, “the princess thing” would have been too much for him. Most of the time it was for her, too. It was a heavy burden to live with.

“We'll have to find you someone fabulous here.” Victoria's idea of fabulous wasn't exactly Christianna's, although she did know some very interesting people, most of whom were a lot of fun, but no one Christianna would have taken seriously. They were usually a very exotic bunch. Victoria knew everyone who mattered in London, and everyone else was dying to meet her.

The two young women went upstairs after lunch. One of Victoria's maids had already unpacked Christianna's bags, and hung everything neatly in the closet. The rest was impeccably put away in drawers. Victoria's guest room was decorated in leopard and zebra patterns, with red roses everywhere. It was all done in beautiful French fabrics, with stacks of books on every table, and a huge four-poster bed. She had enormous style, and always managed to pull off things no one else could have, in her decorating and everywhere else. Her own bedroom was done in pale lavender satin, with a huge white fox blanket on the bed. It had the look of an extremely expensive brothel, but in spite of the flamboyant taste, she had exquisite antiques and everything she owned was of impeccable quality. There were a lifesize silver skull and a pair of gold handcuffs sitting on a table next to her bed. The table itself was made entirely of crystal, and had belonged to the maharajah of Jaipur.

As promised, they went to Kensington Palace to dine that night. A number of Christianna's royal cousins were there, and everyone was happy to see her. She hadn't seen any of them since she got back from Berkeley in June. They went to a private party afterward, stopped at two nightclubs, Kemia and Monte's, and wound up at Annabel's at the end of the night. Christianna had loved every minute but was getting tired by then. Victoria was still going strong, with the help of a considerable amount to drink.

It was five o'clock in the morning when they got back to the house in Sloane Square, and both girls walked slowly up the stairs to go to bed. Christianna's bodyguards had been with them all night, and had just retired to their rooms on the top floor. It had been a typical night in Victoria's life, and one Christianna knew she wouldn't forget for a long time. Spending time with Victoria was always unforgettable, and a far cry from sleepy Vaduz.

The rest of the week was equally exciting, with parties, people, shopping, an opening of a gallery, a constant round of cocktail parties, dinners, and nightclubs, and inevitably the two young women wound up in the press. Victoria had been wearing her tiara and a leopard coat. Christianna was wearing yet another black cocktail dress, with a mink jacket she had bought the day before. She didn't feel too extravagant since she knew she would have plenty of opportunities to wear it at home. The rest of what she bought was mostly fun, and she had to buy another suitcase to take it all home. In the end, she stayed ten days, and would have loved to stay longer. But she felt guilty leaving her father alone. She looked happy and relaxed, and delighted with her visit the day she left, and she hated going back to Vaduz. Victoria made her promise to come back soon. The parties to celebrate her engagement hadn't even begun. They were waiting for her fiancé to come home from his extended tour.

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.

“Christianna,” she said quietly. There was only a single name on her passport, her first name, as was the case with all royals. Queen Elizabeth of England, Princess Michael of Kent, who was Marie Christine. All passports issued to royals in every country showed only their first name, but not their title or surname. The Russian customs official looked angry and confused.

“No name?” She hesitated and then handed him a brief letter issued by the government of Liechtenstein explaining the circumstances of her passport, and her full identity as a Serene Highness of the principality. She had needed the letter while she was studying in California and had had similar problems going through

U.S. Immigration. The official letter was written in English, German, and French, and she kept it in her travel pouch with her passport. She only presented it if asked. He read it carefully, glanced up at her twice, then at the bodyguards, and back at her. “Where are you going, Miss Princess?” She tried not to smile. He was obviously not familiar with titles, having grown up in a Communist state, but looked moderately impressed. She told him their destination, and he nodded again, stamped their passports, and waved them through. Hers was a neutral country, like Switzerland, which often opened doors for her that another passport would not have been able to do. And her title usually helped. He questioned them no further, and they went to a car rental office and stood on line for half an hour with everyone else.

All three of them were starving by then, and Christianna handed the two men a small package of biscuits, and two bottles of water she had carried with her in her backpack, and opened a third for herself. It seemed like an eternity to get their turn. And when they finally did, all that was available was a ten-year-old Yugo, at an astronomic rate. Christianna agreed to take it, since there was nothing else, and handed her credit card across the counter, which once again had no last name. The woman asked if she had cash. Christianna had brought some with her, but didn't want to give it up so early in the trip, and the woman finally agreed to accept the credit card, after offering them a better deal if they paid cash, which Christianna declined.

She signed the agreements, took the car keys, and asked for a map. Ten minutes later she and the two bodyguards, Samuel and Max, went out to the parking lot to find the car. It was tiny and looked battered. The two men barely fit into the car, as Christianna slipped easily into the backseat with her backpack, grateful that she was small. Samuel started the car, as Max opened the map. From what the woman at the car rental had said, they had a thirty-mile drive ahead, and would probably arrive at eleven o'clock that night. Samuel was driving, and once in the parking lot, they had taken their weapons out of the bag they'd checked, and put them on. Max loaded them for both of them, as they drove out of the parking lot, and Christianna watched. She had no qualms about guns, and had been around them all her life. Her bodyguards were useless to her without them. She had even been taught to fire weapons herself, and was an unusually good shot, better than her brother, who found weapons offensive, although he liked the social aspects of duck and grouse hunting and went often.

They were starving by the time they left the airport, and stopped for dinner halfway through the trip in a small restaurant by the roadside. Samuel spoke a few words of Russian, but mostly they pointed at what others were eating, and sat down to a simple, rugged meal. The other diners were mostly truck drivers, traveling at night, and the pretty young blonde and two powerful healthy-looking men were instantly noticeable among them. They would have been even more so if any of them had even imagined that she was a princess. But all she looked like was a pretty young girl, in jeans, the heavy workboots she'd had in Berkeley, a thick sweater, and a parka. She had her blond hair pulled back. The men were similarly dressed and had a military look about them. Others would have guessed easily that they were security of some kind, but no one questioned them here. After eating, they paid and drove on. They noticed a number of Daewoo minivans on the road that were used as shared taxis and were called “Marshrutkas,” Christianna learned later. They were a favorite form of transportation.

Unable to read the signs and confused by the map, they took several wrong turns and arrived at their destination at nearly midnight. They were quickly stopped by a roadblock manned by Russian soldiers in riot gear. They were wearing helmets, face masks, and carrying machine guns, as they questioned why Christianna and her guards were there. Christianna spoke up from the backseat and said in German that they were looking for the Red Cross representatives in order to work with them. The sentry hesitated, told them in halting German to wait, and consulted his superiors, who were conferring at a short distance. One of them talked to him, and then approached the car himself.

“You're Red Cross workers?” he asked, frowning at them, and looking at them intently with suspicion. He wasn't sure what they were, but they didn't look like terrorists to him. He had a sixth sense for that, which told him that the threesome in the Yugo were there for the reason they said.

“We're volunteers,” Christianna said distinctly, and he hesitated, continuing to look them over. Nothing he saw set off red flags for him.

“From where?” The last thing he wanted was tourists wandering into the mess they already had on their hands. Like the first man they had talked to, he looked tired. It was the second day of the siege, and a dozen more children had been killed that afternoon, and dumped in the schoolyard, which had demoralized everyone. Two others trying to escape had been shot. The entire situation was a copycat event of the similarly awful hostage crisis that had happened several years before in Beslan, in the same region of North Ossetia. This was nearly an exact duplicate, on a slightly smaller scale. But the death toll was rising daily, and it wasn't over yet.

“We're from Liechtenstein,” she said clearly. “I am. The two men are Swiss. We're all neutrals,” she reminded him, and he nodded again. She had no idea if it would make any difference or not, but she thought it couldn't hurt to remind him.

“Passports?” The guard in the driver's seat handed them to him, and he had the same reaction as the customs official to Christianna's. “Yours has no surname,” he told her, sounding annoyed, as though it were a mistake she had made in the passport office when she got it. But this time she didn't want to hand him the letter, she didn't want people in the area knowing that she was there, or making a fuss about it.

“I know. My country does that sometimes. For women,” she added, but he remained unconvinced, and began to look suspicious. He had to be, given what was going on. Reluctantly, she handed him the letter. He perused it carefully, stared at her, then at the two men, back at her, and then looked at her in astonished admiration. “A royal princess?” He seemed utterly amazed. “Here? To work with the Red Cross?”

“I hope we will. That's what we came to do,” she explained. The officer then shook hands with her driver, told them where to find the Red Cross enclave, handed them a pass, and waved them through. It was a most unusual occurrence, to give them access to a hostage scene, and Christianna had the feeling that if she hadn't been a princess, they wouldn't have let them in. The officer respected her, and the two men who had accompanied her to Russia. He even gave them the name of the person in charge. And before they drove on, Christianna asked him quietly not to explain to anyone who she was. She said it would mean a great deal to her if he didn't. He nodded, still looking impressed as they drove off. She hoped he'd be discreet. Having people know who she was would spoil everything for her, or certainly make it difficult. Anonymity in these circumstances was far easier for her. And if the press caught wind of her presence, they would pursue her everywhere, and she might even have to leave. That was the last thing she wanted. She wanted to be useful, not cause a journalistic feeding frenzy, fed by her.

As they approached the school, there were police cordons, military barricades, riot police, commando squads, and soldiers with machine guns everywhere. But having made it through the initial barricade, they were no longer checked as closely. Their passports, when asked for, were only glanced at and no longer thoroughly inspected. They looked at the makeshift passes, and nodded. Most of the civilians they saw were crying, either parents or relatives of children or teachers still inside. It was so exactly reminiscent of the earlier hostage situation in Beslan that it was hard to believe an almost identical event had occurred, in the same state. And finally, after searching thoroughly, and drifting past a fleet of ambulances, they found four large Red Cross trucks, with an army of workers around them, wearing the familiar red and white armbands to identify them in the crowd. Several of them were holding children. They were serving coffee, tending to frantic-looking parents, and standing quietly in the crowd.

As soon as she saw them, Christianna got out of the car, and Samuel, the bodyguard with the commando training, followed her closely, while Max went to park the car in a field that had been designated for families and press. The car had been tight for them to ride in, but at least it had gotten them there. Christianna asked for the name that the officer at the barricade had given them, and was directed to a cluster of chairs standing near one of the trucks. There was a woman with white hair sitting there, speaking to a group of women in Russian. She was reassuring them as best one could. There was very little one could see of what was happening inside, only the constant shifting and moving of soldiers, standing ready and alert. And all of the Russian women were crying. Christianna didn't want to interrupt and stood off to one side, waiting until the older woman finished talking to them. She knew it might be hours before the woman was free to check them out. Christianna stood patiently by until the woman in charge of the Red Cross team noticed her, glanced up, and met her eyes with a questioning look.

“Are you waiting for me?” the woman asked in Russian, sounding surprised.

“I am,” Christianna answered in German, hoping they would find a common language. Usually, in cases like that, it was English or French, and she was fluent in both. “I can wait.” She wasn't going anywhere and didn't want to interrupt. The senior Red Cross member excused herself, patted one woman's arm consolingly, and stepped aside to where Christianna stood.

“Yes?” It was obvious that Christianna was neither a local nor a parent. She looked too clean, not disheveled enough, her clothes were still neat, and she didn't have the worn-out look that everyone else had all around them. The strain of watching the scene unfold had taken a toll on them all. Even the soldiers had cried as they brought back the bodies of the children who had been shot.

“I would like to volunteer,” Christianna said quietly, looking calm, quiet, self-possessed, and competent in the way she addressed the older woman, who had no idea who she was.

“Do you have Red Cross identification?” the woman asked. They had settled on French. The woman in charge looked like she had been through the wars, and she had. She had helped to wrap the bodies of dead children, held sobbing parents in her arms for two days, tended wounds until the paramedics could get to them. She had done everything possible since arriving there within two hours of the attack, even served coffee to exhausted, crying soldiers.

“I'm not a Red Cross worker,” Christianna explained. “I flew here today from Liechtenstein with my two … friends …” She glanced at the two men beside her. If necessary, she would volunteer as a humanitarian emissary of her country, but she greatly preferred to do so as an anonymous individual, if they would allow her to help on that basis. She wasn't sure they would. The older woman hesitated, looking at Christianna carefully.

“May I see your passport?” she said quietly. There was something in the woman's eyes that gave Christianna the feeling the woman knew who she was. She opened the passport, glanced at the single Christian name, closed the passport again, and handed it back to her with a smile. She knew exactly who Christianna was. “I've worked with some of your British cousins in the African states.” She didn't mention which ones, as Christianna nodded. “Is anyone aware that you're here?” The young woman shook her head. “And I assume those are your guards?” She nodded again. “We can use the help,” she said quietly. “We lost twenty more children today. They just made another request for prisoner exchange, so we may be seeing some more casualties in a few hours.” She signaled for Christianna and the two men to come with her, stepped up into their truck, and came back with three faded arm bands. They were running out. She handed them to Christianna and her men, and they each put one on. “I'm grateful for your help, Your Highness. I assume you're here in an official capacity?” she inquired in a tired, gentle voice. There was something so kind and compassionate about this woman that just talking to her was like an embrace. Christianna was profoundly glad that she had come.

“No, I'm not,” Christianna answered. “And I'd rather no one know who I am. It gets too complicated. I would appreciate it if you would just call me Christianna.” The woman nodded and introduced herself as Marque. She was French, but spoke fluent Russian. Christianna spoke six languages, including the dialect spoken in Liechtenstein, but Russian wasn't among them.

“I understand,” Marque said quietly. “Someone may recognize you anyway. There's a lot of press here. You looked familiar to me the moment I saw you.”

“I hope no one else is as astute,” Christianna said with a rueful smile. “It ruins everything when that happens.”

“I know it must be very difficult.” She had seen press feeding frenzies like it before, and agreed with Christianna that if no one knew, it would be simpler for them all.

“Thank you for allowing us to work with you. What can we do to help? You must be exhausted,” she said sympathetically as the woman nodded.

“If you go to the second truck, we need someone to help make coffee. I think we're almost out. And we have a stack of boxes we need to move, with medical supplies in them, and bottles of water. Maybe your men could help us with that.”

“Of course.” She told Max and Samuel what was expected of them, and they quickly disappeared toward where the boxes were, as Christianna headed to the second truck, as directed by Marque. Her bodyguards were reluctant to let her go alone, but she insisted she would be fine. There was so much armed protection in the area that she was certainly not at risk, whether they were with her or not.

Marque thanked her again for her help, and then walked away to check on some of the women she had been talking to before Christianna arrived.

It was hours before Christianna saw her again, while she was handing out coffee, and later bottles of water. There were blankets for those who were cold. Some people were sleeping on the ground. Others sat rigid or sobbing, waiting for news of their loved ones inside.

As Marque had predicted, the terrorists' demand for prisoner exchange had a violent outcome within almost exactly three hours. Fifty children were shot and thrown from windows of the school by hooded men. The bodies of the dead children flew to the courtyard below like rag dolls, as people screamed, and finally the soldiers were able to retrieve them under heavy fire to cover them. Only one child was still alive when they brought her back, and she died in her mother's arms, as soldiers, locals, and volunteers alike stood by and sobbed. It was an atrocity beyond measure. And it wasn't over yet. By then nearly a hundred children had died, almost as many adults, and the terrorists were still in full control. A rabid Middle Eastern religious group had taken responsibility for the attack by then, with ties to Chechen rebels. It was a joint effort to have thirty terrorists released from prison, and the Russian government was standing its ground, much to the anger of the crowd. They preferred to have thirty terrorists released, and spare the lives of their children. There was a sense of despair and helplessness around them everywhere in the crowd, as Christianna stood with the other Red Cross workers and sobbed. What was happening was beyond imagining.

She had done very little since she arrived, other than hand out water or coffee, and then suddenly she saw a young Russian woman standing next to her crying inconsolably. She was pregnant, and holding a toddler by the hand. Her eyes met Christianna's then, and as though they were long-lost relatives, they fell into each other's arms and cried. Christianna never knew her name, and they shared no language in common other than the bottomless sorrow caused by watching children die. Christianna learned later that she had a six-year-old in the school, who had not as yet been seen or found. Her husband was a teacher there, and he had been one of the first fatalities of the previous night. She was praying that her son was still alive.

The two women stood side by side for several hours, alternately hugging and holding hands. Christianna brought some food for the two-year-old, and a chair for the pregnant woman to sit down, while she continued to cry. There were so many others like her that it was hard to distinguish them in the crowd.

It was after dawn when soldiers in commando uniforms told them to clear the area. The entire group of waiting people and workers had to move well back. No one knew what was happening, but the terrorists had just made what they said was their final demand. If that one was not met, they said they were going to blow up the entire school, which seemed entirely plausible by now. They were people without conscience or morality, with no value whatsoever for human life, apparently even their own.

“We need to get in the trucks,” Marque told her quietly as she passed by, rounding up her troops, and Christianna was now counted among them. “They haven't told us, but I think they're going to go in, they want everyone as far away as we can get.” She had been moving among the locals and telling them the same thing. People were walking and running across a field behind newly formed riot police lines. It made the parents' hearts ache to put even more distance between them and their children trapped inside. But the soldiers were pushing the crowd back now with force, as though they were running out of time.

Christianna picked the toddler up, put an arm around her young pregnant friend, and helped her into one of the trucks. She was no longer in any condition to walk, or tolerate what was happening. She looked as though she was going to give birth at any moment. Christianna was no longer aware of it, but her bodyguards were watching her from close by. They were well aware that the local troops were about to go in, and if something dire happened, they wanted her within their reach. Marque had noticed them as well, and understood why they were keeping Christianna in their sights. No one wanted a dead princess on their hands as well as more dead children. The death toll was already far too high. It would have been a further victory for the terrorists to kill a royal even from a neutral country. Her anonymity as well as her safety were vital. And Marque was impressed by how hard Christianna had worked all night. She had been tireless, with the zeal, passion, energy, and caring of youth. Marque suspected that, if she had time to get to know her, Christianna was a young woman she would have liked. She seemed very down to earth and real.

Everyone waiting moved far back across the field, and within half an hour there were explosives, machine-gun fire, tear gas, and bombs going off, as commando squads and riot police stormed the building. It was impossible to determine who was in control, as the crowd watching from the distance just stood there and cried. It was hard to believe that there would be anyone left alive after it was over, on either side.

Christianna left her young pregnant friend lying down on a cot in one of the trucks, as she continued to ask what had happened, but no one knew yet. It was too soon to tell, as the battle raged on. Christianna joined the other Red Cross workers handing out blankets coffee, water, and food in the crowd. They had put small children, shivering in the early morning chill, in two of the trucks. It was hours later before the gunfire stopped. It was almost more frightening when it did than when it started. No one knew exactly what that meant, or who was in charge. They could still see troops moving in the distance, and then from an upstairs window, a white flag. The crowd at the far edge of the field shivered in the cold, and continued to wait for news.

It was another two hours before a group of soldiers crossed the field to bring them back. Tragically, there were hundreds of children's bodies to identify, and the screams of anguish all around them seemed to ebb and flow for hours, as families identified and mourned their dead. All but two of the terrorists had committed suicide. The bombs in the school had not been detonated, and were being disarmed by bomb squads. The remaining two terrorists had been taken away in armored cars, before the anguished crowd could tear them apart. Military intelligence wanted to interrogate them. And in all, there were five hundred children dead, and almost all of the adults. It was a hideous tragedy that no one would soon forget. And now that it was over, suddenly there was press everywhere. The police were trying in vain to hold them back.

Along with the other Red Cross workers, Christianna walked with parents, among the lifeless children, while they identified them, then helped the parents wrap them and place them in small wooden coffins that had appeared from somewhere. A sob caught in her throat for the thousandth time as she spotted her pregnant friend, clutching her son to her as she cried. The boy was nearly naked, but alive and covered with blood from a cut on his head. Christianna walked over to her and hugged both mother and child. There was no stopping the tears, and Christianna took off her own jacket and put it around him, as the young woman smiled at her through her tears, and thanked her in Russian. Christianna hugged her again and helped her get the boy to a paramedic to check him. In spite of the obvious trauma, and the cut on his head, surprisingly, he was all right. The scene had not gone unnoticed by Marque, working alongside the other workers herself, helping people to identify bodies, and closing coffins. It was a devastating day and night, even for the soldiers, and those who had seen scenes like this before. There had been few in the recent history of terrorism that had been quite this bad. And for Christianna, it was an initiation by fire. As she stooped to help someone else, she noticed that she was covered with blood. Everyone seemed to be covered with it from the children they had held, both dead and alive.

Throughout the afternoon and night, many more ambulances arrived, hearses, trucks, vehicles, and people came from neighboring towns and far away. It felt as though all of Russia had come to be with these people, help them bury their dead, and mourn. By late that night, they seemed to have a clear idea of who had been killed, and who had been saved. Almost all the missing children were accounted for, although a few had been rushed to hospitals while no one knew their names. It was midnight when Christianna and her two bodyguards helped Marque and the others load their trucks. The volunteers' work was done, the rest would be handled by the professional members of the Red Cross, who would help locate the children who had gone to hospitals in other locations. Christianna stayed till the bitter end. She stood outside the last truck, hugged Marque, and burst into tears of grief and exhaustion. They had all seen too much in the past few days. Christianna had only been there since the night before, and knew without question that her life had been forever changed. Everything she had seen or done or experienced before this seemed irrelevant to her now.

Marque knew better than anyone that that was how it worked. Her own two children had been killed in an uprising in Africa while she and her children were living there, and had stayed too long in a time of political unrest. It had cost her children's lives, something for which she had spent a lifetime trying to forgive herself, and eventually it had also cost her marriage. She had stayed in Africa after that, and started a Red Cross chapter to help the locals. She still went back often, had worked in the Middle East, during various wars and conflicts, and in Central America. She went wherever she was needed. She no longer had a country. She was a citizen of the world, her nationality was the Red Cross, her mission helping all those who needed her, in whatever situation, no matter how uncomfortable, debilitating, or dangerous. Marque feared nothing and loved all. And she stood with her arms around Christianna now, while the young woman cried like a child. They had all been through too much.

“I know,” Marque said gently, indifferent to her own exhaustion, as always. This was her life's blood, and she gladly shared it with others who needed it more than she did. She wasn't afraid of dying in the course of her work. This was her family now, and all that she loved. “I know how hard it is the first time. You did a wonderful job,” she praised her, as Christianna stayed buried in her arms. She was hardly bigger than a child. Her bodyguards had also cried many times that night and were no longer ashamed of it. It would have been stranger if they hadn't. Christianna loved them for it. Just as Marque had come to love her for all she'd done. It was a long time before Christianna wiped her eyes and emerged from the older woman's arms. She hadn't had a mother's embrace for most of her lifetime, and this felt the way she imagined it would have. Someone holding you until you felt ready to face life again. Christianna wasn't sure she was yet. She would never forget the tragedies she'd seen that night, or the pure rejoicing of parents who found their children alive and were reunited. She had cried just as hard at that. It had all been heart-wrenching beyond anything she could have imagined. She had expected to work hard, but not to have her heart torn from her body and ripped apart.

“If you ever want to come to work for us,” Marque said quietly, and meant it, “call me. I think you have a gift,” she said honestly. She had discovered her own after her children had died, and she had made the children of Africa her family. In her years of service, she had loved and comforted children all over the world. She had turned her own devastating loss into a blessing for others.

“I wish I could,” Christianna said, still looking shaken. She knew too well that working for them wasn't even a remote possibility. Her father would never allow it.

“Maybe you could for a short time. Think about it. I'm easy to find. Call the International Red Cross office in Geneva—they always know where to find me. I don't stay anywhere for long. If you want to, we'll talk.”

“I'd love that,” Christianna said sincerely, wishing she could convince her father, and knowing at the same time that there was absolutely no chance she ever would. He would have gone insane at the thought. But this was so much more meaningful than anything she could do at home, or even through the foundation. For the first time in her life, she had felt alive and useful that night, as though her existence were not an accident but had a purpose. And she knew that even if they never met again, for the rest of her life she would remember Marque. There were people all over the world who felt that way about her.

The two women embraced again, and as the Red Cross trucks began to leave at dawn, she, Max, and Samuel went back to where they had left the car. It had several bullet holes in it, and the windshield had vanished, smashed into tiny pieces on the floor of the car. The two men cleared it out as best they could. It was going to be a chilly ride back to the airport. They left not long after the Red Cross as the sun streaked across the sky. There were still soldiers and police in the area. All the bodies had been removed. The ambulances were gone. And the children who had died there would never be forgotten.

It was a long silent ride back to Vladikavkaz. Neither Christianna nor her bodyguards said more than a few words to each other. They were too exhausted, and too shaken by what they'd seen. Max drove this time, while Samuel slept in the front seat, and Christianna stared out the window. They had been there for one day and two nights, which seemed like an eternity. Christianna stayed awake for the whole trip, thinking about the young pregnant girl, a widow now, with three children. She thought of Marque and the gentleness of her face, her limitless kindness and compassion. She reflected also on what she had said at the end, and wished that there were some way to convince her father to allow her to do this kind of work. She had no desire whatsoever to get a “license,” a master's degree, at the Sorbonne. It meant nothing to her. But most of all, she thought of the faces she had seen that night, the people who had died, the faces of those who had survived as they wandered shell-shocked among their families and parents …the gifts, the losses, the tragedies, the terrors, the terrible people who had done this to them, and their complete lack of conscience. She was still silent and wide awake when they reached the airport. They returned the car and assured the rental company that they would be responsible for the damage. Christianna said to put it on the credit card she had given them initially. She saw people staring at her as they walked through the airport and had no idea why, until one of her bodyguards put his own jacket around her shoulders.

“It's all right, I'm not cold,” she assured him, and handed it back to him, as he looked at her sadly.

“You're covered with blood, Your Highness,” he said quietly, and as she looked down at the sweater she had worn, she saw that she was. The blood of hundreds of children, and nearly as many adults, as many of them as she had touched. She glanced in a mirror and saw that it was in her hair as well. She hadn't combed her hair in two days, and she no longer cared, about anything except the people she had seen in Digora. Now they were all that mattered.

She went to the ladies' room and tried to make herself look respectable, which was relatively hopeless. Her shoes were covered with mud from the fields she had stood in. Her jeans and sweater were caked with blood. It was in her hair, under her nails, she could still smell it. It had seeped into her soul. She showed her passport as they left, and this time no one commented. On the way out, it didn't seem to matter as much. And late that night they were home.

The bodyguards had called ahead, and her car and driver met them at the airport. They had asked the driver to cover the seats with towels, which mystified him until he saw her. At first he didn't realize it was blood. He looked shocked when he did, and said nothing. They rode to the palace in Vaduz in silence. As the gates opened, they entered, and she looked at the place where she lived, had been born, and would probably die one day, hopefully when she was old. But all she knew now to her core and soul was that nothing there had changed in the past three days, but she had returned a different person. The girl who had left Vaduz three days before no longer existed. The one who had come home after the siege of Digora was forever changed.

Chapter 5

Christianna did not see her father the night she got home. He was in Vienna for a diplomatic dinner at the French embassy, and had stayed at Palace Liechtenstein, just as he had when he went to the ballet with her. He knew before he left for Vienna that she was safe. Their cell phones hadn't worked while they were in Russia, but her bodyguards had called him from the airport to reassure him. Until then, he had been wild with worry. And he came to find her the moment he got home. It was twenty-four hours after she had returned from Russia. She looked immaculate in jeans, loafers, and a Berkeley sweatshirt. Her hair was freshly washed and brushed. There was no sign of what she'd been through, or how harrowing it had been, until he looked into her eyes. What he saw there terrified him. She didn't look dead, but more alive than he had ever seen her, wiser, older, sadder, deeper. Just as she had known herself when she came home, after all she'd seen during those three days, she was no longer the same person. Looking at her, he was frightened. He knew everything had changed since he had last seen her.

“Hello, Papa,” she said quietly as he put his arms around her and kissed her. “I'm so happy to see you.” She seemed more adult than she ever had been, more of a woman. He wanted to hold her in his arms and keep her, and suddenly he knew he couldn't. The child he had known and nurtured was suddenly gone, and in her place was a woman who had learned and seen things that no one should ever have to know.

“I missed you,” he said sadly. “I was so worried about you. I watched the news constantly, but I never saw you. Was it as awful as it looked?” he asked, sitting down next to her and taking her hand in his. He wished she hadn't gone, but there had been no stopping her. He knew he couldn't. And he knew the same now.

“It was worse. There was a lot the press wasn't allowed to show, out of respect for the families.” Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as his heart ached for what she'd been through. He would have done anything to protect her from it. “They killed so many children, Papa. Hundreds of them, as though they were just sheep or cattle or goats.”

“I know. I saw some of it on television. The families' faces were so terrible. I kept thinking of how I would feel if I lost you. I couldn't bear it. I don't know how those people will survive, and go on. It must be so hard.” She thought of her young pregnant friend then, the one she had never been able to talk to, but they had just held each other and cried … and Marque … all of them who had crossed her path in those few days. “I was relieved that the press never got you. Did they ever find out that you were there?” He assumed they hadn't or he would have heard about it, and she shook her head.

“No, they didn't, and the woman in charge of the Red Cross was very discreet. She knew it the moment she saw my passport. She said some of our cousins have worked with her before.”

“I'm glad she didn't say anything. I was afraid someone would.” If so, it would have been the least of her problems, although she wouldn't have liked it either, and was glad that she had been able to do her work undiscovered and undisturbed. It would have been such an intrusion to have photographers in her face, and offended all the grieving people. She had been lucky to remain anonymous throughout the trip.

She looked at her father long and hard then, and he sensed that something was coming that he wouldn't like. She tightened her grip on his hand and looked into his eyes. Hers were two bottomless pools of bright blue sky, very much like his, except that his were old and hers were young. And in hers he saw twin pools of hope and pain. She had seen too much for a girl her age in those three days. He knew it would take her a long time to forget all that she'd seen.

“I want to go back, Papa,” she said softly, and he looked startled, shocked, pained. “Not to Russia, but to work with the Red Cross again. I want to make a difference, and I can't do that here. I know I can't do it forever, but I want a year, six months … after that I'll do whatever you want. But for once in my life I want to do something that makes a difference, a big one, to someone else. Papa, please.…” Her eyes were filled with tears as he shook his head and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“You can do that with your mother's foundation, Cricky. You've had a shocking experience. I know what that's like.” He had gone to disaster scenes before, and seen the agony of people's grief. But he could not do as she asked. “There are many things you can do here. Work with handicapped children, if you like, or the poor in Vienna. Volunteer at a hospital for burn victims. You can soothe many sorrows, and console many aching hearts. But if what you're asking me is to go to dangerous countries, in high-risk situations, where you yourself are at risk, I just can't allow you to do that. I would worry about you too much. You're too important to me, I love you too much. And I owe your mother a responsibility here, too. She would have expected me to keep you out of harm's way.”

“I don't want to do those things here,” she said petulantly, sounding like a child again, but she felt like one with him. This was an argument she didn't want to lose, nor did he. “I want to go out in the world for once in my life, be like everyone else, work hard, and pay my dues, before I settle into this comfortable life forever, like Victoria, trying to decide which tiara to wear, and which dress, cutting ribbons at hospitals or visiting orphans and old people for the rest of my life.” He knew how much that life chafed, and he didn't disagree. But particularly as a woman, she couldn't go running around the world, risking her life in war zones, or digging ditches for the poor, to atone for the sins of being royal and rich. He knew better than anyone that she had to make her peace now with who she was.

“You've just come back from four years in the States. You had a great deal of freedom there”—in fact, more than he knew—“but now you have to accept who you are and all that goes with it. It's time for you to come home, not time to run away. You can't run away from this, Christianna. I know. I tried myself when I was young. In the end, this is who we are, and all that comes with it is what we must do.” It sounded like a death sentence to her as tears rolled down her cheeks, grieving the freedom she would never know or taste, the things she would never do. For this one year of her life, she wanted to be just like everyone else. Her father was saying that it was impossible for her. This was the one gift she wanted from him now, before it was too late. If she was ever going to do it, this was the time.

“Then why is Freddy still running around the world, doing whatever he wants?”

“For one thing”—her father smiled at her—“your brother is immature,” as they both knew, and then her father's face grew serious again. He knew this was an important subject to her. “For another, he's not in dangerous areas, or at least not technically or geographically, or due to circumstances like the ones you just experienced in Russia. Your brother creates his dangers himself, and they are far more harmless than anything you would encounter working for the Red Cross. You would spend a year, or however long, doing things like what you just went through. Nothing untoward happened this time, thank God, and you came to no harm. But you could have. If they had in fact blown up the school, without announcing it first, you could have gotten hurt, or worse.” He shuddered thinking of it. “Christianna, I am not sending you out into the world to be killed, or mauled, or exposed to tropical diseases or natural disasters, political unrest, or violence of any kind. I simply won't do it.” He was adamant about it, as she had known he would be, but she wasn't ready to give up yet. It meant too much to her now. And she knew that even if she went to work at her late mother's foundation, he would not allow her to travel to rigorous areas with them, even for visits. All he wanted was to protect her, but that was exactly what she was so tired of and didn't want.

“Will you at least think about it?” she begged him.

“No, I won't,” he said, and then stood up. “I'll do anything I can and everything you want to make your life better and more interesting here. But forget the Red Cross, Christianna, or anything like it.” He looked at her sternly, bent to kiss her, and before she could say more, he strode out of the room. The discussion was over. And for hours afterward she sat alternately depressed and angry, fuming in her room. Why was he so unreasonable? And why did she have to be a princess? She hated being royal. She didn't even answer her e-mails from the States that night, which she usually loved to do. She had too much else on her mind, and had seen too much.

She avoided her father entirely for the next two days. She rode her horse, and went running with her dog. She cut ribbons at an orphanage and another home for the elderly. She read on tape for the blind, and spent time at the foundation, and hated all of it. She wanted to be anyone other than who she was, and anywhere other than at home in Vaduz. She didn't even want to go to Paris. Above all, she hated her life, her ancestors, the palace, her father when she dared. She didn't want to be a princess anymore. It felt like a curse to her, and surely not a blessing, as she had been told all her life. She called Victoria in London to complain to her, and she told her to come back. But what was the point of that? She'd just have to come back to Vaduz again, and everything waiting for her there. Her German cousins invited her to come and stay, but she didn't want to go there either. And she refused to join her father for a trip to Madrid, to visit the king of Spain. She hated them all.

She had been raging for two weeks, in a deep gloom, when her father came to her. She had been avoiding him assiduously for days. He was well aware of her misery, and looked bitterly unhappy himself, as he sat down in a chair in her bedroom. In deference to him, she turned the music down. She had been using it to drown out everything that was in her head, and her sorrows. Even Charles looked bored, as he looked up at her, wagged his tail, and didn't bother to get up.

“I want to talk to you,” her father said quietly.

“About what?” she asked, still sounding petulant and surly.

“About your insane idea of signing up with the Red Cross. I want you to know I think it's an extremely bad idea, and if your mother were alive, she wouldn't even have considered talking to you about it. In fact, she'd have killed me for talking to you at all on this subject.” Christianna frowned as she listened to him. She was tired of his trying to convince her of what a bad idea it was. She had already heard it, several times too often, which was why at the moment she wasn't speaking to him at all.

“I know how you feel about it, Papa,” she said somberly. “You don't have to tell me again. I've heard it.”

“Yes, you have, and so have I. So you can listen to me one more time.” He almost smiled to himself, thinking that he might rule a country and thirty-three thousand subjects, but he was having a much harder time reigning over one daughter. He sighed, and then went on. “I spoke to the director of the Red Cross in Geneva this week. We had a long talk. In fact, at my request, he came here to see me.”

“You're not going to buy me off by having me volunteer in an office,” she said angrily, glaring at him, as he fought not to lose his temper, and succeeded. “And I'm not going to give a ball for them, here or in Vienna. I hate things like that. I find them disgustingly boring.” She crossed her arms across her chest as a signal of her refusal.

“So do I, but they're part of my job. And one day they may be part of yours, depending on who you marry. I don't enjoy all that either, but it's expected of us, and you can't simply decide that you don't want to be who you are. Others have done that before you, and made a mess of their lives. Christianna, you have no choice but to accept your fate here. We're very fortunate in many ways.” His voice mellowed a little as he looked at her. “Besides, we have each other, and I love you very much. And I don't want you to be unhappy.”

“I am unhappy,” she stressed again. “I lead a thoroughly useless, stupid, spoiled, indulgent life. And the only time I've ever done anything meaningful or worthwhile was two weeks ago in Russia.”

“I know that. And I know you feel that way. I understand. A lot of what everyone does, in any job, is meaningless and superficial. It's very rare to have an experience like the one you just had, where you are truly helping people in their direst moments. You also can't make a life of that.”

“The woman who ran the Red Cross operation in Russia does just that. Her name is Marque, and she's an amazing woman.”

“I know all about her,” her father said calmly. He had spent many hours with the head of the Red Cross who had come to see him from Geneva, and ultimately the prince had been satisfied with their conversation, although with grave reservations. “Cricky, I want you to listen to me. I don't want you to be miserable, or even unhappy. You absolutely must accept who you are, and understand to your very soul that you can't escape it. It is your fate, your destiny, and your obligation. And also a great blessing in many ways, although you don't see that yet. And part of that is that you must be a blessing to others, as you are, where you are, and not just try to deny it. You are a blessing to me as well, and one day, you will be to your brother. You know a lot more about this country than he does. And you will help him run it, even if from behind the scenes. In fact, I'm counting on you to do that. He will be reigning prince, but you will be his mentor and adviser. He can't run this country without you to guide him.” It was the very first time he had ever suggested that to her, and she was shocked. “How you deal with your responsibilities, your life, what you do about it, how miserable you make yourself ultimately is up to you. I want you to spend some time thinking about it. You cannot now, or later, or ever, escape who you are. I expect a great deal of you, Christianna. I need you. You are a Serene Highness. It is part of you, both your heritage and your job. Do you understand me?” He had never before made himself as clear in her entire life, and it frightened her and made her want to run away.

She wanted to avoid what he was saying but didn't dare, he was her father after all, whether a reigning prince or not. And she hated hearing what he said, because it was so painfully true, and she loathed being reminded of it. It was a burden she could not lighten, remove, or take off. Ever. And now he wanted to add Freddy's duties to her own. “I understand you, Father,” she said grimly. She only called him Father and not Papa when she was very angry. Just as he used her title, although rarely, when he was furious at her, which was rarer still.

“Good. Then if you understand me, we can go on,” he said, undaunted. “Because ultimately, you have no choice here. I will only discuss this with you if you truly accept who you are, and resign yourself to what you eventually must do. If you can't do it now, then I will give you some time to adjust to the idea, but sooner or later, you must come home to your responsibilities in Vaduz. To your own duties and obligations, and to help and guide your brother with his.” It was an awesome burden for her to hear what he expected of her, and would one day. It was worse than she had feared.

“I don't want to go to Paris,” she said, looking stubborn.

“I wasn't going to suggest Paris. And I don't like what I am going to suggest. But the Red Cross director himself has agreed to take full responsibility for you. He assured me, in fact he swore to me, that if I entrust you to him, you will come to no harm, and I intend to hold him to it. If even the slightest incident occurs, or any political situation becomes unpleasant, then you are coming home on the next flight without further discussion. But until then, I am agreeing to allow you to join one of their projects for the next six months. At most a year, if it goes smoothly. But after that, no matter what, you come home. And for now, I am only committing to six months. We'll see what happens after that. They have a project in Africa that they think might appeal to you. It was started by your friend Marque. It's primarily a center for women and children with AIDS, and it's one of the few peaceful parts of Africa at the moment. If that changes at any time, it's over and you come home. Is that clear?” There were tears in his eyes when he finished speaking to her, and she stared at him in amazement. She had never in a million years expected him to change his mind about what she wanted to do.

“Are you serious? Do you mean it?” She got up and threw her arms around his neck, unable to believe it. There were tears in her eyes too as she hugged him and kissed him. She was ecstatic. “Oh, Papa!” she said, moved beyond words, as he hugged her tightly.

“I'm probably completely insane to let you do this. I must be getting senile,” he said in a shaken voice. He had thought long and hard about it, and had remembered how anguished he had been himself at her age, wanting to do something more meaningful with his life. It had been an agonizing few years for him, and as crown prince he had been utterly unable to free himself from his duties, and had to live with his frustration. And then he had met her mother and married her and everything had changed. His father had died soon after, and he had become reigning prince. He had never had time to look back at those early unhappy days again, but he remembered them well when he jogged his memory, which was what had finally convinced him. And Christianna would never have the burden or responsibility of reigning. That lot would fall to her brother, and never to her, since women could not reign in Liechtenstein. All of that had finally led to his decision, although he had done so with enormous trepidation, and only because he loved her so much, which Christianna always knew, even when she was angry at him. She wasn't angry at him now. She had never in her life been as grateful or as happy.

“Oh, Papa,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “When can I go?”

“I want you here for the holidays. I'm not going to be here without you, selfish as it sounds. And it is. I told the director you can go in January, or later if you prefer, but not before. They need time to get ready for you anyway. They're setting up some new programs there, and they don't want any new volunteers until at least then.” She nodded. She could live with that. It was less than four months away. She could hardly wait.

“I promise, I'll do everything you want me to, until I leave.”

“You'd better,” he said with a rueful grin at the daughter he loved so much, “or I might change my mind.”

“Please don't!” she said, looking like a child again. “I promise I'll behave.”

The only thing she regretted about it was that she would be leaving before her brother returned. But she would see him when she got back, or perhaps he'd come to visit, since he had very little to do in Vaduz, and loved to travel. He had been to Africa himself several times. She could hardly wait for her adventure to begin. She had never been so happy in her life. And afterward, when she had to come home, she would have to make her peace with it. As her father said, it was her destiny, and her lot in life. And maybe then, she'd go to work for the foundation, and one day run it, since her brother had no interest in it, and when he succeeded their father, he would no longer have time. The thought of guiding him still frightened her. It was something she'd have to face eventually, she knew. But first she had her time in Africa to think about. She could think of nothing else.

“You have to do several weeks of training in Geneva before you leave. I'll give you the director's number, and you can have your secretary set it up with him. Or perhaps they can send someone to train you here.” She didn't want special favors from them, she wanted more than anything to be the same as everyone else. If only for this one precious year. It was her last chance.

“I'll go to Geneva,” she said quietly, without telling him why.

“Well then,” he said, standing up. “You have much to think about and much to celebrate.” He paused in the doorway and looked back at her, and for just a moment he looked like an old man. “I'll miss you terribly while you're gone.” And worry about her constantly, but he didn't tell her that. He looked tired and sad as he stood at the door.

“I love you, Papa … thank you … with all my heart,” she said, and he knew it was heartfelt. He knew he had done the right thing for her, no matter how hard it was for him. And he would send people to protect and safeguard her, there would be no argument with that.

“I love you too, Cricky,” he said softly, nodded, smiled at her, and left the room with tears in his eyes.

Chapter 6

Once her father had agreed to let her work for the Red Cross, Christianna threw herself into her duties in Vaduz with renewed energy, cutting ribbons, visiting the sick and elderly, reading to orphans, and attending diplomatic and state events with her father, without a single word of complaint. He was touched by the efforts she made, and hopeful that she would be ready to adjust to the duties of her royal life with more equanimity when she got home. She could hardly wait to leave for Africa in January, and had had a note from Marque, who had heard via the grapevine that Christianna would be going to Africa. She thanked her again for her efforts when they had met, and wished her well on her new adventure. She was excited for her. She said it would be an experience she would never forget. Marque still went to Africa herself at every opportunity, and said she might come to visit while Christianna was there.

Neither Christianna nor her father was prepared for Freddy's reaction when Christianna sent her brother an e-mail, telling him her plans. He was incensed, and violently opposed to the idea. He called their father, and did everything he could to convince him to change his mind. But much to Christianna's relief, her father held firm. After arguing with his father about it unsuccessfully, Freddy decided to call her himself.

“Are you out of your mind?” he said angrily. “What are you thinking, Cricky? Africa is dangerous, you have no idea what you're doing. You'll get killed by natives in some local uprising, or you'll get sick. I've been there, it's not a place for you. Father must be insane.” She was relieved that Freddy hadn't been able to make him renege, although he had certainly tried.

“Don't be silly,” she said blithely, although his fury unnerved her a little. “You spent a month there last year, and you had a wonderful time.”

“I'm a man,” he said stubbornly, as she rolled her eyes. She hated it when he said things like that.

“Don't be stupid. What difference does that make?”

“I'm not afraid of lions and snakes,” he said, sounding cocky. He felt sure she would be terrified of both.

“Neither am I,” she said bravely, although she definitely wasn't enthused about snakes.

“Like hell you're not. You nearly had a heart attack when I put a snake in your bed,” he reminded her, and she laughed.

“I was nine.”

“You're hardly older than that now. You should be at home where you belong.”

“Doing what? I have nothing to do here, and you know it.”

“You can go to dinner parties with Father, or find a husband. Do whatever princesses are supposed to do.” She was still trying to figure that out herself. “I hear Victoria just got engaged again, by the way. The crown prince of Denmark? That won't last.” Christianna didn't argue with him, they both knew her too well. In fact, Christianna had just heard from one of her German cousins that Victoria was getting bored with him, although everyone said he was a very nice man. Christianna couldn't actually imagine her marrying anyone, at least not for a long time. “Stupid girl,” Freddy muttered. “She's obsessed with getting married. I don't see how any man could stand being married to her, although I have to admit, she's a lot of fun.”

“What about you?” Christianna asked plaintively. “When are you coming home? Aren't you bored yet?”

“No,” he said, sounding mischievous, “I'm having way too much fun.”

“Well, it's not fun around here without you. I'm bored to death.”

“That's no excuse for you to go running off to Africa, and trying to get yourself killed.” He actually sounded worried about her. Although he teased her constantly, and had tormented her as a child, he adored her, and had been sorry to hear she'd be gone by the time he got home. He was seriously thinking of going to visit her, if she actually persisted in what he considered her totally mad plan.

“I'm not going to get killed,” she reassured him. “I'm not joining the army. I'll be working for the Red Cross in a facility for women and children.”

“I still think you should stay home. How's Father?” he asked casually. He was feeling mildly guilty for having been gone so long, but not guilty enough yet to come home.

“He's fine. Working too hard as always. Why don't you try and come home for Christmas before I leave?”

“I have too much to see in China. Hong Kong, Beijing, Singapore, Shanghai, and I want to stop in Burma to see friends on the way back.”

“We're going to be sad here without you, we already are.”

“No, you won't,” he said, laughing. “You'll be too busy having fun in Gstaad.” They always went there for Christmas and New Year, but even that was going to be less fun this year without him. She loved skiing with him, although Christianna and her father saw friends and relatives there every year. It was a very pleasant part of their life. And she'd be leaving shortly after that.

“I really miss you, you know,” she said, feeling nostalgic for a minute. It was nice talking to him, even if he did disapprove of her plans. He was very protective of her, and had been ever since he had grown up. It was still hard for her to imagine, though, that he would be reigning prince one day. She didn't like to think about it, since more than likely that would happen only when her father was no longer around, hopefully not for a very long time. And in the meantime, all Freddy did was play. He had no desire to spend time in tiny Vaduz either. He was even more bored than Christianna whenever he was there, and he did far fewer official duties than she did. He had never been interested in mundane things like that. He happily shirked his responsibilities and escaped, every chance he got.

“I miss you, too,” Freddy said gently. “And what did I hear about your going to Russia? Father said something to me about it, but I didn't quite get it. What were you doing there?” She told him about the terrorist attack on the school in Digora, the hostages they'd taken, the horrifying death toll, the shocking things she had seen while she was there. He sounded shocked, and understood better what had led her to volunteer for the Red Cross. “What's happening to you, Cricky? You're not going to go and become a nun or something like that, are you?” He couldn't even begin to imagine her flying off to Russia and spending three days in a hostage crisis, working for the Red Cross. He had seen the attack on the news, but it would never have occurred to him in a million years to jump on a plane, and go to the scene to help out. It would have been the furthest thing from his mind. And although she loved him madly, Christianna also knew that he was an extremely spoiled, self-indulgent man.

“No, I'm not going to become a nun,” she laughed.

“Any bad boys I need to chase off when I get home?”

“Not a one,” she said, smiling. She hadn't had a date since she had left Berkeley in June. She had been away for four years and had lost touch with the few friends she had at home. Hers had always been an isolated life. “You're the only truly bad boy I know.”

“Yes,” he said proudly, “I suppose I am, aren't I?” Her calling him that always amused him. He had no desire to be anything other than that, and maybe wouldn't for a long time. At least for the moment, in Tokyo, he was staying out of the press. He hadn't been involved in a scandal, or a hot romance, for at least two months. “And don't think you've gotten away with your African caper,” he suddenly remembered, and scolded her again. “You're not going to get me off that subject as quickly as that. I have every intention of calling Father again!”

“Don't you dare!”

“I'm serious. I think it's a perfectly awful plan.”

“Well, I don't. I'm not going to just sit here cutting ribbons, while you have all the fun, running around the world. How many geisha girls are you bringing home?” she teased him back.

“None. And besides, I haven't been to China yet. I hear the girls are absolutely beautiful in Shanghai. And I just got invited to Vietnam.”

“You're hopeless, Freddy,” she said, sounding more like a big sister than a younger one. Sometimes she felt that way. He was so lovable and irresistible, while being completely irresponsible at the same time. She wondered if he'd ever get married. She truly couldn't imagine it, and in recent years, he had become one of the most notorious playboys in Europe, a fact that did not please their father. He expected Freddy to marry someone worthy of him one of these days, and stop chasing models and starlets. The only princess he'd ever been involved with had been married. He was a total reprobate. The husband of the princess he'd been involved with had called him a scoundrel in the press, to which Freddy had responded that he was flattered that the man thought so highly of him. In some ways, Christianna knew, it was better that he was not at home. As long as he continued to behave that way, all it did was upset their father. At least in Tokyo, whatever mischief he was up to was not under everyone's nose. “Think about coming home for Christmas,” she reminded him before they hung up.

“You think about coming to your senses and staying home. Forget Africa, Cricky. You'll hate it. Just remember all the snakes and bugs.”

“Thank you for the encouragement. And you think about coming back before I leave. Otherwise I won't see you for at least eight months.”

“Maybe you ought to think about becoming a nun” was his parting shot. She told him to behave himself, blew him a kiss, and hung up. She worried about him at times. He was so totally uninterested in the job that their father did so well, and that he would inherit one day. She just hoped he would manage to grow up sometime before he did. Their father cherished the same hope but grew more worried about it each year.

Christianna mentioned that evening that she had spoken to him, and her father sighed and shook his head.

“I worry about what will happen to the country when he takes over the reins.” Although a tiny country, Liechtenstein had a booming economy, which had not happened by accident. Christianna knew far more about their policies and economy than her brother did. Her father thought at times that it was a shame that their ages, sexes, and personalities were not reversed. He would have hated to have a profligate daughter, which she wasn't, but he hated just as much the thought of having an irresponsible playboy as reigning prince. It was a problem he had yet to solve. But so far, time was on their side, and fortunately, although he had just turned sixty-seven, Prince Hans Josef was in good health. Presumably, Freddy would not be reigning soon.

The next two months flew by as Christianna attended to her duties with renewed zeal. She wanted to do everything as perfectly as possible, before she left for Africa, if nothing else than to show her father how grateful she was for letting her go. She spent two weeks in Geneva, for her Red Cross training. She already had a certificate in advanced first aid. Most of her briefings were about the country where she would be living, the local tribes, their habits, the potential dangers of the current political situation, the things she had to look out for, the faux pas she had to be careful not to make, so as not to offend the locals. She got an intense crash course about AIDS, since the facility where she would be working was specifically for that purpose. And then there were several warnings about insects to be aware of, diseases she had to be vaccinated against, and how to identify a wide variety of poisonous snakes. It was only during that part of her training that she wondered, though only for a fraction of an instant, if Freddy was right. She hated snakes. They told her what kind of equipment she needed, what her responsibilities would be, and what kind of clothes to bring. Her head was swimming with all the information by the time she got back to Vaduz. The palace doctor had already begun giving her the necessary vaccinations. In all, she would have to have nine, several of which she had been told might make her sick. She was having vaccinations for hepatitis A and B, typhoid, yellow fever, meningitis, rabies, and boosters for tetanus, measles, and polio. And she had to take antimalarial drugs while she was away, as well as before and after. It all seemed worth it to her. The only thing that still worried her a bit was the snakes. She had already ordered two pairs of stout boots, and had been told to shake them out when she got out of bed, before putting them on, in case something unpleasant had crawled into them during the night—not an appealing thought. But everything else they had told her sounded fine, particularly the work. She was going to be helping the professional medical and other workers, as a kind of general assistant during the time she was there. As a result, her job was a little hard to define, and she would learn more about it once she was there. She was ready, able, and willing to do any task she was assigned. In fact, she could hardly wait.

Two weeks before Christmas, right after her training in Geneva, she and her father went to Paris for a wedding. One of her Bourbon cousins, on her mother's side, was getting married. A princess was marrying a duke. The wedding itself was spectacular, at Notre Dame, and the reception was in a beautiful hôtel particulier on the rue de Varennes. The flowers were exquisite, every possible detail had been thought of. The bride wore a magnificent lace gown by Chanel Haute Couture with a cloud of veil that covered her face. There were four hundred people at the wedding, which was attended by royals from all over Europe, and the cream of le tout Paris, the most fashionable people in Parisian society. The wedding was at eight o'clock at night, and the groom and all the male guests wore white tie. The women wore spectacular evening gowns. Christianna wore a deep-blue velvet dress trimmed in sable, with her mother's sapphires. She saw Victoria there, who had just broken her engagement to the Danish prince. She was wilder than ever, and single yet again, she claimed much to her relief.

“When's your naughty brother coming home?” she asked Christianna, with a wild look of mischief in her eye.

“Never, at this rate,” Christianna answered. “He says not till spring.”

“Damn. What a shame. I was going to invite him to come to Tahiti with me over New Year's.” She said it in such a way that Christianna suddenly wondered if Victoria was zeroing in on him for a fling.

“Maybe he'll meet you there,” Christianna said, glancing around. It was one of the prettiest weddings she'd ever seen.

The bride had been attended by a flock of little children, carrying satin baskets filled with flower petals, as was the custom in France. “I think he's already in China,” she said vaguely. She had just spotted a friend across the room, whom she hadn't seen in years. Her father left at two in the morning, while the party was still in full swing. Along with most of the young people, Christianna stayed till nearly five A.M. The bride and groom were still there at that hour as well, dancing up a storm. The car was waiting for Christianna outside, with her bodyguards, and she got back to the Ritz, where she and her father were staying, at nearly six A.M. It had been a fabulous event, and she hadn't had as much fun in years.

Christianna couldn't help thinking, as she took off her sapphires and evening gown and laid them on a chair, that the life she led in Europe was about as far as one could get from the life she was about to lead in Africa while working for the Red Cross. But as much fun as this was from time to time, the life she would be embarking on was exactly the one she wanted. Still thinking about it, she slipped into her bed with a smile.

She and her father spent the rest of the weekend in Paris. He reminded her somewhat wistfully, while walking through the Place Vendôme on the way back to the hotel, that it wasn't too late to change her mind about working for the Red Cross. She could still change her plans and go to the Sorbonne. As soon as he said it, she looked up at him and smiled.

“Papa, I won't be away for that long.” Although she was hoping to stretch the six months to a year, if he allowed it.

“I'm going to miss you so much,” he said sadly.

“So will I. But it's going to be so exciting. And when could I ever do this again?” Now was the time, while she was still young. Later, when she took on more of her responsibilities, it would be even less likely that she could get away, and they both knew it. He had promised her, so he wouldn't go back on his word. But he hated to see her leave.

Her father encouraged her to stay in Paris for an extra day after that, or more if she wanted. But knowing she was leaving for Africa soon made her feel guilty leaving him alone for long. He was so attached to her, and missed her terribly when she was gone. Her Berkeley years had been hard for him. He was much closer to Christianna than to his son, and particularly enjoyed discussing the business matters of the principality with her, and valued her opinions.

She and Victoria went shopping on the Faubourg St. Honoré and the Avenue Montaigne on Monday. They had lunch at L'Avenue, where Freddy normally loved to pick up models. His favorite haunts were Costes, Bain Douche, Man Ray, and the Buddha Bar. Freddy had a particular fondness for Paris, but so did Christianna. She and Victoria fell into her room at the Ritz at the end of a long day, and ordered room service. They were both still tired after the wedding. And they parted company finally on Tuesday morning at the airport. Christianna flew to Zurich and Victoria to London, promising to meet up again soon. Victoria had already said she would come to Gstaad, to stay with her, if she didn't go to Tahiti. Now that she was no longer engaged, she was slightly at loose ends, and Christianna was hoping to see her again before she left.

She had a lot to do in Vaduz these days. There had been an official announcement from the palace that she was going to be traveling for the next several months, with no specifics about her plans or destination. It made security issues simpler that way, and she was determined that no one know that she was a princess while she worked for the Red Cross. Once word was out that she was leaving, suddenly everyone wanted her for ceremonies, openings, groundbreakings, parties, and blessings. She tried to do as many as she could, and she was exhausted when she and her father left for Gstaad the following week. They always had fun there. It was a very fashionable ski resort, filled with Americans and Europeans, playboys, beauties, movie stars, and assorted royals. It was one of the few vacation spots that catered to the extremely rich that Christianna actually enjoyed. She and her father were both avid skiers, and they had a wonderful time there every year.

She and her father celebrated Christmas quietly together, they went to midnight mass afterward, and she tried to call Freddy in Hong Kong but he was out. It seemed odd not to have him there with them, and he called them both the following morning. He asked about the Bourbon wedding in Paris, and she told him of Victoria's somewhat offhand invitation to him for Tahiti. He said he was sorry to miss it, but maybe he'd go with her for Easter, and after begging his sister to reconsider her plans again, he wished them both a Merry Christmas and hung up.

Christianna and her father stayed in Gstaad, as they always did, till just after New Year, and she was startled to realize once they got back that she only had four days left in Vaduz before she left. And for her father's taste, the last days flew by much too fast. He wanted to savor every moment he could with her. But his own responsibilities intruded too much of the time. He walked into her room on the last day with a mournful look. She was busy packing her bags, and looked up as he came in. Even the dog was lying near her suitcase, looking sad.

“Charles and I are going to miss you,” he said, looking unhappy.

“Will you take care of him for me?” she asked, giving her father a hug. She was going to miss them, too. But she couldn't wait to leave on her big adventure.

“Yes, I will. But who will take care of me?” He was only half-teasing. He relied on her company for more than he would have, if his wife were still alive, or if Freddy were more of a presence in his life or a better companion. He was never around, and when he was, he provided more aggravation and concern than companionship or support. Christianna's father spoke to her, and opened up to her as he did to no one else in his life.

“I'll be back soon, Papa. And Freddy will be back in another month or two.” Her father rolled his eyes, and they both laughed.

“I don't think your brother will ever take care of me, or anyone else. And I think I'd be frightened if he did. The rest of us will be taking care of him.” They both knew he was right, and Christianna laughed again, although they both shared the same concern about what would happen to the country when Freddy would be the reigning prince. Christianna's father had begun to hope that she would become her brother's principal adviser, when that happened, and was trying to teach her all he could. She was a willing student, loving daughter, shirked no responsibilities, and never failed him, which would make her absence more acute, although admittedly even he knew that at times he put far too much burden on her.

“I'm sure he'll grow up one of these days, Papa,” Christianna said, trying to sound confident and hopeful, however undeserved.

“I wish I shared your optimism. I miss the boy, but I don't miss the chaos he creates while he's here. It's awfully peaceful around here without him.” He was always honest with her, as she was with him.

“I know. But there's no one like him, is there?” she said, sounding like an adoring sister, which she was. He had been her hero when she was a little girl, although he had always teased her, and still did now. “I'll call you whenever I can, Papa. Apparently they have phones at the post office there, although they're not very reliable, I'm told, and sometimes the lines are down for weeks. Then all we can do is radio out. But I'll get word to you somehow, I promise.” She knew her bodyguards would work something out, so she could get messages to her father to reassure him. They wouldn't have dared to do otherwise, or he might force her to come back, if she caused him to worry too much. She was going to do everything she could to stay in touch, whatever that had to be. She was still hoping he would allow her to extend her trip. She wanted to stay the full year.

Their last night together was bittersweet. They had dinner in the private dining room, and talked about her plans. She asked him about some new economic policies he had just introduced, and what the parliament's reaction had been to them. He was pleased that she had asked, and enjoyed discussing it with her. But then it only reminded him again of how lonely his life would be without her. She hadn't even left yet, and he couldn't wait for her to get back. He wanted the coming months to speed past, and he knew they wouldn't. Without the bright sunshine she provided in his life, the days would drag. Selfishly, he was thinking of insisting that she come back after the initial six months, and when he mentioned it to her, she asked him to wait to decide. She might be ready to come back then herself, or need a few more months to finish whatever she started. She asked him to keep an open mind, and he agreed. Their exchanges were always reasonable, affectionate, and adult. In many ways, she was one of the main reasons he hadn't remarried. With Christianna to keep him company, and talk to him, he didn't need a wife, nor want one. And besides, he felt it was too late in his life to start again. Before that, he had been too busy. He was comfortable now as he was, although he would be far less so when she was gone. He kissed her goodnight, already mourning her absence, and they had breakfast together the next morning. She was wearing blue jeans for the long flight, and would probably wear nothing else for the next year. She had packed only one dress, just in case, two peasant skirts she had brought back from California, several pairs of shorts she had worn at school, a stack of jeans and T-shirts, hats, mosquito netting, insect repellents, her malaria medication, and sturdy boots and shoes to protect her from the dreaded snakes.

“This is no worse than when I used to go back to school in California after the holidays, Papa. Think of it that way,” she tried to console him. He looked so mournful and so sad before she left.

“I would prefer to think of you right here.”

He could barely speak when he said goodbye to her. He held her in a long hug, and she kissed his cheek lovingly, as she always did. “You know how I rely on you, don't you, Cricky? Take care of yourself.”

“I will. I'll call you, Papa. I promise. Take good care of yourself, too.” It was harder leaving him than she thought it would be, as a sob caught in her throat. She knew how much he needed her, and she hated leaving him alone. She knew how lonely it would be for him. But just this once, this one last time, before she took on her royal duties forever, she needed her own life.

“I love you, Cricky,” he said softly. And with that, he turned to the two bodyguards standing next to her, with a stern look. “Stay close to her at all times.” There was no mistaking his orders. They were the same two young men who had accompanied her to Russia, Samuel and Max. They were as excited as she was about their new adventure, and she was comfortable and resigned about having them with her. Her father had been intransigent about that. It was the one condition on which he would not relent, so Christianna did at last. She felt slightly foolish having two bodyguards with her, but the director of the Red Cross camp had said he perfectly understood the need for it. He was extremely sensitive to her situation, and had assured her by e-mail that he would not divulge who she was. He was the only one who would be aware that her passport bore no last name, which might have given her away to those who were aware of such things, though they were usually rare. Marque had been singularly aware of that, as she had worked with royals before. Others weren't. But Christianna was taking no chances. The one thing she didn't want anyone to know was that she was a princess. She wanted to be treated the same as everyone there. She didn't want anyone calling her Your Serene Highness or ma'am, and surely not her bodyguards, who were masquerading as fellow volunteers, friends who were coming with her. Christianna had thought of everything and covered all her bases. And thus far, the director of the facility had been totally cooperative with her to that end.

“I love you, Papa,” she said as she got into the car, and her father closed the door. He had wanted to come to the airport with her, but had to meet with all his ministers that morning, about the economic policies he and Christianna had discussed the night before. So he was saying goodbye to her at the palace.

“I love you too, Cricky. Don't forget that. Take good care of yourself. Be careful,” he warned again, and she smiled, and leaned out the window to kiss his hand. The bond they had formed in the years since her mother's death was unseverable, and unusually close.

“Goodbye!” she called out and waved as they drove away. He stood and waved until the car went through the gates, turned, and disappeared, and then with his head bowed, he walked slowly back into the palace. He had done this for her, allowed her to go to Africa, to make her happy. But for him, it was going to be a miserable six months or year without her. And as he walked into the palace, the dog walked sadly behind him. Without Christianna's lively presence, they both already looked like a sad, lonely pair.

Chapter 7

Christianna's flight from Zurich took off promptly for Frankfurt that morning. Her bodyguards were in business class, and she was in first. And although she had warned them not to, the palace had discreetly let the airline know that she was on the flight. It was exactly what she didn't want, and it annoyed her. All she could do was console herself with the knowledge that she would not be “special” for the next year. She didn't want to be. This time away in Africa, working for the Red Cross, was her last opportunity to be an ordinary person, with none of the burdens that automatically came with her station in life. For the next months, she wanted none of the privileges of being royal. None at all. She wanted her experience there to be exactly the same as it was for everyone else, for better or worse.

When she changed flights in Frankfurt, she was grateful that no one appeared to know who she was. There was no one to meet or greet her, no one to help her transfer planes, no special attention. She picked up her backpack and handbag, while the two bodyguards managed their luggage and hers. They chatted amiably for a few minutes between flights, and tried to imagine what it was going to be like. Sam thought it was going to be rugged. He had been to Africa before. The director in Geneva had assured her it would be comfortable, and Christianna had insisted, and meant it, that she didn't care. She was more than willing to rough it with everyone else, if that was the case. He had promised her anonymity, and she was counting on that. Otherwise, it would spoil everything for her. In her mind, this was her last chance at real life, before she dedicated herself to the heavy weight and restrictions of her royal duties forevermore.

Samuel had been collecting data from the U.S. State Department for weeks about the political situation in Eritrea, in East Africa, where they were going. It bordered on Ethiopia, which had caused Eritrea serious problems over the years. The two countries had finally signed a truce several years before, and all was peaceful now. The border skirmishes that had occurred with Ethiopia previously had stopped. Samuel had promised to alert the prince if anything changed, or anything worrisome happened anywhere around them, and if necessary, he would get the princess out of the country in that case. But there seemed to be no concern for now, just as the Red Cross director had promised as well. Eritrea would be interesting and safe. All Christianna needed to do was concentrate on the work at hand. She was leaving the security issues up to them, to be handled as discreetly as possible. They were claiming to be three friends from Liechtenstein, who had signed up for the year together. It was a plausible story they intended to stick to, and there was no reason why anyone at the camp should suspect otherwise. And Christianna knew how discreet the two men were.

After the ten-hour plane trip from Frankfurt, to Asmara, via Cairo, they barely glanced at her passport in Asmara. They didn't even notice the absence of a surname, much to Christianna's relief. She didn't want the press notified anywhere on her route, as word of her presence in the country might follow her to her final destination, and she wanted to avoid that at all costs.

By now, they had been on the road for fourteen hours, and Christianna was tired. The two men had slept on the long flight. As they walked out of the airport, they looked around. Max had gotten an e-mail before they left, confirming that they'd be picked up. No one had been sure at the time who would come to meet them, or which of the camp's vehicles they'd bring. They'd been assured someone would be there, but no one seemed to be waiting for them.

They walked into a small grass thatched hut, and bought three orange sodas. The drinks were made by an African company, and tasted sickly sweet, but they drank them anyway, as it was hot and they were thirsty, although it was winter in East Africa, but the weather was warm. The scenery around them was beautiful, the air was dry and the terrain flat. There was a soft hazy light that seemed to wash over everything and reminded Christianna of the warm luminosity of her mother's pearls. There was a gentleness to their surroundings, as they waited for someone to come. Eventually, they sat on their bags outside the hut, and half an hour later an ancient battered yellow school bus rolled up. It had a Red Cross flag taped to each side, and other than that looked entirely disreputable, and as though it couldn't possibly have gone a mile. In spite of that, it had driven all the way from Senafe, and the trip had taken five hours.

The door opened and a tall, disheveled-looking, dark-haired man stepped out. He looked at the three of them sitting on their bags, smiled, and rushed over to help them, with apologies for his tardiness. Looking at the ancient yellow bus, one could easily see why he'd been late.

“I'm so sorry, I'm Geoffrey McDonald. I had a flat tire on the way, it took forever to change. Not too tired, Your Highness?” he asked optimistically. He had recognized her from a copy of Majesty magazine someone had lying around, although she looked younger than he'd expected, and still fresh and beautiful after the long trip.

“Please don't call me that,” Christianna said instantly. “I hope the director in Geneva warned you. Just Christianna will be fine.”

“Of course,” he said apologetically, taking her backpack from her, as he and the bodyguards shook hands. In theory, he wasn't supposed to extend a hand to her, unless she did so first, and as he was British he was apparently aware of the etiquette involved, but she was quick to extend her hand. He shook it cautiously with a shy smile. He looked like an absentminded professor, and she liked him instantly, as did the two guards.

“I hope no one is aware of all that here,” she said, looking worried.

“No, not at all,” he assured her. “In fact, I'd been warned. I just forgot. It's rather exciting to have a princess coming to stay with us, even if no one knows. My mother would be very impressed,” he confessed, “though I won't tell her till after you leave.” There was an awkward boyishness about him that would have been hard not to love. Christianna felt instantly at ease with him. He was friendly and warm.

“I don't want the others to know,” Christianna explained again as they walked toward the bus, with both bodyguards just behind her, carrying their bags.

“I understand. We're very excited to have you here. We need all the help we can get. Two of our people got typhoid and had to go home. We've been short-handed for eight months.” He had a slightly distracted, rumpled quality to him, and looked as though he was in his early forties. He said he had been born in England, but had lived in Africa all his life, and had grown up in South Africa, in Capetown, but he'd run the camp in Senafe for the past four years. He said the facility had grown by leaps and bounds since he'd started. “They've gotten used to us by now. The locals were a little leery of us at first, although they're very friendly people here. In addition to the AIDS facility, we basically run a medical aid station for them. A doctor flies in twice a month to give me a hand.” He added that the AIDS facility they ran had been a considerable success. Their goal was to prevent the spread of the disease, as much as to treat those who already had it now. “The center has been overflowing. You'll see when we arrive. And of course we treat all the local diseases and ailments as well.” He got off the bus again before they left, and bought a soda himself. He looked dusty, and tired, and slightly haggard, as though he worked too hard, and Christianna was touched that the director had come himself.

It was exciting just being there, trying to absorb the unfamiliar sights and sounds, although they were all feeling somewhat dazed by the long trip. Samuel and Max were quiet, studying their surroundings, ever on the alert, and constantly aware that their mission was to protect her. So far so good.

When Geoff got back, he started the bus, as it made a series of horrible coughs and groans, backfired, and then shook alarmingly as it came to life. He turned to Samuel and Max with a broad grin. “I hope one of you is a mechanic. We need one desperately at the camp. We have medical personnel, but no one knows how to fix our cars. They're overeducated, the lot of them. We need plumbers, electricians, and mechanics.” The bus took off rattling down the road, stopped and then started again, as though to illustrate his point.

“We'll do our best.” Max smiled. He was much more capable with weapons, but he didn't say that. He was willing to give it a try. The bus nearly stopped again while going up a hill at a snail's pace, as Geoff chatted with all three of them. He looked as though Christianna made him slightly nervous, as he cast shy glances at her and smiled. It was impossible for him to forget who she was.

She asked him questions about the AIDS facility, the crisis of AIDS in Africa, and the rest of the medical care they provided. He explained that he was a doctor himself. His specialty was tropical medicine, which was what had led him here. As they talked, she watched the scenery drift by. There were people walking on either side of the road in brightly colored clothes, with swaths of white cloth. A herd of goats walked right across their path. The bus stopped for it, and then wouldn't start again, as a man in a turban leading a camel tried to help a young boy herd the goats. Geoff flooded the engine trying to bring it back to life, and then had to let it sit for a while as the goats finally left the road. It gave them a further chance to talk.

He was extremely informative in his data and assessments. He said they were not only treating young women, but children as well in the AIDS facility, many of whom had been raped, and then shunned by their tribes once they were no longer virgins, worse yet if they got pregnant. Their families could no longer marry them off, so they were useless in trade for livestock, land, or currency. And once they got sick, they were almost always abandoned. The number of AIDSaffected men and women was shocking, and the fact that it continued to rise was even more alarming. He said their patients were also suffering from tuberculosis, malaria, kala azar (a form of black fever), and sleeping sickness.

“We're emptying the ocean with a thimble,” he said, outlining the situation for them in words that left no doubt as to how desperate the situation of their patients was, many of them refugees from border disputes with Ethiopia in the years before the truce. He also said the truce was somewhat uneasy as Ethiopia continued to lust after Massawa, Eritrea's port on the Red Sea. “All we can do is care for them, make them comfortable, and help some of them until they die. And try to educate others about the prevention of disease.” It was a daunting prospect, as Christianna listened to him, and Samuel and Max also asked him a number of questions. Theirs wasn't a dangerous mission, but it was a depressing one. Their mortality rate was high, a hundred percent among those with AIDS. Most of the women and children who came to them were too far advanced in the disease for it to be arrested, controlled, or forced into some form of remission. One of their main goals, he said, was to prevent new mothers from passing on AIDS to their newborns, by giving both mother and infant medication and convincing them not to breast-feed. Culturally and practically difficult since many of them were so poor, they sold the formula given to them and continued to breast-feed because it was cheaper, and then the babies got AIDS too. It was a constant uphill battle, according to him, to educate and treat them, when they could. “We do what we can for them, but we can't always do a lot, depending on the situation. Sometimes we have to accept that too.” He also mentioned that Doctors Without Borders came through the area frequently and gave them a hand. They were grateful for help from other organizations as well, not just the Red Cross, although a hundred percent of their funding came from them. The local government was too poor to be of any help. He said they were planning to ask some foundations to contribute, but they hadn't had time to write the grant requests yet. Christianna thought she'd like to help eventually, thinking of their own foundation, which contributed generously to situations similar to this. She would learn more about their needs in the coming weeks and months, and talk to the foundation about it when she went back.

It took them five hours to reach the camp. They talked almost all the way. Geoff was a pleasant, obviously kind and compassionate, interesting man, with a vast knowledge about the continent where he lived, and the agonies that plagued it, most of which could not be fixed, for now, and probably wouldn't be for a long time. But he and those he worked with were doing all they could to change that.

Christianna finally fell asleep for the last few minutes of the bus trip, despite the constant rattling, shaking, noise, and appalling fumes that the bus emitted. She was so tired she could have slept through a bomb at that point. She woke up with a start when Max touched her arm. They were in the camp, and the bus was surrounded by Red Cross workers, watching with curiosity to see the three new workers who were about to arrive. They had all been talking about them for weeks. All they knew was that they were two men and a woman, and that they came from somewhere in Europe. There was some vague rumor that they were all Swiss, someone else said they were German, then they thought the men were German, the woman Swiss. No one had mentioned Liechtenstein to them. They were perhaps confused since their stay and arrival had been set up by the Geneva office. But whoever they were, they were more than welcome, and desperately needed at the camp. Even if not doctors or nurses, at least they were willing hearts and hands.

As Christianna looked around, she saw a dozen people staring at her, all of them in assorted informal garb. Shorts, jeans, T-shirts, hiking boots, the women with short hair, or tied up under scarves, several of them had white doctors' coats on, the women as well. She saw one middle-aged woman with a weathered face, a warm smile, and a stethoscope around her neck. There was a very pretty one, tall, with dark hair, who was looking into the bus intently with a native child in her arms. There seemed to be roughly an equal division between women and men. And the age range seemed to span from Christianna's age, or somewhere in that vicinity, to a few faces that looked nearly twice her age. Standing among them were a handful of local workers wearing colorful native garb, some of whom were holding children by the hand. The center itself, at the hub of the compound, looked like a cluster of freshly painted white huts. And on either side were a series of large, almost military-looking tents.

Geoff held a hand out to her, in spite of her lofty position, to steady her as she got out of the bus onto uneven ground. Christianna smiled at him, and then glanced at the others shyly, as Samuel and Max came out of the bus carrying their bags. Christianna looked just rumpled and sloppy enough after the long trip not to stand out, as one by one the waiting band of workers approached.

Geoff introduced the older woman first. Her name was Mary Walker, and as the stethoscope suggested she was a physician. She was British, and the head of their program that dealt with AIDS. She had white hair hanging in a long braid down her back, a heavily lined smiling face, and piercing blue eyes. She reminded Christianna instantly of Marque. She shook Christianna's hand with a strong, sure handshake of her own and welcomed her warmly to the camp. There were two other women standing beside her, one a pretty young Irish girl with curly black hair and green eyes. She was a midwife, and drove all over Debub, in the outlying areas, delivering babies, and bringing them, or their mothers, back to the camp when they were sick. Next to her was a young American woman, who, like Geoff, had grown up in Capetown. She had gone to college in the States, but missed Africa too much, as they all did when they left.

And once they met, and he had told her about the place where he was working, she had agreed to join Geoff here. Her name was Maggie, and Christianna rapidly realized, as Geoff put an arm around her once she approached, that Maggie and Geoff were romantically involved. Maggie was a nurse. She gave Christianna a warm hug of welcome. The Irish girl introduced herself as Fiona with a broad, mischievous grin. She was quick to shake Christianna's hand and welcome her.

The four men who were standing around introduced themselves in rapid succession. Two were German, one was French, and the fourth was Swiss, and all appeared to be somewhere in their thirties: Klaus, Ernst, Didier, and Karl. And finally, the tall dark-haired young woman with the child in her arms came forward and shook hands with Christianna and the two men. She had beautiful eyes and a serious face. Her name was Laure, and she was French. She seemed much more reserved than the others, and Christianna wondered if she was shy. She spoke to her in French, but even then the tall beautiful young woman didn't warm up much. Her attitude bordered on hostile. Geoff explained that she had been with UNICEF for several years, and had been in Senafe with them for several months. Geoff and Mary were the only doctors in the group, Fiona the only midwife, Maggie the only nurse. The others were all benevolent, caring, hardworking, conscientious people who had come to Senafe to make a difference, in whatever way they could, like Christianna herself.

The camp was actually on the outskirts of Senafe, in the subzone of Debub, in the north, near the Ethiopian border, which would have been worrisome in the years before the truce, but no longer was. It was peaceful here now, and fairly remote. As Christianna continued to look around, she was struck by the beauty of the African women who were standing just beyond the group, smiling shyly, in colorful costumes, with lots of jewelry in their hair, on their ears, and around their necks. There were six more residents working at the center, four women and two men, all of whom were talking to women or children in the huts, and hadn't been able to come out and greet the new arrivals. But there was an ever-growing group of exotically dressed African women who stood staring and smiling at the threesome that had just gotten off the bus.