H.R.H.

“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.