The Missing Monarch (17 page)

“I don’t believe God intends for Octavian to control them,” Dom
Procopio told him bluntly.

When Thad looked up, he saw that Lillian Bardici had raised her
hand.

“Yes?”

She looked sheepish as she started to speak. “When your brother
and I were trudging through the desert without water, I thought we were going to
die. I really did.
But we kept walking anyway, and now we’re here, and we’re
engaged.” She squeezed the prince’s hand. “Sometimes what looks like the end is
really just the beginning.”

Thad wasn’t sure what to make of her story.

His brother met his eyes. “Soldier on.”

* * *

Monica wasn’t sure what to expect. But then, she figured
that was likely part of Octavian’s strategy. If
her attention was focused on
sorting out what was going on, she’d have less time to figure out a means of
escaping. Besides, why should he tell her anything? She was a pawn. And he was
playing for the crown.

But even though she didn’t know what to expect, she felt her
son deserved some warning about what was about to unfold. Without her purse or
phone, she had no
pictures of Thad to show him. She pulled Peter onto her lap
and asked, “Do you remember the picture that sits by your bed?”

“Of Daddy?”

“That’s the one. Do you know where Mommy has been for the last
few days?”

“On a trip.”

“That’s right.” Her son had answered with the exact explanation
she’d given her parents before she’d left. “I went on a trip to look for your
daddy.”

His eyes flashed with excitement and he bounced on her lap.
“Did you find him?”

Sudden emotion swelled her throat, taking her by surprise.
She’d thought she had a handle on the situation, but she hadn’t realized until
she’d seen the sparkle in Peter’s eyes—so like Thad’s eyes—how emotionally raw
she still felt.

She still had feelings for Thad. Strong
feelings. But she
couldn’t let those feelings get the best of her. She had to keep a clear head.
Octavian already had too many advantages.

“Yes,” she answered in a whisper, “I found your daddy. He looks
a lot like the picture by your bed, but his hair is longer now. I’d forgotten
how tall he was. He’s the tallest person in the room, no matter where he
is.”

Peter
looked at her expectantly, his eager expression just like
the look he always got on his face just before opening a present. Monica worked
up the courage to tell him the rest of what she knew he needed to know. “Your
father loves you very much. We’re going to try to visit him.”

“Yay!” Peter nearly leaped off her lap.

She had to shush him. “Listen, Peter, this is important.
You
remember that man who gave you the train set?”

“Octo-man?”

“Octavian.” Monica pronounced the name patiently. “Octavian
wants you to think he’s nice, but he’s not. He’s the reason you haven’t been
able to see your daddy all this time. And, Peter?”

Her son nodded solemnly, absorbing the news about the father
he’d wanted to meet for so long.

“If anything
happens to me, I need you to know that you can
trust your daddy. You can’t trust Octavian. He’s not a nice man. He might try to
tell you things about your father that aren’t true. He might even try to tell
you that I don’t love you. But you know I love you, right?”

“I know,” Peter whispered. “I love you.”

Tears dripped down Monica’s nose, but she swept them away. She
had to keep herself together. “Your father loves you, too. If you ever have to
choose between Octavian or Daddy, choose your father, okay?”

“Okay.” Peter threw his arms around her neck. “But I want to
choose you, too.” Then he looked at her with earnest blue-green eyes. “Is that
okay? Can I choose you
and
Daddy?”

Monica struggled to speak calmly and clearly, though
her heart
felt as though it might burst. “I hope so, Peter. I hope you can choose us
both.”

Peter snuggled on her lap awhile longer, content just to be
near her after being apart for so long. Then someone knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

She’d half expected Octavian, but it was General Petrela.
Though she wanted to cling to the sliver of hope that Petrela might
be working
for the Royal House of Lydia, as he’d claimed, Monica immediately realized
Petrela would be foolish to try to cross Octavian. Could he have possibly
operated right under the egomaniac’s nose for so long? Petrela was the only one
of the three conspiring generals still living. Surely he hadn’t survived so long
while planning to double-cross his boss.

She’d
have to watch him carefully. And for now, she’d have to
do whatever he said.

“Please come with me.”

Monica scooped up Peter and carried him tightly in her arms as
she followed the general. They’d provided her with shoes and fresh clothing,
just as they had for Peter, but the brand-new sneakers squeaked as she walked
down the long hallway to the exterior doors.

The blades of the helicopter were already moving when they
stepped outside. Peter looked excited about the opportunity to ride on a
helicopter, though he balked slightly when they approached the craft.

“It’s going to be okay,” Monica whispered, and Peter relaxed.
She hoped she was right.

TWELVE

T
here was nothing left to do but wait.

Thad checked the lines of communication one more time. The men
posted at all the doors responded in a timely manner, as did those stationed at
all the major hallways inside the palace.

Even the first-floor windows were all guarded.

Still Thad couldn’t suppress the sickly feeling inside his
stomach. It didn’t
matter how tight a lid they kept on the building. If Thad had
to choose between letting Octavian harm his wife or son, and watching him walk
away, he’d choose the latter.

As he looked around the circle at his brother and sisters, he
couldn’t help but be in awe of the love each of them had found. Though the
future of their kingdom remained uncertain, they each had someone
who would love
and support them through the trials ahead, who made them smile even in the midst
of hardship. Six years before, when he was young and afraid, he’d turned his
back on such a love.

They went around the circle and each person prayed. Then it was
Thad’s turn. He asked God to protect his kingdom and keep his people safe. He
prayed that the sacrifices his
siblings and their friends had made would not be
in vain. And then his voice creaked as he dared to ask for something he was
certain he didn’t deserve.

“Dear God, if You could see fit to give me back my family...”
His voice broke, and he realized there wasn’t any way he could continue. He’d
willingly walked away from his wife, but it had been a mistake. Now he wondered
if he’d ever get the chance to tell her he still loved her.

A hoarse-voiced chorus of “Amen” closed the prayer, and his
sisters hugged him before running off to the balcony that overlooked the throne
room, the safest place he knew of for them to watch the meeting with
Octavian.

And they’d insisted on watching.

Alec approached him, scepter in hand. “I believe
this belongs
to you.”

Thad couldn’t help recalling the solemn way his father had
handed it over eight years before, when Thad had signed his name, promising to
lead the tiny kingdom faithfully.

He was ready to be faithful to God again. But would God deem
him worthy of ruling? He didn’t feel worthy.

“No one’s ever asked the question of what you should do if
Octavian forces you to choose between the scepter, or your wife and son.”

“I have to defend the scepter at all costs. You were shot for
it.”

“I couldn’t have given it away if I’d wanted to. I didn’t know
where it was.” Alec gave Thad a stern look. “It’s just a hollow hunk of
metal.”

“But it signifies—”

“It signifies that the man who holds it is God’s chosen
ruler
of Lydia. I don’t believe God would choose a leader who would hand over his wife
or son in exchange for a hollow hunk of metal.”

Thad swallowed. He understood. “But if Octavian gets his hands
on the scepter—”

Alec had already started to walk away. “Sometimes what looks
like the end is really the beginning.”

* * *

Monica glanced up several times at
the stoic general who
shared the helicopter with them. If there was any chance he was on their side,
she wanted to give him ample opportunity to communicate his plan, using eyebrow
twitches if necessary, since Octavian was facing them both, his silent glare as
terrifying as any of the threats he’d previously spoken.

Petrela didn’t twitch. Not even his eyebrows. He sat
stiffly in
place, and Monica slowly realized he was wearing thick body armor under his
uniform. She glanced at Octavian, and surmised that he was similarly protected.
Suddenly she felt even more vulnerable, and hugged Peter close, as though her
embrace could shield him as effectively as the armor the men wore.

What was it Petrela had told Natalie? Something about covering
Peter?

Fear traced its cold finger down her spine. These men were
going in expecting something, weren’t they? And they didn’t care what happened
to her.

Thankfully, Peter was content to watch the Lydian shoreline
pass by beneath them. He didn’t bounce around excitedly as she might have
expected him to on a helicopter ride. But then, there was a stress-filled
vibe
in the air that, even at five years of age, Peter likely felt strongly enough
that it kept him glued to his seat.

“Look at that castle, Mommy,” he whispered, more excited about
the palace turrets than any other landmark they’d passed.

“I think that’s where we’re going.”

“Are we? Do you think there’s a king who lives there?”

Monica swallowed back the emotion
that surged upward at his
innocent question. “Yes,” she answered softly, “a very good and noble king.”
Though she’d criticized him for hiding, Monica realized Thad had acted nobly.
She wanted to apologize for her harsh words. But she had to survive the exchange
first.

The helicopter settled down in the courtyard, and they stepped
out to find themselves surrounded
by guards.

Octavian didn’t appear to be the least bit surprised by the
guards. He was vastly outnumbered, arriving, as he had, with only two guards,
plus the general. Monica looked around, half expecting to see Octavian’s
mercenaries appear from out of the sky, but all she saw were royal guards.

What was the man up to? He strode confidently into the palace,
and Petrela
motioned for her to follow. Peter wanted to walk, so Monica set him
down, but kept tight hold of his hand. She followed Octavian and his guards down
the hallway with Petrela following her.

She’d seen enough of Octavian’s mercenaries to know the man
could have brought in enough forces to outnumber Thad’s armies two to one.

And yet, he’d come alone.

Why?

As they
entered the throne room and Monica saw all the men the
royal family had stationed there, she felt the imbalance all the more acutely.
Considering the stakes, Octavian wouldn’t have let himself be outnumbered so
vastly unless he had a very good reason for doing so.

Monica feared the reality was more accurately a very
evil
reason.

* * *

Thad’s breath caught in his throat
as Monica’s familiar
figure stepped into the room, nearly overshadowed by Octavian, Petrela and the
two guards with him. Their party shifted formation as they came through the
doorway, and Thad spotted a golden-haired boy holding Monica’s hand. Thad’s
heart caught in his throat. He’d never seen anything that moved him as much as
the sight of his wife and son.

“Peter.”
The name left Thad’s lips in a silent whisper, and he
felt the challenge of all that lay ahead. He would keep this little boy
safe.

Peter’s blue-green eyes roved the room, wide with wonder as he
took in the high-lofted ceiling, the heavy inlaid thrones and the crown in its
glass case near the front of the room.

“Wow.” His cherub lips hung open in awe, and he tugged
on his
mother’s arm.

She bent slightly, and they exchanged whispers. Thad wished he
could hear what they said, but when Monica pointed his way he knew.

Peter’s gaze followed his mother’s hand until he saw him, and a
bright grin lit up his face.

Thad wanted to smile a greeting, to do something to communicate
his love and support to the boy, but his sorrow and
concern were too great. He’d
already been such a disappointment as a father—absent, completely absent. He’d
endangered his son. He endangered him still.

But Peter didn’t look disappointed. His wide eyes twinkled and
he looked as though he might have gone running forward, had his mother not kept
a tight hold on him, tugging him back against her and crossing her arms over
his
chest. They stood no more than three meters away from him, and yet Thad felt as
though the gulf between them was immeasurable.

Octavian stepped forward, stealing Thad’s attention away from
Peter.

“You have the scepter.” His plasticized face was
expressionless. “I have a document that requires your signature.” Octavian
walked over to a side table. “You will
sign here in exchange for your wife.”

“What about my son?”

“When this transaction is complete, you will hand over the
scepter, and
then
I will give you back your
son.”

Two for two. It made sense. Octavian had been unable to steal
the scepter out from under him, so he’d taken his wife instead. He needed two
things to reign: Thad’s signature and the scepter. He’d
trade his wife and son,
one for each. It was mathematically sound.

But Thad didn’t like the terms at all.

And Octavian didn’t seem to like waiting. “You will comply with
my request, or we will leave, and you will never see your wife and son
again.”

Thad crossed his arms over his chest. “I need to know why you
think you have grounds to make these demands.”

“I made a deal with your father. He tried to back out of it.
I’m just doing what I must to claim what’s rightfully mine.”

“According to
you
. I’ve never seen
any proof that my father ever agreed to anything beyond the business
arrangements that have been fulfilled in the past.”

Octavian’s eyeballs bulged, and he raised one gloved hand,
pointing his index finger up toward
the high vaulted ceiling. “I have been
wronged by your family—”

But before Octavian finished his sentence, another voice
carried through the room. “No, Octavian. You have wronged my family.”

Thad spun around at the sound of his father’s weak but
unmistakable voice.

Queen Elaine had entered the throne room from one of the back
hallways, pushing the former King
Philip in a wheelchair.

Philip continued, “My family owes you nothing. Lydia owes you
nothing.” He turned to face Thad. “Son, if you will open the scepter, you will
find inside the key that opens the file drawer under the display case of the
crown. There you will find a record of every agreement I ever made with
Octavian, including the history of his royal titles, which
I now hereby denounce
on grounds of treason.”

Octavian stiffened visibly. His upraised, gloved hand twitched
as he lowered his index finger. His hand now stabbed skyward like a fist. “I
have your wife and son.” He addressed Thad. “If you wish to be held liable for
their deaths, by all means, unlock the drawer. If you wish to have your wife and
son returned to you,
sign the document and
hand over the
scepter!
”

Thad hesitated. His father’s arrival had tipped the tables, but
the upset only appeared to have made Octavian that much more desperate. Thad
looked over and met Monica’s eyes. “What do you think I should do?” he asked
aloud.

“I think—” She licked her lips nervously and dipped her head as
though she wanted to speak
with him alone and not be overheard by anyone else.
But the room was too large and crowded for that to happen. Nonetheless, she
lowered her voice. “You should have your family and your men clear the
room.”

Her request seemed odd. He hadn’t expected such a specific
response. And yet, as he took a step back, he realized the two guards who’d come
in with Octavian were
fiddling with something.

Not guns.

He couldn’t see clearly what the men had, but he felt the
warning Monica had been trying to send. Octavian’s upraised fist shifted. He
extended all four of his fingers.

Thad watched, wondering if the man was counting down, or trying
to send some kind of warning.

Then he realized Octavian’s message wasn’t for him.

It was
for the guards who’d come in with him, a preplanned
signal for destruction. They didn’t have guns. They held something far more
deadly.

Detonation devices.

All at once, Thad realized precisely why Octavian had wanted to
meet in this particular room. He’d had it rigged while the royal family was
ousted. And he had every intention of destroying any evidence that would
prove
he had no right to the throne.

Thad dived across the table toward Monica and Peter as he
screamed, “Clear the room!”

* * *

Monica watched the scene unfold as if in slow motion. On
the edges of her peripheral vision, she saw the princesses on the balcony above
sprint for the safety of the doorways behind them. Elaine whipped Philip’s
wheelchair around
and pushed it toward the back door.

Thad slid across the table toward them, but he couldn’t
possibly reach them in time. Octavian stood between them. And the heavily
armored tyrant didn’t seem nearly as concerned about the potential explosives as
the rest of the occupants of the room.

Which meant his body armor was likely strong enough to protect
him from whatever
was about to erupt.

Monica put the facts together quickly. Petrela had told Natalie
that he would cover Peter.

At the time, she hadn’t understood what he’d meant by his
cryptic instructions. Now she guessed that Petrela’s armor could withstand the
blast—that he could protect Peter.

She plucked up her son and shoved him toward the waiting
general’s outstretched
arms. She didn’t know what Petrela intended to do with
Peter once the smoke cleared, but at least her son would be protected during the
blast.

Petrela gathered Peter in his wide embrace, settling him
quickly against the stone floor, covering him as a series of eruptions spewed
fire and smoke all around them.

Monica felt someone slam into her. For one disoriented moment,
she thought perhaps Thad had gotten past Octavian after all.

But then she realized it
was
Octavian.

He pulled her through the chaos toward a doorway.

She tried to fight him, but the eruptions had her doubled over
in a fit of coughing. Whatever had just exploded sent tears to her eyes,
stinging her throat.

She stumbled.

Octavian hauled her after him,
his grip surprisingly strong,
his stride steady as they ducked down the hall. Monica lunged the other way, but
before she could break free from his grasp, she felt the cold press of metal
against her back. A gun.