The Missing Monarch (5 page)

The grating sound of Octavian’s laughter died away. “But before
we go any further, I need to be absolutely certain that I’m dealing with the
right man. You’ve evaded me before, Thaddeus. I can’t risk that again, and it’s
impossible to be certain that’s you under that beard.” More guards entered
through a doorway to Thad’s left. Octavian addressed
them. “Shave him.”

* * *

Monica watched with eyes wide as guards took hold of
Thad, shoving him into a chair they’d carried out with them, tugging his coat
from his arms, stripping his torso down to his T-shirt before wrapping a vinyl
cloak around his shoulders and grabbing him by the hair, jerking his head
backward.

A loud buzzing filled the room, and Monica
feared Peter might
awaken from the noise. She could see her son’s chest rise and fall as he slept.
She could only pray that by the time he woke up, she’d be at his side to comfort
him and assure him that all would be well.

A man in a white coat took the buzzing clippers and trimmed
back Thad’s full beard before pulling out two long bare blades, which flashed
and glinted
as he moved them toward her husband’s exposed neck.

If it hadn’t been for the armed guards blocking her way, she
might have rushed to stop the man from getting any closer to Thad. But as it
was, fear kept her rooted in place, along with the knowledge that they needed
Thad alive in order to make a deal with him. They couldn’t risk hurting him too
badly.

Still, she
flinched as they peeled back the last of the hair on
his neck, cheeks and chin, down to the bare skin, leaving him looking exposed
and defenseless in the unforgiving fluorescent light. When the man who held him
back finally let go of the thick mane of his hair, Thad sat up straight, and
Monica saw him as if for the very first time.

He’d hardened in the years since she’d
known him. The muscles
across his chest and shoulders were broad, his cheeks had lost the last of their
boyishness, and his eyes glimmered like poured glass from their hard blue
depths.

“So, it
is
Thaddeus.” Octavian
stepped across the spilled hair and glowered down at the seated prince. The
madman made a much smaller figure than the crown price, but was bolstered
by
heeled boots and the presence of his armed men. “The cowardly lion has been
shorn. Perhaps we can tame him yet.”

Thaddeus glared up at him and repeated his earlier question.
“What do you want?”

“I want you to sign over the throne and crown of Lydia.”
Octavian’s smile stretched wide, his teeth glimmering with the same gray-green
as everything else around them.
“Or I will kill your wife and son.”

The muscles in Thad’s chest rippled as he strained against the
guards who held him back by his arms and hair. Monica feared that if her husband
got his hands on Octavian, he might rip him to shreds. But at the same time, she
feared even more what Thad might
not
do. He’d run
away the last time Octavian had challenged him.

If he ran
away again, she and her son would die.

FOUR

T
had struggled to think. He’d given up
everything to save Lydia. He’d missed out on the first five years of his son’s
life, settling instead for a marginal existence in the barely tolerable frozen
north. Besides that, his brother and sisters had risked their lives to save
Lydia, and his father had taken a bullet to protect his daughters and his
country.
Thad wasn’t about to throw away all their sacrifices by giving in
now.

He couldn’t give Octavian what he asked for.

Nor could he hand over Monica and Peter. The boy slept
peacefully on the other side of the glass, his cheeks rosy with slumber, his
belly rising and falling with each breath. Thad’s heart caught at the tender
sight.

His son
.

He’d never imagined
that his brief union with Monica would have
resulted in a child. Of course, his mind had been on other things almost from
the start—how to save Lydia from Octavian, how to prevent Monica from ever being
discovered. He shifted his gaze to her face, and he felt longing swirl with his
regrets.

Yes, she was angry enough with him now that she’d likely never
forgive him.
Even if there was a way out of this situation, even if he gave
Octavian everything he asked for, he and Monica and Peter could never be a
family. His son didn’t even know him. And he couldn’t blame Monica for hating
him for bringing Octavian and his vile plans into her life. But at the same
time, his cold heart burned with the bittersweet knowledge of what could have
been.

This could have been his family.

They could have been happy together.

But he could see no hope beyond the ugly choice that lay before
him.

“Well, Thaddeus? What’s it going to be?”

Thad didn’t respond to Octavian’s prompt. The man already had
way too much control over the situation. Thad wasn’t about to let him push his
buttons.

He scanned the room, quickly
estimating the number of
guards.

Dozens, at least. And those were just the ones he could see.
The front door had swung open via hydraulic hinge, meaning he wouldn’t get it
back open again without activating the powered switch, probably in some hidden
spot inaccessible to him. More than likely the other exits were secured
similarly.

Then there was the remote location.
Obviously the only way on
or off the island was by plane or boat. He didn’t have either. The plane they’d
arrived on would need refueling before it could take off again...whether there
were more planes stored elsewhere, ready to fly, he had no way of knowing.

The simple fact was, there was no way he could get off this
island by his own power. Even if he overpowered the
guards and somehow managed
to rescue Monica and Peter, even if he found a way out of this prison, he was
still marooned on this chunk of rock in the sea, where Octavian had every
advantage, from knowledge of the terrain to control of the trained mercenaries
who swarmed this rock.

Besides, even if he ran, even if he somehow got away, Octavian
would only scour the earth
until he found him again. And he’d be that much
angrier when he found him. There was nothing for it but to strike a deal.

But what kind of deal could he possibly get? He had almost
nothing to bargain with.

Just his signature and a scepter he hadn’t seen in six
years.

“You want to be king of Lydia?” Thad eyed the egomaniac
warily.

“Yes. Obviously.” Octavian
sounded irritated.

Maybe Thad held more power than he’d first assumed. Octavian’s
short temper could be used against him. “In order to be king, you need me to
renounce my claim to the throne, and you need the Scepter of Charlemagne.”

“I know that!”

“I don’t have the scepter on me at the moment.”

“Where is it?”

Thad pinched his face into a smile. Octavian was
an impatient
man. The temper tantrums of his youth could still be easily generated. And Thad
suspected that he wouldn’t be nearly as cunning when he was hopping mad. “In
Lydia.”

“My men have scoured the country. They’ve found no trace of
it.”

“That’s because I’m the only person who knows where it’s
hidden.”

Octavian stepped closer, leering down into Thad’s
face, his
breath as putrid as his rotten soul. “Tell me where it is.”

“I can’t.”

Octavian gestured to the guards who held Monica. “We’ll kill
the woman!”

“I can get it for you, though.”

“If you know where it is, you can tell me where to
find
it.”

“It’s been so long...I’m afraid I won’t be able to describe the
spot. I’ll have to go myself.”

“That’s
ridiculous. Give me an approximate location, and I’ll
have my men tear the place apart looking for it.”

“I suppose, if you want to risk burying it further... It’s
located in a rocky, unstable place. If you send too many men or use heavy
equipment, you’re likely to crush it or bury it forever. Your claim to the
throne will be questioned enough as it is. I don’t think you’re
in any position
to hazard it further.”

Octavian took a step back, his eyes narrowed and darting as he
analyzed his next move. For a moment, he fixed his stare on Monica.

Thaddeus refused to let his fear show. He didn’t have much to
bargain with, but so far, Octavian seemed to be taking his words seriously. The
would-be ruler had seen too many of his plots foiled of
late. He couldn’t
possibly have too many backup plans left.

Could he?

“I will send you to Lydia in my fastest jet.” The smaller man
spoke quickly. “You have two days to produce the scepter. At that time, if you
do not hand it over, I will kill your son before your eyes.”

A whimper escaped from Monica, and as Thad glanced her way, he
watched her raise her trembling
fingers to her mouth.

Octavian saw it, too, and smiled. “I will let you take this
woman with you. She may remind you every day, at every moment, of the importance
of what’s at stake, and just how much you will hate yourself if you fail.”

“You can’t—” Monica gasped. “You can’t separate me from my son.
He doesn’t know you. He’ll be terrified.”

“What concern is that
to me? Nonetheless—” He raised his hand.
A light went up behind Peter, revealing a young woman in a chair behind him,
looking nervous as she watched over the sleeping child. “I have thought of all
this already. You see, I first told this woman that you’d had an emergency, that
she needed to come with me to pick up the child. She lured him into my car. She
has proven to be
very useful in achieving his cooperation.”

The light went back down again. Judging from the expression on
Monica’s face, she knew the young woman. A familiar babysitter? Thad could only
imagine the lies Octavian must have told the girl.

“Now go!” Octavian snapped his fingers, and the guards
surrounding Thad shoved him to his feet. “You have two days!”

* * *

Monica stumbled as the guards pulled her down the
hallway. She wished she could break free from them and run back to Peter. Even
with Natalie, his favorite babysitter, Peter was sure to feel alone and
frightened. For one terrifying moment, it occurred to Monica that Natalie might
be on Octavian’s side. But when Monica glanced back at the girl, she saw that
Natalie’s face was
stark white, her eyes wide with fear, her entire posture that
of a frightened, bullied young woman.

What had Octavian done to her? Had he kidnapped her, as well?
Monica could only assume so. But she knew enough about Natalie’s background to
know the young woman had overcome many obstacles in her young life. Monica
prayed Natalie would be resilient enough to stay strong
for Peter, to reassure
him rather than frighten him.

Thad staggered along in front of her, setting a brisk pace,
showing no sign of fighting the men who escorted him down the stark, gray
corridor. They passed through several sets of doors, waiting momentarily at each
one for the guards to punch in the codes to open them. From what Monica could
tell, this Octavian
fellow was paranoid on top of being brilliant and endlessly
wealthy. But then, having the Lydian throne repeatedly yanked out from under him
might have contributed to his attitude.

It didn’t bode well for her odds of survival—or Peter’s. She
was still somewhat amazed to have made it out of the room alive. Octavian must
have realized that Thad didn’t have a relationship
with Peter—threatening his
son wouldn’t touch Thad’s heart nearly as deeply as it injured hers. Her role,
apparently, was to play Thad’s conscience, reminding him constantly of what was
at stake.

No problem. She was ready to throttle him for endangering her
son.

They stepped outside into the brisk air. Despite the date on
the calendar smack in the middle of June,
the air temperature in the Arctic
Circle was stubbornly frozen at a damp chill driven by the relentless wind. From
what she understood, it was known to snow year round at the top of the globe.
The cold that seeped into her bones made that forecast easy to believe.

As steps were rolled into place leading to the jet’s door, a
man approached.

Thad shook his head slowly.
“General Marc Petrela,” he greeted
him in a cold voice. “I thought you worked for Lydia.”

“I work for whoever is in control.” The general hardly glanced
their way, but addressed the nearest guards. “Tie them up,” he demanded. “Tie
them carefully. This man has slipped away too many times. He won’t get away
again. Not on my watch.”

Monica braced herself as the men approached
with ropes, and
none-too-gently bound her wrists and ankles. Then they lifted her clumsily
between them and carried her up the steps, plunking her into one of the beige
leather seats.

Their mission for the moment accomplished, the guards made for
the kitchen at the rear of the plane as though they’d missed a feeding in all
the excitement. Monica’s seat faced the rear,
and she watched them go, coveting
their freedom, though she couldn’t imagine swallowing anything. Not until her
son was safe in her arms again.

More guards deposited Thad into the chair nearest hers.

The general climbed aboard and took a seat where he could watch
them, though he left plenty of space between them—almost as though Octavian’s
scorn might be contagious,
and he didn’t want to get close enough to contract
it.

Thad slumped toward her. Bound as they both were, neither of
them could adjust their position freely, so when Thad’s cheek landed almost atop
her shoulder, it was all Monica could do to cringe and tolerate his
closeness.

“They’re not going to hurt Peter.” The one benefit of his
proximity was that he could
speak in a near-silent whisper, and she could still
hear him.

“Because you’re going to stop them somehow, I suppose?”

“No. Why do you think they let us leave so easily?”

“Easily?” Monica gave her bound wrists a pointed look.

“They let us leave,” Thad repeated, “because Peter is the most
valuable weapon they have.”

Monica glared at him. “He’s five years old.”

“Precisely. He’s malleable. They can tell him you’ve abandoned
him, feed him a string of lies and rule through him.”

“How, exactly, is that
not
hurting
him?”

“Well, they won’t kill him anyway. I thought you’d be relieved
to hear that.”

Far from relieved, Monica felt her stomach swirl with disgust.
That evil tyrant would turn her own son against her. She wanted
to leap off the
jet before it took off, run back through that maze of a building, find her son
and carry him away. But there was no overcoming the ropes that bound them, and
besides, the jet had already been positioned at the head of a long runway. An
instant later the pilot punched the throttle. Monica felt the lump in her throat
press against the ache in her chest.

“I would never abandon my son.” She’d deny any claim Octavian
might try to make, praying that somehow in the course of his first five years,
she’d impressed that great truth upon Peter. She turned her head away from Thad
and watched the bleak skyline flash past the windows. “I’m not like you.”

Thad sat up a little straighter at her accusation. “I
didn’t
abandon
him.
I didn’t know he
existed.”

“You didn’t stick around long enough to learn he existed. It’s
the same thing.”

“It’s in
no way
the same thing.” He
slumped a little closer, propping one elbow on the seat rest until he was nearly
in her face.

“If you’d known he existed, would you have stayed?” As she
asked the question, the plane lifted off the runway with a lurch,
and Thad,
already at an odd angle as he strained to talk to her, keeled face-first into
her collarbone.

“Ow,” he muttered from where his face was buried in the excess
folds of her jacket collar. He didn’t seem to be able to pull himself away
without the use of his hands.

Monica wriggled and tried to push him back, but he only slumped
lower.

Embarrassed,
she tried to tell herself she’d felt nothing at
his sudden contact.

Nothing but a surge of conflicting emotions, as the love she’d
been denied for six years clashed with her anger.

Finally he peeled himself awkwardly away, and flopped back into
an upright position.

“Sit up straight in your seat and you won’t get hurt.”

“If only it were that easy.”

Monica
tried to ignore him. Even if she turned to face the
other way, she could still hear him breathing, could still smell the reek of oil
that inhabited his very pores, as if he were made of grease instead of flesh.
And when she looked straight ahead, he was there on the edge of her peripheral
vision, a hulking mass of muscled man, so much harder than the youth she’d once
been
in love with, but on some level, still the same man.