The Missing Monarch (6 page)

But at the very least, she refused to think about him, and
tried to keep her eyes averted, staring instead at the bleak sky outside her
window. Her thoughts flew to her child, and she prayed silently that he would be
okay, not just in body, but in soul. Natalie would comfort him. Natalie, his
favorite babysitter, would
assure him that he’d be reunited with his mother
soon.

And Peter would believe her. He had to.

* * *

Thaddeus settled back in his seat and turned his face
toward the woman who refused to look back at him.

His wife.

Whatever her complaints might have been about his abandoning
her, it seemed as though the years had been good to her. She was still
beautiful,
with her dark hair and brown eyes and smile that could melt his
heart. Granted, at this close range he could see the beginnings of the faintest
wrinkles etched into her skin. But they were laugh lines, highlighting the
corners of her eyes and the upward tilt of her mouth, not the dour wrinkles of
pinched lips or furrowed brows.

Monica had been happy without him, then.
The knowledge swirled
in a bittersweet fluttering in his chest. He was glad for her, that she hadn’t
suffered as he had. He was glad she’d known laughter and joy, and had presumably
raised their son with such. But even as he felt comforted knowing she’d found
happiness without him, he wished he could have been a part of it. As those laugh
lines had etched themselves into her
face, he wished he could have been standing
beside her, smiling and carefree, as well.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” He’d given her question thorough
consideration and reached his conclusion.

Monica turned to face him. “What?”

“If I’d known about Peter. It wouldn’t have changed the
situation. At most it would have made it that much more important that I stay
away
from you, and you from me, so that nothing like this would happen.”

“I disagree.” Monica held up her bound hands to stop him from
speaking further. “I don’t think your disappearance actually protected us at
all. They still found me. Octavian has Peter.”

Thad didn’t like the blame that buttressed her words. He didn’t
like the situation they described, either. “How is it
that Octavian found you?”
he mused aloud.

“I don’t know.” Monica defended herself as if she’d been
accused of personally giving away the secret. “I didn’t whisper a word to
anyone. My parents don’t even know anything about you. Peter has your picture by
his nightstand, but he only knows you as ‘Daddy.’ He doesn’t know your
name.”

Thad felt a foreign stirring
of emotion as Monica’s words
evoked the image of the blond-haired boy being tucked into bed next to a picture
of his daddy.

Next to a picture of
him
.

“What does he know about me?”

“Just that the man in the picture is his daddy, that you’ve
gone away for a long time and we don’t know when or if you’re ever coming
back.”

“Anything else?” Each detail she shared
prickled his heart like
a painful scab being peeled away before the wound was fully healed. But he had
to know what Peter knew. Octavian had the boy, and would soon learn everything
the five-year-old could tell him. Octavian would use any information he could
against them. Thad was certain of that much.

“Just that—” Monica stopped herself and shook her head.

“What?”

“It’s nothing. It’s not important.”

“
Everything
is important. What were
you going to say?”

Her lower lip quivered, and she seemed to debate whether she
should answer his question. Just when she seemed about to speak, General Marc
Petrela cleared his throat and approached them, standing in the aisle with his
arms crossed over his chest, glowering at them.

Thad glowered back. Of his father’s three generals, Petrela had
long been the one Thad most respected. He was younger than David Bardici and
Corban Lucca. In fact, Thad realized General Petrela wasn’t much older than he
was. But the man had a lengthy record of service in the Lydian army, having
risen through the ranks on hard work and dependable leadership. He’d kept his
body
in top military shape, instead of going soft like the other two generals.
On top of that, he was a churchgoing man. Thad recalled seeing him in worship
services for years, back when he was growing up in Lydia’s capitol city of
Sardis.

As his glowering expression stretched to a sneer, Thad realized
just how poor a judge he’d been all those years. Sure, he’d respected the
general. But how long had the man been working for Octavian?

Plenty long enough for Thad to stop trusting him.

Petrela cleared his throat. “I’ve been in contact with
Octavian. We’ve ironed out some of the details of our plans. This plane will be
flying straight to Sardis. Once we arrive there, we will accompany you to find
the scepter.”

Thad didn’t bother to
point out how presumptuous the man’s
request was. He had no intention of leading these men straight to the scepter,
but there was no need to tell them that. “Can you please untie us now? We’ve
reached cruising altitude. There isn’t too much trouble we can cause from
here.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Octavian’s orders were very
clear.”

Thad contemplated
a few bitter responses, but kept his mouth
shut.

The general continued to glare at them, but didn’t speak
again.

Thad wondered what he was contemplating. Surely the man knew
how reluctant Thad was to hand over the scepter, or to lead them to it. Whatever
Octavian’s promises about letting Peter return to Monica in exchange for the
scepter, Thad didn’t believe
it. More than likely the general and his men were
under orders to snatch it away the moment Thad uncovered it. Then they’d have
the kingdom and the heir, as well.

Silently, the general turned and went back to his seat.

Thad looked at Monica, who’d closed her eyes, though she didn’t
appear to be asleep. Thad watched her for a moment, then rubbed his face with
his hands
and tried to sort out where his dreams of happiness with the beautiful
woman had gone so irrevocably wrong.

He hadn’t ever meant to woo her. She was just the quiet girl
who happened to sit at the desk next to his, crammed into an undergraduate
lecture hall. One day, as he’d been doodling inventions in his notebook, she’d
reached over and started naming them.

In Latin.

Impressed, he’d jotted notes back, and quickly learned more
about her. She was a student of ancient languages, in love with the written
word. She wanted to be a professor someday, but Greek was giving her fits.

Thad had been more than happy to tutor her. As heir to the
Lydian throne, he’d grown up learning several foreign languages, including Greek
and its close cousin,
Old Lydian, the language of his people that had only been
replaced by English as a national language a mere century before.

Monica had been thrilled when he’d offered to teach her Old
Lydian, and had soaked up all the history of Lydia he could share with her,
including its roots in the Bible. Never once had she questioned why he knew so
many details about his homeland,
or why the last name he used was the same as
the name of his country.

She hadn’t asked, so he’d never told her who he really was. For
a few years they were simply friends—not even best friends. Thad had been
careful not to get too close to her then, sensing that she was the kind of woman
he could easily fall in love with, and knowing he wasn’t in any position to
start
a serious relationship. He hadn’t ever intended to fall in love with her.
After all, he had a kingdom to get back to, and she had a career as an
ancient-languages professor to look forward to.

But as the time had drawn closer for him to say goodbye and
return to Lydia, both of them had begun to realize how much they meant to the
other. After one kiss Thad had become convinced
he couldn’t leave her behind.
They could elope, and he’d surprise her with the news of his royal pedigree at
the same time as he introduced her to his family as his wife.

But he’d been introduced to Octavian instead.

That was where his life had gone veering off track. His father
had been dealing with Octavian before that. And ultimately, only King Philip
could explain
how he’d gotten pulled into the mess. But his father was now in a
coma, having taken a bullet protecting Isabelle and Anastasia from some of
Octavian’s cohorts...and the longer Philip was unconscious, the less likely it
became that he’d ever wake up.

And the less likely it seemed that they’d be able to keep the
kingdom out of Octavian’s hands. If it hadn’t been for all
the sacrifices he’d
made already, Thad might have been inclined to give up. Octavian had his son. He
had every advantage. Thad wasn’t even sure how he was going to get away from
General Petrela, even for a moment.

He needed a plan. A strategy. When they landed in Sardis, Thad
needed to use every moment of the precious two days Octavian had granted
him.

But how?

* * *

If there was one advantage to having one’s wrists bound,
Monica figured it was that she could keep her hands folded in prayer, even if
she fell asleep.

Exhaustion reached its greedy claws toward her, threatening to
drag her into slumber, but Monica couldn’t allow herself to nod off. She had to
keep praying. At first it was just for Peter—that God would be
with him, and
keep him safe, and unite them once again.

But the more she prayed, the more she realized there were other
things to pray for. There was the kingdom of Lydia and the royal family.

And ultimately, she realized she needed to pray for Thad.
Furious as she was with him, she realized he’d need God’s help if they were
going to get their son back. She’d given
up hoping for a future with Thad after
he’d left her. She’d severed every tie to the man who now sat next to her on
this plane jetting away from her son. But, she realized, Peter and Lydia
wouldn’t be free until Thad was free from whatever it was that encumbered his
faith.

As she prayed for Thad, he cleared his throat next to her and
she opened her eyes, thinking
he might have something he wanted to say to
her.

But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the
general.

“There are some preparations I’d like to make from the air if
we’re going to be able to retrieve the scepter in a timely manner once we land.”
Thad spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, without any underlying threat, other than
that implicit in the meaning
of his words.

The general stood and faced them. Monica had both her eyes open
now and watched Marc Petrela as he considered Thad’s request. The man’s beady
brown eyes darted toward the plane’s kitchen, where the guards were, then
narrowed as he looked back at them.

Monica wondered what he was thinking. Though they’d left
Octavian back on the island, in many ways it
was as though he was still with
them. Anything they said could be repeated back to him by the guards or recorded
by some hidden security device. For all she knew, Octavian was watching them on
a screen right now.

“What preparations?” the general asked finally.

“I need to talk to my brother,” Thad said evenly.

“Why is that necessary? I cannot allow it. You would only
plot
some way of escaping.”

“Octavian has my son,” Thad reminded him, anger spicing his
words. “I’m not going to try to escape from you. I won’t do anything to endanger
Peter. But if we’re going to get the scepter in the next two days, I can’t waste
any more time. Let me talk to my brother.”

The general leaned forward and lifted his eyebrows slightly. “I
can
help you.”

Monica felt her heart thumping hard as the seconds ticked by.
What, exactly, was Petrela offering?

Thad seemed to consider the same question. Tense seconds ticked
by.

“I need to talk to my brother,” Thad repeated. “If you don’t
have the authority to grant that request, then let me talk to Octavian.”

“I have the authority.”

“Then use it.”

Monica watched the general’s lower jaw shift slowly from side
to side as he mulled Thad’s request. Then, to her surprise, he almost smiled as
he placed his own phone in Thad’s bound hands.

“Call whoever you need to. I’ll be listening.”

Thad wasted no time dialing.

Monica listened as Thad briefly updated his brother on the bare
essentials of their situation.

“Octavian
found me.” He paused. “I don’t know
how
. He captured me and Monica. Did Kirk tell you
about Monica? Ask him about her. It’s complicated. I’ll try to explain when we
arrive.”

Thad paused again, and Monica could just make out a clip of
words that told her that Thad’s brother, Alexander, had a lot of questions.

Unfortunately, given the way Petrela eyed Thad as though he
might decide at any moment to take his phone back, Thad didn’t have the luxury
of providing many details.

“We’ve been captured,” Thad repeated. “They’ve got us bound
hand and foot and we’re headed to Sardis. We should arrive sometime tomorrow
morning. Octavian wants the scepter.”

Alexander’s voice carried more strongly now. Though Monica
couldn’t make out the
words, she could imagine the protests he’d have. After
all, she’d seen enough on the news to know that Alexander, Isabelle and
Anastasia had each been through life-threatening trials to keep the kingdom out
of Octavian’s hands. They weren’t likely to allow their brother to simply hand
it over.

“Alec—” Thad finally cut his brother off “—I’ll explain more
later if I
get the chance. Have cars waiting at the Sardis airport, enough to
transport Petrela and his men.”

Another pause.

“Yes. General Marc Petrela. He’s working for Octavian. Right
now he’s guarding me and Monica, supposedly to keep us from running away, though
I suspect he’s under orders to snatch away the scepter the moment I uncover
it.”