The Missing Monarch (7 page)

Thad spoke without looking
at the general, but Monica couldn’t
help glancing at the older man.

Petrela’s lips thinned. Monica wondered what the man was
thinking. Had Thad’s words angered him? Was Thad being strategic, identifying
the general’s supposed motives, or was he so upset about the situation that he’d
let his anger guide his actions?

It was difficult to say which. Thad quickly ended
the call and
held the phone out to the general, who stepped forward to claim it silently.

Monica watched the exchange. With her son’s life at stake and
precious minutes ticking away toward their two-day deadline, she couldn’t help
thinking that Thad’s choices were only making matters worse.

FIVE

T
had rested fitfully over the course of the
flight. He knew he needed some sleep if he was going to be able to meet the
challenges that lay ahead, but he couldn’t rest. Besides the discomfort of being
bound, he felt the weight of all that lay ahead. Part of him wished he could go
back to Alaska, hide again and pretend that none of this was happening. He
didn’t want to see the disappointment on Monica’s face when he let her down
again. And though, as he’d told Monica earlier, he doubted that Octavian would
kill Peter, Thad still had no desire to witness whatever mind games Octavian
might play with the boy as he trained him to be his puppet ruler.

But at the same time, part of him felt relieved to finally face
whatever
might be coming in the next two days. He’d felt guilty enough hiding at
the edge of the earth. It was restorative to finally get a chance to
do
something, even if whatever he did was certain to
fail.

If nothing else, he’d get a chance to see his family again, to
apologize for all the ways he’d disappointed them in the past, before he
disappointed them again.

With
the risen sun pouring through the plane’s windows, Thad
realized they’d soon be landing. Sometime during the night the guards had
delivered sandwiches and sodas to him and Monica, and they’d eaten as best they
could with bound hands.

Monica slept now, and Thad caught himself looking at her again,
rememorizing her every feature as he had when they’d been together. His heart
burned with a longing so fierce it speared like physical pain through his chest.
Then he realized what he was doing, torturing himself by watching her. She
wasn’t his any longer. It wasn’t right for him to look at her. And it wasn’t
very wise, either, not if he wanted to keep control of his emotions.

He rose on shaking feet and made his way, half hopping, half
stumbling,
toward the restroom at the back of the plane, balancing himself as
best he could against the seat backs with his forearms. Ducking into the tiny
water closet, Thad washed his hands and stared at his reflection, squinting
toward where his laugh lines should have been.

Nothing. Only the haggard sag of skin under his eyelids, the
drooping ridges chiseled across his brow,
sorrow instead of joy reflected back
at him from every cell on his face. He looked old.

His thirtieth birthday had passed the month before with no
acknowledgment, because no one around him knew when his birthday was. And none
of those who knew could find him.

It was as though it had never happened, except that he looked
as if several more birthdays had passed.

He shook off the thought, splashing cold water on his face and
drying it with rough paper towels. This, of course, was precisely why he had to
steel his heart against Monica. She made him think about sentimental things like
laugh lines and birthdays. She made him soft. Those first few weeks at the oil
rig had been the worst, missing her, reaching for her in the night, waking
up to
find she wasn’t there.

If he let himself care for Monica, even a little, he’d fall
right back into Octavian’s clutches.
This
was why
the egomaniac had sent her with him—to weaken him and make him easier to defeat.
No, Thad had a duty to the crown of Lydia and plenty of wrongs to put right. It
wouldn’t do to let his emotions get in the way at this point, no matter
how
strong the feelings she roused inside him.

Thad lingered in the restroom until one of the guards,
apparently concerned that he might be hatching an escape plan from the toilet at
thirty thousand feet, rapped on the door and urged him to return to the cabin.
As he made his way back down the aisle, he saw Monica’s eyes were still
closed.

Good. She needed her
rest. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Monica awoke to bright light streaming in through the
jet’s windows. It took her a moment to remember which flight she was on. Then
the recent past caught up to her with terrifying speed, and she sat upright,
gasping.

When she caught her breath and looked around, she realized the
guards were snoring in the seats nearest
the kitchen.

The sunlight streaming in the windows seemed to indicate they’d
caught up with morning at some point in their flight, and were likely
approaching their destination, as well. Monica found where the guards had tossed
her bag, and made her way back to the restroom to brush her teeth and prepare to
meet Thad’s extended family.

Heading back to her seat, she
looked out the window at the
island-studded coastline of Greece. She remembered the view from six years
before, when she’d arrived in Lydia breathlessly happy, delirious with the
wedding plans she was sure would usher in a state of perpetual happiness.

How quickly all that had changed.

As the plane continued its descent toward the tiny Christian
kingdom squeezed along
the coastline between Albania and Greece, the others
aboard the jet began to rouse, and the general stood over them again with an
update.

“I’ve been in contact with Octavian. He’s established his
ground rules. My men and I will untie you once we land, but we will follow you
everywhere. If at any point you attempt to escape, you will only make things
more difficult
for yourselves and for your son. Do you understand?”

Monica risked glancing at Thad. His expression was stony,
unreadable.

“Octavian will arrive with Peter by noon on Saturday. That’s
tomorrow,” the general clarified, in case the long flight had blurred their
sense of passing time. “He’ll meet us at the palace throne room for the
transfer—the scepter and your signature,
for your son.”

Monica absorbed the news. After accounting for all the time
zones they’d flown through and the length of their flight, Saturday at noon was
two days from the time Octavian had brokered his deal with them. They’d lost
many hours in the flight over, and Octavian hadn’t credited them back in any
way.

What surprised Monica most was that they were going
to be
untied. Did Octavian really trust Thad not to give him the slip this time? She’d
been somewhat surprised that he let them fly back to Lydia at all. But then,
Thad had suggested that Octavian might be just as inclined to rule through Peter
as to take the crown himself. And surely Octavian understood that if he was ever
going to get his hands on the scepter, Thad would
have to have use of his
hands.

It wouldn’t surprise her if Petrela took the scepter the moment
Thad uncovered it, just as Thad had predicted the night before. Or did Octavian
have something even more awful up his sleeve? From what Monica understood of the
man, he’d quickly concocted plans B, C and D every time his plan A was defeated.
Perhaps it was enough to assume
their adversary had a pocketful of contingency
plans.

In any event, she wished Thad would discuss his thoughts with
her. Surely he knew Octavian better than she did, and could guess with more
accuracy what the evil man might be up to. Though he hadn’t spoken to her for
most of the flight, she leaned close to him as the plane began its descent, and
asked in a conspiratorial
whisper, “Are we going to look for the scepter as soon
as we land?”

Thad leveled her a look that sent her heart dipping along with
the descent of the aircraft.

“
If
I go to fetch the scepter, I’ll
go alone.” His words were hardly audible, though she leaned close to hear.

“If?” She wanted to shake him, but figured there was no way she
was ever going to rattle him
enough to make him understand. “There is no
if
. This is our son we’re talking about. You’ve got to
get the scepter. It’s not optional. Besides, you don’t have the choice to go
alone.” She shot a pointed look toward the general, who’d already promised to
follow them everywhere.

“First I need to talk in person to my siblings. They’ve risked
their lives to keep Lydia out
of Octavian’s control. They deserve to be part of
this discussion.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. You’ve simply got to do what
Octavian says.”

Thad leaned forward and dropped his voice. “And what will
happen then?”

Monica stared at him, unsure what he was asking, exactly. “Then
he’ll return Peter—”

“Why should he?”

“He said—”

“Don’t ever trust anything
Octavian says.” The hard look in
Thad’s eyes seemed to be rooted in experience. “Once he has the scepter, we’ll
have nothing left to bargain with. We’ll be a liability, contenders to the
throne who could somehow take it back again. He can’t risk that.”

“What are you saying?”

Thad closed his eyes as though the burden of keeping them open
was too much for him under
the circumstances. When he opened them, they
glistened with moisture. “Remember back in college, that class we took together
on ancient civilizations? What have rival kings done throughout history to
prevent their adversaries from returning to power?”

Monica could barely get the words out. “They have them
killed.”

Thad nodded solemnly.

“But he can’t have us killed.
That would be so wrong. Surely
the world won’t sit back and watch as such an injustice is carried out.”

Thad looked at her with sorrow in his eyes.

And Monica thought of all the horrid headlines that had told of
troubles in distant corners of the world, of dictators and devilish acts
performed all over the globe. It happened all the time and left her wishing
there
was some way she could have stopped it, some way she could intervene to
help. Peace on earth remained an unachievable dream no matter how sincerely she
and her son prayed for it in their bedtime prayers.

But this time, the injustice was happening to her little boy.
Her voice squeaked up a notch. “But Peter is so innocent.”

“I know you don’t trust me, and you have no reason
to believe
my promises, but I will do my best to give you back your son.”

“Your best?” Monica shook her head. So far, Thad’s best had
been hiding at the edge of the earth, reneging on his wedding vows mere weeks
after making them. And even that sacrifice hadn’t accomplished what he’d wanted
after all. So far, Thad’s best efforts had failed.

The plane gave another
lurch and rocked as the landing gear
kissed the tarmac. Monica began to wonder if she’d ever see her son again.

Once they’d taxied to a stop and the general instructed his
men, he nodded to Monica and Thad and they stood obediently while he slit the
bonds that had held them. Then they filed off the plane, with Monica shadowing
Thad toward waiting limousines.

A man
stood by the cars, and Monica recognized him as Kirk
Covington, her husband’s best friend from growing up, who’d served as the best
man and sole witness of their wedding. There was only one other person on earth
who’d known about their nuptials—the Lydian deacon who’d officiated, Dom
Procopio.

Thad walked toward Kirk, who’d been accused of murdering Thad,
having been
the last person seen with the missing prince. Kirk had gone on trial
but had refused to say anything about what had happened to Thad. Eventually,
he’d been acquitted for lack of evidence, but by that time, he was hated by most
of Lydia.

Kirk had made many sacrifices to keep Thad’s whereabouts a
secret. In addition, if the news reports Monica had watched the week before
were
to be believed, Kirk had saved the life of Princess Anastasia, Thad’s youngest
sister, and in the process, fallen in love with the princess. Kirk and Stasi
were engaged.

Appreciation welled in Thad’s eyes as he approached his friend.
Thad glanced at the general, who was still a couple of steps behind him,
watching him carefully. Thad seemed to waver, however
briefly, over how he
should respond to his friend.

Then he stretched out his arms to embrace him.

The overwhelming envy Monica felt caught her off guard. She
told herself she didn’t
want
Thad to embrace her,
but her heart seemed to think otherwise.

Petrela barked a warning as Thad’s arms rose. When the crown
prince embraced his friend in spite of the general’s
words, Petrela nodded to
his men. Four of them swarmed Thad, grabbing him by the arms and shoulders and
pulling him back from Kirk.

Suddenly men in uniforms of the Lydian royal guard stepped out
from the other vehicles.

Kirk raised one hand, and the guards paused.

Monica watched the men carefully. They were on Lydian soil. No
doubt the Lydian royal guards could
easily outnumber the men Octavian had
dispatched with Petrela. But if they did, what would Octavian do to her son?

Thad hadn’t explained that part to Alexander over the phone.
He’d given only a very brief explanation. None of Thad’s siblings knew about
Peter.

As the guards holding him relaxed their grip, Thad turned
around just far enough to face Petrela. “I haven’t
seen my friend in six years,”
he informed the general briskly.

“I have my orders.”

Thad’s expression didn’t soften in the least. “We’ll be seeing
my family shortly. I’ll have you know I have every intention of embracing them,
as well.”

“Octavian didn’t finance a family reunion. You are on a
mission.”

Petrela and Thaddeus glared at each other as though either
of
them might happily command his men to tear the other to shreds at any
moment.

What would happen to Peter then?

Monica stepped in between the men and placed a gentle hand on
Thad’s arm. “You’ve got to cooperate,” she reminded him.

Anger sparked in Thad’s eyes, but he blew out a long breath and
seemed to calm down, however slightly. “We have very little time
before Octavian
arrives for the exchange,” Thad reminded the general. “I can’t have your men
jumping me every time I make a move.”