Читать книгу The Missing Monarch - Rachelle McCalla - Страница 10

ONE

“Regis?”

The Crown Prince Thaddeus of Lydia didn’t hesitate to respond to his prearranged code name. “Yes?”

“Have you seen the news?”

“Always.”

“Then you know—?”

“Yes.” Thaddeus didn’t need his friend Kirk, the sole person on earth who knew how to reach him, to elaborate any more over the phone. Yes, he knew that the tiny kingdom of Lydia had been nearly overtaken by insurgent forces ten days before. He also knew who was behind those forces—a man who went by the code name 8, short for Octavian, an egomaniac would-be despot, who’d stop at nothing to achieve the power he desired. What Thad didn’t know, was how to stop him from taking over the tiny kingdom.

“You know that we need you?” A voice broke in, a female. One of his sisters? Princess Isabelle or Princess Anastasia, he couldn’t be sure which one.

“You need me to stay right where I am.” Thad hoped his sister could hear the authority in his voice. He was, after all, her big brother, besides being the crown prince of the Christian nation. He knew what he was talking about.

“No—” Isabelle’s voice for sure. “We need you on the thr—”

“Don’t say it.” Thad interrupted her before she could drop any words that might give away his identity. They had no way of being certain their line was secure, though he knew Kirk would have taken every possible precaution. The risk was simply too great. If Octavian ever found where he was hiding, all the sacrifices he’d made would have been in vain.

“We need you here.” That was Alexander’s voice, so much more mature than when Thad had left home. But then, Prince Alexander had been through many trials on behalf of Lydia. “You’re the only one who can end this.”

“If I come home, things will only get worse, I promise you. You have to trust that I know what I’m talking about.”

“If you would explain—”

“I can’t. Not over the phone. You know that.” Thad took a deep breath, wishing there were some way he could impress upon his younger siblings the gravity of the situation. They couldn’t underestimate the foe they were up against. “Please don’t try to contact me again. The risks are far too great.”

“You need to come home.” It was Kirk’s voice again, insistent this time.

“No. I need to go. Goodbye.” Thad gripped the phone, knowing he needed to end the call and cut the line that exposed him to potential detection. Still, he hesitated to sever the connection to his family. He missed them so much, the six long years since he’d seen them last weighing on his heart.

Anastasia’s voice echoed distantly over the still-live line. “You were right, Kirk. He’s determined not to return. I wish we could make him understand, but we can’t risk trying to visit him, and he won’t listen to any of us.”

“There is one person he might listen to. I don’t know if I can convince her—”

“Don’t!” Thad nearly shouted, glad he hadn’t hung up the phone after all. “Don’t bring her into this. Never speak of her again.”

“But—”

“No. There’s nothing she can say to me that will change anything. She deserves her privacy. Do you understand?” Silence ticked by in tense seconds, and Thad feared the connection had been severed after all. “Promise me you won’t try to contact her.”

Reluctance filled Kirk’s voice. “I promise.”

“Thank you. I’ve got to go.” Thad ended the call, feeling even more alone than he had mere moments before, the reminder of his long-lost wife prickling the long-dead parts of his heart like blood rushing back to a sleeping appendage, as though to rouse his buried feelings back to life.

He trusted his friend. Kirk would keep his promise not to reach out to Monica.

Thad stared at the phone in his hand, replaying the details of their conversation. They hadn’t spoken Monica’s name. And surely their line was secure. So why did Thad feel such a breathless sense of panic, as though somehow, by mentioning a woman he cared about, they’d exposed Monica to detection?

Because he knew his enemy. And every time he’d underestimated Octavian before, he’d been wrong. Dead wrong.

* * *

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Monica Miller promised her mother as she headed out for her morning run.

“Take your time.” Sheila Miller dismissed her concern. “Peter and I have big plans. We’re going to set up a fort in the sandbox.”

Monica looked up as she stretched her calves against the shallow step that topped the graceful sidewalk in front of her modest Seattle bungalow. “You spoil him,” she accused with a smile.

“I’m his grandmother. It’s my job.” Sheila wrapped her arms around Peter and kissed the blond curls atop the young boy’s head.

“Thank you, Mom. I love you both!” Monica called over her shoulder as she took off down the familiar sidewalk of her friendly neighborhood. The June morning was still a little cool—perfect for her workout. Even more perfect, her mother had offered to watch Peter every morning as Monica finished her marathon training.

Inhaling deeply, Monica thanked God for the blessings in her life. Her son. Her parents, who loved their five-year-old grandson and had never pressured her to tell them who his father was.

Which was a good thing, because she couldn’t tell them. They’d never met Crown Prince Thaddeus of Lydia and would probably have a difficult time digesting her story about their whirlwind romance, secret elopement and—hardest of all—his sudden disappearance before she’d even realized she was pregnant.

Truth be told, she didn’t really understand why Thad had left her, but she trusted him enough to obey his order never to look for him. From what she’d seen on the news lately about the troubles in that tiny Mediterranean kingdom, Thad had been right about his dangerous enemies. Lydia’s government had nearly been toppled.

For the first time, Monica had felt a tiny glimmer of gratitude that Thad hadn’t brought her home to Lydia after all. Though she’d have rather grown old with her husband by her side, she appreciated the freedom to finish her degree and follow her dreams of becoming a professor of foreign languages. And Peter was growing up in a safe place. Her son’s safety and well-being was more important to her than anything. To preserve that, she was willing to live out the rest of her life in the lonely limbo of technically married, but functionally single.

Monica rounded a corner to a tree-lined street as she followed her daily running circuit.

An unfamiliar car pulled up beside her, rolling at a creeping pace that matched her jogging speed.

Monica glanced at it. Did she know these people? She’d had friends stop to chat before, and the youth from church loved nothing more than to honk and wave frantically whenever they saw her out for a run.

Dark-tinted windows hid whoever was inside.

She picked up her pace, nearly sprinting.

The car sped up with her. Suddenly both passenger’s side doors opened and two men leaped out.

Monica tried to scream, but one man covered her mouth with an odorous cloth, scooping her up by her shoulders while the other picked her up by her legs. Her panic faded as darkness blocked out the light of the sun.

* * *

“We’ve got a seaplane taxiing toward the personnel dock.”

“In this fog?” Thad pulled his attention away from the charts on his desk and hurried down the hallway after the oil-rig worker who’d brought him the message. The Prudhoe Bay oil fields north of Alaska were remote, almost unreachable. Deliveries were clumped together and personnel exchanges scheduled weeks ahead of time. No one made the trip by chance. They weren’t expecting anyone.

He clattered down the stairs, reaching the landing just as a woman disembarked from the plane. Shoulder-length dark hair blew across her face in the arctic wind, obscuring her features.

Still, his heart lurched with recognition, and he crossed the platform in three strides, just in time for her to brush back her hair and meet his eyes.

Monica.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He had to yell to be heard over the sound of the idling plane engine and the streaming wind.

Her dark eyes snapped with anger and a trace of exhaustion. “Neither should you.”

“Get back on the plane.” He’d have picked her up and deposited her there himself, but that would require touching her—a risk he wouldn’t take unless he had to. The woman had long ago proven irresistible to him. He didn’t need to get any closer to her than he already was.

“I’ve traveled too far to turn around now.” Her words sounded worn-out, as though she’d repeated them to herself many times.

His heart gave a sympathetic lurch, which he instinctively resisted. Had Kirk contacted her in spite of his promise? It was a mistake he’d have to quickly rectify. He couldn’t give her a chance to get under his skin—she’d done it once before, and it had taken him all of the past six years to get over her. “Get back on the plane. The fog is getting worse. If you don’t leave now, you might not be able to leave for days.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

Her commanding tone was met with a roar of interest from the catwalk above, and Thad turned to see a crowd of workmen gathering to watch. Out here on the oil rig, they didn’t get much live entertainment. He quickly realized he wasn’t going to easily convince Monica to leave—not without some explanation. And that explanation needed to be completely private.

“Fine. Come with me.” He pushed his way up the stairs, past the gathering men, barking at them to get back to work, trusting her to follow him. Once free of the crowd, he turned to find her close on his heels. “This way.”

As he escorted Monica along the carpeted hallway that rang hollow with each footfall, Thad’s heartbeat thundered more hollow still.

How had she found him? Never mind that the remote oil drilling outpost sat far beyond even the farthest reaches of permafrost. Never mind that, under strict orders to keep the men civilized in spite of the inhumane setting, women weren’t allowed on the rig any more than tobacco or liquor.

It had been three days since his conversation with Kirk and his siblings. Had they contacted Monica in spite of his request? How long had she been looking for him?

And had she been followed?

He ducked into his office, pulled her after him and closed the door behind them both. Meeting her eyes, he fought the urge to push her away, as far away as he could. For her own safety. And his. And the security of Lydia.

But Lydia’s security had been breached two weeks before.

The attacks on his tiny kingdom had toppled his family’s government and left his father, King Philip, in a coma, fighting for life. Thad had warily watched the reports on the news, knowing that, for all his power as the heir to the throne, there was nothing he could do to help his siblings. No, if he stuck his head up, he’d only make things worse. Too bad he hadn’t been able to make them understand that. Monica’s arrival endangered them all.

He kept his arms to himself. “How did you find me?”

“Kirk—”

“Not even Kirk knows exactly where I am.” Thad’s best friend knew only that Thad was living on an oil platform north of Alaska—a vast amount of space for anyone to cover. Thad deliberately moved between platforms frequently. Even his own coworkers had difficulty tracking him down at times. Kirk could have pointed her in the right direction, but Monica would have undoubtedly had quite a time finding him.

“No kidding.” She frowned, and her mouth twitched.

“Were you followed? Has anyone been watching you?”

“If you’re worried about Octavian finding me, you’re too late. He kidnapped me yesterday morning and sent me on this crazy trip to find you. He didn’t know where you were so I had to ask Kirk.”

“What? Octavian found you? He kidnapped you?” He gripped her by the shoulders and stared into her brown eyes seeking answers. But instead of answers, he felt a rush of emotions. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to protect her from Octavian. But it was too late. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Did you hear what I said?” Her words came out in a disbelieving whisper. “He kidnapped me. He sent me here to bring you to him.”

Thaddeus tried not to think about the beguiling way she looked at him through her long eyelashes. He tried not to consider how close her lips were to his. He had to understand what Monica was saying. “Octavian kidnapped you, and then you contacted Kirk. How did you do that?”

“Octavian already had his number.”

“How did he get it?”

“How did he find out about me?” She pulled her shoulders from his hands and stepped away. “You promised me that if I never spoke your name, never made any effort to contact you, never told anyone I’d ever met you, that I’d be safe.”

Thad’s mouth hung open. The realization of his worst fear sunk in slowly. Octavian had found out about Monica. He’d used her to get to him.

He’d underestimated his enemy.

Again.

“Octavian sent you here?” he confirmed.

“Yes. He hired the pilot to fly me around until I found you.”

Thad looked around frantically. “We’ve got to leave. We’ll have to sneak away and hide somewhere else.”

“No!” Monica’s voice rose to shouting. “Have you heard anything I’ve said? Octavian sent me to get you, to bring you to him.”

“We can’t go to him.” Thad tried to shush her with a glare that had sent many a calloused oil worker cowering.

“Listen.” She ignored his silencing expression. “Octavian needs your signature. He needs a document that he says you stole from him. He says if you sign it, he’ll leave us alone.”

Thad knew he had to contain the situation. Not only that, he needed to get a handle on the unfamiliar emotions that were thrashing inside him like the arctic waters during a storm.

Even above the constant reek of oil and ocean brine, he smelled her gentle, feminine scent, and memories flew from the prisons where he’d banished them.

She looked up at him, and he clutched his chest, trying to stifle the aching pain that originated there. He’d tried for six years to cauterize that part of his heart, but one look at her big brown eyes tore open the old wound, proving it had never really healed. Yearnings he hadn’t felt in years awakened from their long hibernation.

“We need to leave.” She spoke with a note of authority he hadn’t heard her use before. This wasn’t the meek graduate student he’d fallen for so long ago.

“We do.” He agreed. “We need to hide.”

“We need to return to Octavian.” She took his arm and pulled him toward the door. “The pilot said he’d wait half an hour. Thick fog is rolling in—he didn’t think he could wait any longer than that.”

The tug on his heart was even stronger than the pull on his arm, and he pulled her close to him. “I’ll hide you. He won’t find you again. But we can’t go with the pilot he hired. There is nothing outside of this oil rig that is more important than me keeping my head down.”

“Nothing?” Her lips twitched again, and Thad thought he caught a glimmer of moisture in her eyes. The sight of it tore at him. If there was any way he could have spared Monica the pain of what he’d put her through, he’d have done it. But shortly after they’d eloped in Lydia in a solitary ceremony witnessed only by his trusted friend Kirk and the deacon who’d conducted the service, the insulated world of Thad’s royal heritage had been shattered.

His father, King Philip of Lydia, had shared with Thad the ignoble agreement he’d struck with the billionaire Octavian. There was nothing his father could have done to change what had happened. After grilling his father on possible solutions, Thad had finally concluded the only way to keep all his loved ones safe and the tiny kingdom of Lydia free from the hands of a deluded would-be despot, was for him to leave.

He repeated his answer. “Nothing.”

* * *

Monica felt dizzy. Maybe it was a lingering effect from the plane ride, maybe the result of being awake for the past thirty-six hours straight, or maybe the rig itself was moving with the rocking waves.

She’d tried to talk that madman Octavian out of his plan. She hadn’t wanted to make this trip, but her life—and her son’s—were on the line. She struggled to recall everything Octavian had told her. The man had three objectives to achieve. If she wanted to get home to her little boy, she had to do as he asked.

“Thad, listen. Your father’s in a coma.”

“I know that.” An emotion flickered in his eyes. The thick mountain-man beard that covered most of his face made him almost unrecognizable, except for his eyes. After the many years they’d spent as friends, and the short weeks of love they’d shared afterward, she knew those eyes well. How long had she silently admired this man, content to be close friends, before he’d finally acted on the simmering attraction between them? How many years had she wanted to look into his eyes, content to catch friendly glimpses and look away before her true feelings were exposed? Mere weeks before graduation, Thad had finally realized that their friendship was something much deeper, and they’d gazed into each other’s eyes until she’d memorized every glimmer that hid there. She’d lost herself, staring into those eyes years before. She could lose herself there again if she wasn’t careful.

“Your father was missing for almost a week. The cr—”

Thad gave her a look that silenced her. She gulped a breath, took a step closer to him and spoke in a rushed whisper. “The crown has passed from him, and he can’t be king anymore. You’re his successor.”

“Parliament formed an oligarchy to rule for now. My sisters are a part of it. It’s fine.” Thad’s words were mostly silence and crisp articulations punctuated by anger.

“It’s not fine. Octavian wants you to—”

“I refuse to do anything Octavian asks me to do.”

Monica realized her hands were in fists. She slowly unclenched them, thinking of Peter. Octavian knew about Peter—he’d even given her the opportunity to call her mother and leave a cryptic message about having to go away on urgent unexpected business for a while. Her mother had been confused and concerned, but happy enough about spending more time with her grandson.

Peter was in good hands. He’d be safe—as long as she could convince Thad that he needed to cooperate with Octavian. She had to make Thad understand. But the last thing she wanted to do was tell him about Peter like this.

She had to make him see that Octavian’s way made sense. “The oligarchy was intended to be only a temporary solution until the rightful heir could be determined.”

Thad crossed his arms over his broad chest. “It’s simple. They can crown Alexander. He’s the oldest after me. He’s a perfectly capable leader.”

“But your father didn’t name Alexander his successor. He named you. Unless you renounce your claim to the throne—”

“In order for my renunciation to be recognized, I would have to travel in person—”

“Precisely. If you don’t intend to rule—”

“I don’t intend to appear publically—”

“You have to—”

“They can declare me legally dead.” Thad’s voice boomed, silencing their war of whispers.

She stared at him. No, maybe those weren’t Thad’s eyes after all. Maybe this person in Thad’s body was someone she didn’t know anymore. “You’re not dead.”

But the stranger’s eyes bored into hers with a foreign sameness that gave her chills. He leaned close and whispered with intense authority, “The Crown Prince Thaddeus of Lydia is dead. I am Thad Miller, an engineer who left his wife to work in the oil fields of Alaska.”

Monica pressed her back against the wall and studied the stranger who looked so much like the man she’d once loved. He had Thad’s tall stature, his booming voice. He had the same blue eyes, but the sorrow that simmered in their depths was utterly foreign to her, as was his thick beard, his unruly hair and his attitude.

The Thad she’d once known would never have uttered any sort of lie. Certainly not about something as critical as whether he was even alive. But then, this Thad seemed to honestly believe the man he’d once been was buried and gone, and could never rise again.

A hot lump burned in her throat, and she bit back the reminder of all she’d lost. Her husband. Her life’s love. Her son’s father.

Octavian had given her more to say, but in the face of this unexpected stranger, she realized those words belonged in another world—a world that still cared about rules of succession and time-honored traditions, and the sanctity of life and death.

She’d gotten a hint of it, traveling from oil rig to oil rig, of the desolation the men endured working there, living off the dregs of greed at the edge of the earth. What had they told her time and again? Most men worked in two week shifts—on the rig for two weeks, and then back to civilization and their families for two weeks. It was the only way to keep them sane.

If a man missed his shift swap, he’d be near buggy by the time he got off the rig. Men did desperate things, and went near suicidal under those conditions. It wasn’t any way to live. Not for a few weeks. Certainly not for six years straight. But Thad, as so many had noted every time she’d asked for him, didn’t seem to be a man at all. Instead of rotating off the rigs, he hopped from rig to rig.

Never stopping. Never resting.

More like a machine than a man.

Maybe the man she’d married was gone. But that didn’t change the threat to her son.

“If you don’t cooperate, Octavian has threatened to hurt my family.”

“Why would he do that? There’s nothing he could gain from that.”

Monica forced herself to breathe in and out slowly. Steadily. Thad would be thinking only of her parents and sister. Though he’d never met them personally, she’d spoken of them often enough. Her father was a medical doctor. Her mother had been a nurse decades before, but ever since Monica’s birth, Sheila Miller was mostly an at-home mom and volunteer of the year at half a dozen different places. And Monica’s little sister was a lawyer—perfectly capable of defending herself.

No, she wasn’t too worried about them. Lydia’s enemies had little reason to go after them—not when she had a more vulnerable relative with closer ties to Thad’s country.

She had no other option but to tell him. Her son’s life depended on it. Her hand shook as she pulled out the pictures of Peter. “We have a son.”

Thad’s face blanched white under his beard, and he seemed to stop breathing for several long seconds as he stared at the pictures with unblinking eyes. “No.” He closed his eyes firmly, as though to shut out the evidence she held in her hand.

Monica waited patiently for him to open his eyes again, to take in the images of the child who strongly took after his father. “His name is Peter.” She quoted the name she knew her husband loved, his favorite apostle from the Bible. “He’s five years old—almost five and a half, as he tells everyone whenever they ask. He has your eyes.” She looked him full in the face, comparing him to the photographs of Peter. “Almost your eyes—his are a little more greenish-blue.”

Thad reached for the pictures with trembling hands, but then drew back as if touching the photographs would confirm a truth he didn’t want to accept. “No.”

But Monica could see that he’d spotted the resemblance. She watched the truth sink in. “Peter is your son.”

Still he shook his head. “No, no, no,” he stuttered mournfully, no longer protesting the truth of what she’d said, but rather, expressing deep regret that it was true.

She’d told herself he wouldn’t likely be happy about the news, but his response—utterly appalled—cut at her heart. She loved her son more than anything.

Thad looked as though he wished the boy had never been born. “This changes everything.” He looked weary, almost sorrowful.

His expression pierced her heart, but she leaped on the hope he offered her with his words. “So, you’ll come with me?”

“Where is he?”

“Peter? He’s staying with my parents in Seattle.”

“Octavian knows he’s my son?”

She didn’t know how Octavian had figured it out—unless he’d only guessed. But even if it had been only a guess, she’d already confirmed the truth with her terrified reaction to Octavian’s barrage of questions. “Yes.”

The sorrowful look in Thad’s eyes glimmered with fear, and Monica felt an uneasy terror grip her.

Thad’s respiration rate increased. He took the pictures from her, tucking them back away into her wallet and slipping it inside her bag as though he could just as easily hide Peter from anyone who might be looking for him. “The pilot is working for Octavian?”

“Octavian hired him because of his familiarity with the area. But I don’t think the pilot knows him. He’s not one of his men,” she said, a sickening fear crawling up her back. Thad acted as though Peter was already in danger. But no, Peter was safe. He had to be. Octavian had said Peter would be safe as long as she did exactly what he’d told her to do. She hadn’t agreed to find Thad in order to endanger her son. She’d done it to protect him.

Still, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise in response to the panicked look on Thad’s face. Thad never looked panicked. Or he hadn’t when she’d known him. Now an ominous chill swept up her spine.

Thad’s face blanched pale. “We’ll have to take the plane. Let them think we’re cooperating. With this fog rolling in we don’t have any other way of slipping away.” He pulled the door open. “We’ve got to hurry.”

“Hurry?” She couldn’t be sure what he was muttering about, but she didn’t like the sound of it. He strode down the hall, and she had to trot along just to keep up with him.

“To warn your parents.”

Fear swept over her as though she’d been doused with icy water. Her son had to be safe. Octavian promised. Peter had to be safe. “Why do we need to warn my parents?”

“They’ll have to sneak away with Peter before Octavian gets his hands on him.”

“I thought Octavian was after you. He was only threatening Peter to get to you.”

“That may have been what he told you, but if he hasn’t figured it out already, it won’t be long before Octavian realizes the legal loophole Peter has created.” Thad spun around in the empty hallway and, almost as though he feared the very walls might overhear, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I’ve been living in self-imposed exile in order to keep Lydia out of the hands of an evil madman. But if I have a son, they don’t even need me.”

She felt a wordless plea rise up inside her, that God would take away the words she feared her husband was about to speak. Her fear for her son’s safety drowned out any comfort she might have felt being so close to her husband.

Thad pulled away just enough to meet her eyes. “All they have to do is get their hands on my son.”