Royal Replicas 2: Royal Captives

by Michael Pierce

  “I have teams of soldiers combing the desert for your camp as we speak. It won’t be long before they find it and decimate your entire settlement. Now’s your chance to appeal to my mercy and return my daughter—”

  “I’m aware of those teams,” Frank said. “They are no longer a threat to me or my people. They’ve been neutralized.”

  “What? That’s not possible. I certainly would have been notified if anything had happened.” The Queen’s face was turning beet red. She turned to Prince Byron. “Did you do something? Tip them off? What information did you provide?”

  Prince Byron’s eyes were wide. “I did nothing of the sort. I—”

  “I didn’t need his help,” Frank said calmly. “He has neither the connections nor the influence to be of much use to me. My people did not even have to attack.”

  The Queen returned her focus to Frank, eyes narrow, brows furrowed. “What does that mean? What’s behind your refusal to return my daughter? What do you really want?”

  “You have what you wanted—a healthy new Amelia to carry on your family name. The real Amelia is irrelevant to you now. You don’t need her. You never loved her. So, I will keep her and care for her instead. I’ll also be leaving today with the other girls—clones. You have your chosen one and I will take the rest.”

  “That’s not acceptable,” the Queen snapped. “You already have my Amelia. I have no intention of giving you anything more.”

  “Frank, what are you doing?” I pleaded. “This was my plan. Kale brought you in to help—not this…”

  “And she needs her treatment,” Prince Byron added.

  “I have the resources to treat her and the inclination to try new treatments because what she’s been given over the years is failing,” Frank said.

  “She has been given the best treatments available,” the Queen said.

  Frank shook his head. “You’ve always been blinded by those doctors, Dorothea.”

  “What did you call me?” the Queen demanded. “Who are you to address me so informally?”

  “It’s time you understand, I’ll address you however I damn well please,” Frank said.

  “Guards, bring him to his knees,” the Queen said. “It’s time our guest, Frank Calderon, understands the necessity of reverence for his queen.”

  “You are not my queen,” Frank said.

  The guards flanking Frank turned to him, one with the electric baton blazing and the other with his sidearm aimed and ready to fire.

  The guard with the baton reached out to touch Frank’s back with the sizzling currents, intent on dropping him to the floor. The other guard aimed the barrel of his handgun at Frank’s chest, but quickly pivoted his aim and fired at his companion. The first guard collapsed to the floor with a spray of blood, the baton skidding away into a row of chairs.

  Then pistols were out all around the room; several more shots were fired without another word being spoken, several more guards falling in pools of their own blood. The guards who remained re-holstered their weapons and retained their positions against the perimeter walls.

  I hadn’t even had time to react. My heart was practically bursting through my chest. By the time the carnage began, it was over. The guards left standing looked as calm as they’d been while the Prince and I were being questioned by the reporters.

  I was frozen. Prince Byron was speechless and Queen Hart was deathly pale.

  “Like I said earlier,” Frank continued. “Your teams in the desert are gone and I didn’t even have to attack—just give the order. And something tells me, you believe me now.”

  “This isn’t possible…” The Queen’s voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.

  “It’s very possible,” Frank said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you, Dorothea, but I am going to keep our daughter.”

  44

  Victoria

  “No… I thought your voice sounded familiar,” Queen Hart said. “But it couldn’t be. You’re dead…”

  “Maybe I should be. And there were days I definitely wished I was. Yet here I stand.” Frank stood before us, seemingly untouchable.

  I didn’t know what to believe anymore, but I surely wasn’t going to ask questions now, not between the drama unfolding between the Queen and the supposed King of Westeria, the King who had been dead for—eighteen years. Then I thought of what it implied; if Queen Hart was technically my mother, then Frank was my…

  “You’re my father?” I asked, my own words barely escaping my throat.

  Frank turned to me sharply, like he was offended by the question. “No. You—along with the seven other girls—were cloned from my daughter, but that doesn’t make you my daughter.”

  I cringed at his words, which stung more than any crack of a switch across my bare skin. Here was the man integral to my creation, someone I thought I’d never have the opportunity to meet, denouncing and disregarding me completely.

  The Queen was gazing at me, in obvious shock. It was clear she wanted to know if this was a secret I’d kept from her too, but the look on my face convinced her otherwise.

  Then my mind went to Kale and all he had done for me. His desire for me… He couldn’t have known, could he? I felt sick—and not just from the stench of blood and the dead bodies of fallen soldiers littering the Press Room.

  Prince Byron was giving away nothing. His face was a slab of stone. We had all been blindsided.

  Frank approached the platform and hopped up, so we were now on level ground. The side of his face was speckled with blood, as were his clothes, which didn’t seem to faze him in the least. Prince Byron was the first in his path. “I’m not happy with you, but today isn’t about you, and you’ll be left alone as long as you don’t blatantly interfere.”

  “If you do anything to harm Victoria, then you leave me no choice,” Prince Byron said.

  Frank didn’t respond and stopped at me next. “It seems our little Victoria is the new Princess of Westeria. I wouldn’t dare deprive the Kingdom of such a hopeful successor.” Then he marched up to the Queen, all the more intimidating standing directly before her.

  “Why are you doing this? How could you?” she asked, her voice cracking in the middle of her sentence.

  “You’re not the only one with facial reconstruction artists,” Frank said. “Once the damage was fixed, I had my face altered so I could move forward with my life. I never wanted this. You knew that. I wanted you. But you destroyed it all. You destroyed us and our daughter.”

  “I love her. I’ve always loved her.” The Queen straightened as much as she could, but she remained overshadowed by Frank.

  “Not more than your family pride. But you did a good job of hiding her. I was convinced she was dead—the secret within your elite circle while you told the Kingdom she was improving. I came to accept she was truly gone. And then Victoria showed up with a wild story and it all started to make sense. She hadn’t died. She’d been quarantined, ostracized from the rest of the world because she was incapable of leading the Kingdom. You loved your creations more than your own daughter, though I don’t expect you to admit it. Amelia’s not coming home to you. She should’ve never been left in your care in the first place.”

  “I love my daughter more than anything and I fought to keep her safe from those trying to usurp the throne… until now.”

  “And now, she’s no longer a pawn,” Frank said. “This isn’t a political move. I never played political games. She’s my daughter and she’s where she belongs. You can have your Kingdom and your royal replicas. We each have what we desire most. You can continue with the plan you created eighteen years ago and I’ll go back to my family, which is finally complete. Then I will fade back to your distant memory as the man you murdered.”

  “I—I didn’t want to. You must believe that. I loved you too,” she said, her lips quivering. “I had to protect Amelia—even if it was from you.”

  “She never needed protecting from me.”

  “Kale… he’s your son?” The Qu
een seemed to be grasping for every single word.

  “You didn’t believe me back then and I don’t expect you to believe me now. Kale was Natalie’s son, but I raised him as my own once I had them rescued from the Ramseys.”

  “The Ramseys?” I asked, not sure if anyone could actually hear me. I felt I was a ghost witnessing this conversation from overhead, with no real power to influence or interject. My head spun from the sickening amount of information being divulged.

  “I could have killed him,” Queen Hart said.

  Frank shook his head. “He was never in any real danger. I saw to that, but he did need to learn some lessons for himself,” he said.

  The King and Queen stared at each other for a long time without saying a word—eighteen years of pent up emotion and tension flowing between them like a raging current. Within the room was silent, the only sounds coming from the unsuspecting celebrating guests outside the closed Press Room doors.

  “What happens now?” the Queen finally asked.

  Frank glanced at Prince Byron and me, then around the rest of the room. “Some things cannot be delegated. You would be wise to remember that.

  “Victoria, collect the other girls and bring them outside. I’ll have cars waiting.”

  He had hijacked everything. This had all started out as my plan to save my remaining sisters and myself from the cryptic events of the Choosing Ceremony—which now I didn’t know what to make of. I was glad I hadn’t mentioned the other girls in the cellar. I never really trusted Frank, but now even less so. He was no better than the Queen, and maybe even worse with the immense power he seemed to have retained over the years.

  “No,” I said defiantly.

  “Have you not witnessed enough death here today?” Frank asked. “It’s time to think like a princess, keep the big picture in mind.

  “The other girls will be cared for,” Prince Byron said, stepping between Frank and me. “It has already been arranged.”

  “I understand your concern. A lot has been revealed here today. Your concern for the girls is admirable, and I can assure you I wish them no harm or ill treatment. But I will be leaving with them. I told you not to blatantly interfere. I have many more guards here willing to serve me than you still have serving you. Don’t be stupid. Everything is working out for you here.”

  “Victoria, let them go,” the Queen said, fully defeated.

  I sighed and shook my head. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t fight Frank. He was here because of me. He was my backup, and how the tables had turned!

  “The quicker we get this done, the quicker I’ll be gone and you can go back to your party,” Frank said, snapping his fingers.

  “Fine,” I huffed, exasperated I seemed to have no other choice. Somehow, the King who had been dead for eighteen years seemed to have all the power. A part of me was happy the Queen had been knocked off her high horse, but the rest of me feared what Frank was fully capable of. “Are you coming too?”

  “I’ll meet you outside,” Frank said.

  “I’ll come,” Prince Byron said, still eyeing Frank angrily.

  “Queen Dorothea,” Frank said with an exaggerated bow before hopping down from the platform and heading for the double Press Room doors.

  The remaining guards fell in line behind him, stepping over bodies along their paths.

  The door to the dressing room creaked open and the Queen’s public relations adviser peeked in. She then apprehensively stepped onto the platform as the last of the guards exited. Her face contorted in horror at the sight of the overwhelming carnage.

  “Umm… what can I do?’ she asked.

  “I don’t know,” the Queen said, shaking her head in disbelief of all that had happened. “I simply don’t know.”

  I was afraid to have Frank’s soldiers waiting in the parking lot for too long, so I rushed out of the room to get the other girls. My heels slowed me down, so I kicked them off. Prince Byron remained at my side as we fought the palace staff and Foundation Day guests to reach the main staircase.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Prince Byron promised.

  “Everything about this is wrong,” I said, taking the stairs two at a time.

  When we reached the Orange Room—Bethany’s room—we found it empty. I searched the washroom while Prince Byron searched the closet, but neither of us found anything. Piper and Constance were not there.

  “Where could they have gone?” I asked. “The door should have been locked on the inside.”

  But without answering, Prince Byron rushed to the Yellow Room—my old room—in search of Bethany.

  I dashed after him, and again we found the main room empty.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Wait,” the Prince said, raising a hand. “Did you hear that?”

  I stopped and listened, then heard it too, a muffled sound that seemed to be coming from the closet.

  We both raced across the room and found Bethany on the floor of the deep walk-in closet. Her ankles were tied together, her hands tied behind her back. A ripped off sweater sleeve with a knot in the middle served as a make-shift gag. Her eye makeup was smeared and the front of her dress was wet from drool.

  I dropped to my knees and pulled the gag down. Bethany coughed. Saliva dripped down her chin.

  “What happened? Who did this?” I asked frantically, afraid whoever was responsible would be back any moment.

  Prince Byron was already working to untie her hands.

  But before Bethany could regain her voice enough to answer, there was a swift movement in the far shadows of the closet. A large figure rushed toward us. I fell to the side, my arms rising defensively, as the shadowed man reached us.

  A heavy black boot swung up and connected with the side of the Prince’s face. There was a loud thud and the Prince’s body toppled over into a rack of shoes. Prince Byron tore through the wooden shoe rack, which splintered like kindling. An assortment of sparkling heels rained down around him.

  As quickly as he had emerged from the shadows, the man was kneeling over the Prince, punching him repeatedly in the face. Prince Byron never had a chance to react. Then his body was still. And I finally realized who was in the closet with us—who had left Bethany as bait.

  “I’m sorry, but one punch just wasn’t satisfying enough,” Duke Mackenzie said as he wiped his bloody hand on the Prince’s slacks.

  Bethany was screaming, struggling with her bindings. They refused to give and she refused to yield. Duke Mackenzie reached for her gag and replaced it over her mouth. Her screams were muffled, but she continued desperately trying to alert anyone within hearing distance.

  “That’s enough,” the Duke said as he pushed her over with his boot. Then he turned to me.

  I’d backed up a few paces, still on my hands and knees.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice shaking as much as my hands.

  This man was the hunter. He’d killed my four captors in the cabin without so much as a second thought. He was in the limo with Master Ramsey. He had been Constance’s guardian and tormentor, driving her to attempted suicide—and he seemed to be everywhere, like the bogeyman.

  “I’m here to collect,” Duke Mackenzie said. “It’s not personal, Princess—at least not for me. I already have my prize.”

  “But the Queen… I’m the new Princess Amelia…” I stopped and looked at Bethany, who’d suddenly gone silent, her eyes burning holes into me.

  “Don’t worry, we’re still leaving her a princess,” he said, bending down beside me. “It just won’t be you.” He glanced back at Bethany. “See? You have nothing to fear.”

  I continued to crawl away, toward the open room, but the Duke leaped forward and clamped onto my right arm.

  “The Queen will see it was you. Your cover will be blown. You can’t be seen dragging me out of here,” I pleaded, trying to think of anything that could make him stop and consider some other course of action, then maybe I’d have a chance.

  “D
on’t you understand? That doesn’t matter anymore.” Duke Mackenzie revealed a syringe in one hand. “This will hurt less if you remain still.”

  Then I felt the prick of the needle in my neck. Instantly, the world seemed to slow. Colors swirled. The closet now looked like a long tunnel that just kept growing. Then, the bleeding colors faded as my eyelids grew heavy. I fought to keep them open as I felt my disassociated body being lifted into the air. But it was no use. I was already gone.

  45

  Victoria

  I awoke to darkness. At first, I was afraid I was blind, but as my eyes slowly adjusted, I noticed the faintest of light in several directions—not enough to make out any definitive details, but enough to know I still had my sight.

  I was lying on a bed and it was certainly not my comfortable one from the palace.

  I tried to recall my last memory. My head spun in the darkness and I thought I was going to be sick—then I knew I would be sick.

  I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and dropped onto the concrete floor. Now upright, the sickness quickly clawed its way up my throat. I dropped to my knees and retched all over the floor in front of me. I spat out the last remnants of vomit and took a long, deep breath.

  As my stomach settled and my head cleared, the memories returned. I was back in the Yellow Room. Bethany was tied up in the closet. Duke Mackenzie had been waiting for us there—ready to strike. He’d easily knocked out Prince Byron, then I’d felt the pricking of a needle in my neck.

  I brought my hand up to my neck as the memory replayed and felt a small bump and a soreness, maybe a bruise.

  He drugged me… and abducted me…

  Using the bed for support, I struggled to stand with my bare feet. Wiping my hand on my clothes, I quickly realized I was no longer in the cocktail dress I’d been wearing earlier, but what felt like a cotton nightgown. In the darkness, I stumbled around, first hitting a metal pole of some kind, and then finding the wall. I followed the wall toward a dim sliver of light by the floor, which had to be a door. I found the doorknob, and—as expected—it was locked. I dropped my head to the hard wood, took in a long-labored breath and tried to suppress the rising panic.