Thad realized, too late, that he’d found the tiniest measure of comfort having her beside him, even if she was furious with him. Now he didn’t even have that.
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
Thad 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, th
ough.”
“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 s
kyline 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.
The Missing Monarch Page 6
