The Missing Monarch

by Rachelle Mccalla

  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.”

  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

  Thad 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.