He instinctively ducked down and met Monica’s eyes as she did the same.
“That looked like one of the guards from the plane,” she whispered. “And General Petrela in the passenger’s seat. I thought he was going to leave us alone.”
“Perhaps he only wanted to make us think they were leaving us alone,” Thad growled with displeasure, redoubling his doubts about the general’s claims. “If they steal the scepter out from under me the moment I uncover it for them, they won’t have to give up Peter.”
“Do you want me to try to lose them?” Kirk asked.
“I don’t see the point. Petrela knows we’re heading to the hospital to see Mom.”
“I’d hate for Petrela to tell Octavian we’re not cooperating,” Monica agreed. She leaned toward him, her mouth open partway, her eyes intent.
Time seemed to slow as her face drew nearer to his. He could imagine his lips closing over hers as they had so many times before, so many years before. It would be all too easy to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, until he was willing to give up everything for her, including his kingdom.
And that was precisely what Octavian wanted.
Thad started to lean away from her, but Monica tipped his chin toward her and studied him, scowling. “Isabelle had an excellent point. Paparazzi or not, we don’t want anyone at the hospital recognizing you. You’ve got enough of a prickly five-o’clock shadow to obscure the outline of your jaw,” she surmised. “And your hair is much longer than it ever was.” She turned her attention to the front seat. “Kirk, can Thad borrow your cap and sunglasses?”
“Gladly.” He slipped them to Stasi, keeping one hand on the wheel. The little princess handed them back, watching with interest as her brother slipped them on.
“There.” Stasi smiled triumphantly “I hardly recognize you. And since everyone else still thinks you’re dead, no one should be expecting to see you.”
“Good.” Thad exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Let’s visit Mom while we’ve got the chance.” He didn’t voice the rest of his thoughts out loud. He didn’t figure anyone needed the reminder, especially not after the appearance of Octavian’s men. They had their work cut out for them if they were going to get Peter back, and the clock was ticking.
SEVEN
Monica felt her heart beating in her throat as they made their way through the antiseptic halls of the hospital, trailing Stasi on what must have been a well-worn route to King Philip’s room, past posted layers of security.
Her fear didn’t come from the general or his guards who trailed them down the hall but from the anticipation of meeting the queen for the first time. They left Petrela and his men next to the security guards who held vigil over the isolated wing where the king lay. Monica hung back in the doorway while Stasi entered first, planting a kiss on her mother’s cheeks and her father’s forehead before stepping back for Kirk to greet Queen Elaine.
Kirk entered after Stasi, with Thad trailing his childhood best friend, lingering just out of his mother’s range of sight behind the privacy curtain that shielded the hospital bed from the door.
From her vantage point just inside the doorway, Monica could see all of them, though they couldn’t all see one another. Thad glanced at her, and she gave him an encouraging smile.
Meanwhile, Kirk had kissed the air next to his future mother-in-law’s pale face and cleared his throat. “We brought you a visitor.”
Elaine glanced at Monica in the doorway, and shook her head. “No visitors. Only family. He hasn’t had a good day.”
As the queen looked to the fallen king, Monica realized for the first time how deathly pale the recently dethroned monarch’s face looked under the ventilator and how little the sheets over his chest rose and fell. She pinched her eyes shut, praying that he would recover. Praying that somehow, someday, he’d get to meet the grandson he didn’t even know he had.
“They are family,” Kirk murmured, reaching back to open the curtain.
Monica watched the confusion on the queen’s face change to disbelief and joy.
Thad peeled off the cap and sunglasses as he stepped toward his mother, who nearly melted into her chair before rising, shakily, to her feet. Thad gathered her up into his arms.
“My baby.” Elaine patted his shoulder, her cheeks streaming with tears she had likely given up all hope of ever crying. “You’re here. You’re really here.”
Even Thad’s eyes glimmered wet as he held his mother. He didn’t try to speak. There was too much to be said, and Monica couldn’t imagine where he would even begin.
Monica felt fat tears dripping down her cheeks, spilling off the tip of her nose, but there was little she could do to stop them. God was good. He had united this mother with her son.
Surely He would unite her with Peter again, too.
Somehow.
“You came back? Are you going to take the throne?” The queen pulled away from her son just far enough to look up into his face.
Sorrow warred with the joy of reunion as Thad’s lips twitched. Monica could feel his struggle to answer his mother’s question. In fact, Monica had begun to wonder, given the things Thad had said of late, whether he had any hope of being crowned king.
So she was very relieved to hear him answer. “I’m going to try.”
After a good deal of hugging and beaming, Stasi handed her mom some tissues before she and Kirk snuck away, promising to wait down the hall for the two of them.
It wasn’t until Kirk and Stasi had left the room that Elaine seemed to notice Monica. “And who is this?”
“I’d like to introduce you to Monica Miller.” Thad gestured for her to come forward.
She had to will her feet to move. Thad had embraced all his family members, demonstrating genuine affection toward them, but he’d only ever held her that one time in the conference room, and she’d decided since then the gesture had simply been a symbolic act, to put on a united front before his siblings. The rest of the time he kept her at arm’s length, which she figured was probably a wise move, since she might have slugged him out of repressed resentment if he got within range.
Now she crept forward trepidatiously. The queen blinked at her, dabbing her cheeks with tissues, waiting for Thad to explain further.
Monica wondered what he would say. Would he claim her as his wife?
“Monica is—” Thad spoke slowly, buying time as he chose his words “—the mother of my son.”
“You have a son?”
It was all Monica could do to nod, as Thad’s distancing words squeezed her heart.
“Well, where is he?” Elaine looked past them, as though Peter might be hiding shyly just beyond the curtain.
“He’s, um, well—” Thad cleared his throat. “Octavian has him.”
“Octavian?” Elaine seemed to flutter back down into her chair, her face even paler than before.
The tears, which Monica realized she’d never wiped from her face, now poured down freely again. This wasn’t how she’d ever envisioned being introduced to the queen. Not nearly.
Thad took the chair next to his mother’s, holding her hand as he went back in time and explained all that had happened, dismissing his relationship with Monica by using the word eloped. Not once did he call her his wife. Not once did he state that they’d been in love.
Slowly, Monica crept back to the doorway, until she was able to lean back against the solid support of the wa
ll and watch her husband with his mother as though it was a scene on a screen and not something that touched the deepest parts of her heart.
At least Queen Elaine’s face softened when Thad showed her the pictures of Peter Monica had passed to him on Octavian’s plane. But her expression grew stiff when she glanced back up at Monica, and she shook her head as though surely there had been a mistake.
Finally, Thad sat back in his chair, finished with his tale.
The queen seemed to be having trouble swallowing.
“Can I get you something, Mother?” Thad asked.
“Yes, please.” She pulled a few coins from her purse. “There’s a beverage machine down the hall.” She told him where to find it and what drink she preferred.
As he stepped past her, Monica thought about going with him, but Queen Elaine patted the chair Thad had vacated and spoke three words that sent a fearful chill down her spine. “Monica? Let’s chat.”
Monica wished she’d bolted out the door after Thaddeus while she had the chance. More than that, she wished she’d bolted at the first sight of him years before. But there was nothing for it now but to cross the room under the queen’s scrutinizing gaze and sit as primly as possible in the chair next to hers.
“Are you still married to my son?” Queen Elaine must have realized Thad wouldn’t be gone long. She certainly wasn’t wasting any time with small talk.
“Yes.”
“You don’t act married.”
“We haven’t seen each other in six years.” Monica was fairly certain Thad had already expressed that part of the story, but it was the only explanation she could give.
“You’re upset with him.”
“He left me.” Monica felt the need to defend herself from what felt like a full-blown attack. “And now my son is in the hands of that awful Octavian.” She didn’t add the part about their slim chances of getting Peter back. The queen had enough on her mind, what with Philip in a coma and her family having been attacked.
“It will all come out all right.” Elaine patted her hand where she gripped the arm rest of her chair. “Have a little faith.”
Monica coughed back her reaction to the queen’s patronizing statement. She knew the woman was only trying to help and was under grave stress herself. Still, it struck Monica as ironic that after all the prayers she’d prayed, and after Thad’s refusal to pray, his mother would tell her to have faith.
Elaine seemed to feel the need to reassure her. “Thad will get his son back. He trusts God—”
“No, he doesn’t,” Monica burst out, in spite of her efforts to hold back.
The older woman studied her carefully a moment. “He doesn’t? He always did.”
“I know he did. He encouraged me in my faith considerably during college. But now he won’t even pray with his siblings. He scoffed at the suggestion when I tried to get him to pray with me.” Monica lowered her voice, realized Thad could return at any moment. “I’m afraid he’s lost his faith during his time in exile. Not that I blame him, having been there, but this is the worst possible time for him to be adrift.”
The queen had her hand, and now squeezed it reassuringly. “He needs God’s help now more than ever. I’ll keep you both in my prayers. And little Peter, too.”
“Thank you.” For a long moment, Monica looked at her shoes and listened silently to the constant beeps and ticks of the machines that monitored King Philip’s vital signs.
Then Thad reappeared with the queen’s beverage, and she took a drink before reaching out and grasping her son’s hand.
Elaine raised a knowing eyebrow at Monica before suggesting, “We should pray before you leave.”
But Thad immediately shook his head. “I’m sorry. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, Mother.” He shot Monica a conspiratorial look. “Our guest in the hallway wants us to get going.”
“Then we should be going,” Monica agreed, realizing that General Petrela’s wishes were to be obeyed above everyone else’s—she didn’t want him reporting back that they weren’t cooperating. She didn’t want to give Octavian any excuse to hurt her son.
* * *
Thad felt guilty leaving his parents so abruptly, but the general had caught him when he’d gone to fetch his mother’s beverage, and delivered an urgent message.
Octavian wasn’t happy.
And that wasn’t good. Thad led the general and Monica to the waiting room down the hall where Kirk and Stasi were holed up.
“What does he want?” Thad growled at the general as soon as he had the door closed behind them. “I have until noon tomorrow to hand over the scepter.”
“He asked where we’d gone,” Petrela began.
“And you told him?” Stasi squeaked.
The general’s stoic expression didn’t falter. “He has ways of knowing where a person is. I’ve never quite pinpointed how he knows, but he knows. There’s no point lying to him. I’ve seen what he does to men who claim to be other than where he knows them to be.”
The solemn warning doused Thad’s frustration at the general’s interruption. The man wasn’t playing games. If he was on their side, it had been more than kind of him to warn them. And if he wasn’t on their side—well, the threat had teeth behind it.
Petrela continued. “He wants his representative to be allowed to visit your father.”
“Under no circumstances—” Kirk began.
“Who’s the representative?” Thad asked.
Petrela’s mouth twitched.
“Tell us,” Monica requested in that tone Thad had heard her use—the one that expected compliance.
“Corban Lucca.”
“No!” Stasi leaped from the chair she’d been sitting in. “Lucca is the one who stole Father away to Milan, using the ambush as cover so everyone would think the king had deserted his country in its hour of need. Lucca was going to hand me over to Octavian’s associates. We can’t trust him.”
“We can’t trust Octavian, either,” Monica agreed, “but he has my son, so I don’t see how we can refuse him.”
Kirk held up his hands, silencing them both. “I spoke with some of the royal guards who are stationed in the hall. They said Lucca has already tried to use his authority as a Lydian general to get in to visit your father.”
“Lucca should have been arrested on sight,” Thad protested.
“I agree,” Kirk acknowledged, “but the entire kingdom has been in upheaval. We need a king on the throne to restore order and see that all those who’ve conspired against the crown are brought to justice.”
Thad ignored his friend’s obvious insinuation. “They didn’t let him past, at least?”
“Of course not. But apparently Lucca has been conferring with your father’s doctor, as well. I was going to try to track down the doctor and find out what Lucca said.”
“There’s no time,” Petrela cut in. “Octavian said he would send Lucca by immediately. I think you should move your father.”
“But he’s in a coma,” Stasi protested. “His condition is fragile.”
Thad studied the general. Was the man really trying to help them? Or was he counting on the move being too hard on the king’s already-precarious condition?
Or was he stalling, keeping them distracted behind closed doors down the hall so Lucca could make his move? And why did Lucca want to see the king, anyway? Nothing good could possibly come of it.
Monica’s thoughts must have followed the same trail, because she scooped u
p his hand and met his eyes. “I think we need to get back to your father’s room right now.”
Thad nodded. “Petrela, see if you can’t track down that doctor, and while you’re at it, find out if we can move my father to a different room. Stasi, call Alec. Let him know what’s up.” As he spoke, Thad backed toward the door, Monica’s hand still tight in his. “Kirk, talk to the new head of the royal guard. Tell him we need more men stationed at the hospital right away.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Kirk answered with a glimmer in his eye that reminded him of his friend’s suggestion that he take the crown.
Thad realized he was taking charge—but somebody had to. If Lucca was on his way, they needed to act, not sit around and try to reach a consensus. He hurried down the hallway toward his father’s room.
“Can I borrow your phone?” Monica asked as they zipped past the guards.
“Sure. Why do you need it?”
“My father is a doctor. He might be able to advise us on how much damage moving your father might cause.”
“Good idea.” Thad handed her the phone while scanning the hallway. So far there was no sign of Lucca, the Lydian general who was still technically the head of
the Lydian Navy, though of course his involvement with the email conspiracy Isabelle had uncovered, combined with his other activities against the royal family, left him on the brink of court-martial.
When Thad ducked into his father’s room, his mother rose quickly.
“I’m so glad you came back.” She hugged him tight. “I was thinking about what you told me, about your son, Peter.”
“Yes?”
“The entire time Corban Lucca held us hostage in Milan, he made clear the only reason we were still alive was because we were useful to him on his quest for the crown. But if he has your son—”
Monica stepped into the room, and the queen let the warning in her message linger in the air, unspoken.
“No answer.” Monica shook her head as she returned his phone to him.
The Missing Monarch Page 11
