The Missing Monarch

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “Demitri?”

  “By this time he’d decided he was a reincarnation of Caesar Augustus, also known as Octavian. He often goes by the code name 8.”

  “Probably as a result of having to learn to spell all those long last names as a kid.”

  “I have no doubt many of his delusions are rooted in the experiences of his twisted youth. Unfortunately, understanding why he’s so determined hasn’t brought me any closer to effectively defending Lydia from him.” Thad slowed his steps as Deadhorse came into view through the thinning fog. “If I had any idea how to stop him, I would do whatever it takes. Six years ago, when I arrived in Lydia to tell my parents I had a wife, before I had a chance to introduce you to anyone, my father brought me to the negotiating table to meet Octavian.”

  Thad’s steps slowed to a stop, and he faced Monica with all his regrets. “I was supposed to hand over my kingdom to a man who had no concern for its people. My father got in over his head. He agreed to things before he understood the implications. He had no way out.”

  Monica trembled as she looked up at him. “And you?”

  “I couldn’t undo what he’d already done, but there was no way I could go along with it, either. I was the next cog in the wheel of Octavian’s diabolical plan. The only way I could keep him from rolling over Lydia with the crush of his relentless drive for power, was to leave.”

  “How did your leaving keep him from taking over the Lydian crown?”

  “When I was twenty-two, my grandparents died in a helicopter crash, and my father became king. At that time, he officially named me his successor. My appointment was formally approved by the royal council, and I signed the Article of the Crown, a document stored in the Scepter of Charlemagne. If Octavian were to remove my father from the throne without my renunciation, I would become the next king.”

  “So, Octavian needs your signature renouncing your claim to the throne.”

  “Precisely. In order to prevent that, I hid the scepter and left without signing anything.”

  “That’s why you left.” Monica’s voice held resentment and confusion. “But I don’t understand. How could Octavian gain control of Lydia? He wanted to be king?”

  “He wanted to be king, or he wanted a king he could control.”

  “So, your father...”

  “Octavian first approached my father shortly after he’d been crowned king, following my grandparents’ untimely death. I believe my father was emotionally vulnerable at the time, and unsure of himself as a new ruler, so he was easily swayed by Octavian’s requests. In exchange for opening factories and financing mammoth building projects, my father granted Octavian royal titles.”

  “Royal titles?”

  “He was first an earl, then a duke, but his requests became more and more demanding. He claimed he’d built Lydia into a financially stable nation through his investments and deserved to be rewarded.”

  “But, didn’t he profit from his projects?”

  “Immensely. So did Lydia.” Thad kept trudging. “By the time he demanded power over the crown, he and his associates had already been granted enough titles to make him a very influential member of the royal council, which validates the king’s successor.”

  “I thought you were the king’s successor.”

  “Precisely. When I was twenty-two, the royal council validated my right of succession, should anything happen to my father. The ruling monarch holds the right to name his successor. Normally there’s no question. The ruling king or queen bequeaths the crown to their eldest child. If there were no children to inherit it, the ruling monarch would select a relative, such as a sibling or niece or nephew. The royal council always approves the successor, usually as a formality, as in my case. But in those cases in which the line of succession was in question—”

  “Wait, wait,” Monica interrupted him. “You’d already been named your father’s heir. And you have three siblings. How could there have been any doubt—”

  “There shouldn’t have been any doubt,” Thad explained. “That’s why Octavian’s requests were so irregular.”

  “So how could there be any question?”

  “Given his power over the royal council, all he needed was for me to renounce my right to the crown so my father would name him successor. Then the royal council would rubber-stamp their approval, and he would be crowned.”

  “But if he had so much influence over the government already, why press for more? Why was he so determined to control the crown?”

  Thad had puzzled over the same question for years, and finally come to understand what was driving Octavian. “Checkmate.”

  Monica stumbled.

  He caught her arm, and she met his eyes.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but it took a moment for words to come out. “He—he’s playing a giant round of chess with your family? He wants to topple your father’s government, like it’s some kind of game?”

  “He wants power. He was kicked out of competitive chess, but he still wants to show the world he’s the best at the game.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Yes.” Thad trudged in the direction of Deadhorse. “He’s crazy and powerful and determined.”

  “And he has my son.” Monica’s voice dropped nearly to a whisper.

  Rather than let her think too much about Peter, and possibly start sobbing all over again, Thad continued with his history of the Octavian’s schemes. “I thought by leaving, I’d made a decisive move that would keep him from taking over the throne. My hope was that he’d eventually give up, or at least turn his attention somewhere else.”

  “But he didn’t give up.”

  “Not nearly. Octavian tried various means to scare me out of hiding, including pressuring my father into putting Kirk on trial for my murder. Kirk helped me disappear and was therefore the last person on earth to see me alive. But I was never declared legally dead, and Kirk was exonerated.”

  “But that took place years ago. Why is Octavian only coming after you now?”

  “Octavian is cunning. He tried other means to gain control of Lydia. This recent ambush on my family has brought to light the many allegiances he has formed in the intervening years, besides trying to gain control of the government through my sisters. Remember, he was a chess master. He is used to thinking several steps ahead of everyone else. I’m sure he has many moves up his sleeve.”

  * * *

  Monica met Thad’s eyes and felt a cold fear engulf her, as though everything inside her had turned as icy as the arctic air around them. Like trying to run in a nightmare, only to find herself unable to move, she felt helpless, panicked, alone. Octavian was determined and powerful and three steps ahead of them already. And he had Peter.

  Monica blew out a long, tension-filled breath. It made her crazy to think that her son was in the hands of such a power-hungry madman. On top of that, she’d always resented how very little Thad had explained when he’d abruptly left her. He’d kept his royal status a secret until just before their wedding. He’d told her he was a prince the morning he married her. When he’d left three weeks later, he’d explained the bare facts in a letter, rather than tell her to her face that he was going into exile.

  It was Thad’s fault her son was gone. If he’d at least warned her, at least tried to hide her, Peter would be safe. They could be hiding somewhere, together. How could he have left her defenseless in the path of Octavian’s determined march for power? She and Peter were being trampled on the
maniac’s drive toward the crown.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to hold back the tumultuous responses that warred inside her. “My son is gone because of your stupid, selfish—” Unable to form words, she grabbed the front of his jacket and shook him. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  “It wasn’t selfish. I’ve been living beyond the edge of humanity in order to save my people. That’s the opposite of selfish.” His hands closed over hers and stilled her shaking.

  Monica tore her hands away. “You jerk! You liar!”

  “I never lied to you.”

  “In all the time I knew you, in the entire time we were friends, even once we fell in love, you never mentioned that you were the heir to the throne of a kingdom.”

  “I told you my father was involved in the government.”

  “He’s the king. That’s not the same thing.” Monica had worked out her feelings about his deception over the years since Thad had been gone, and she wasn’t about to let him make excuses for what he’d done. “You know what it comes down to, Thad? You didn’t respect me enough to tell me who you really were. When I married you, I promised you my everything—my present, my future, all that I am and all that I have. And you didn’t even bother to tell me your real name until I was ready to walk down the aisle.”

  “Thaddeus is my real name.”

  “You left off the Crown Prince of Lydia part.” She turned her back to him and looked out at the bleak Alaskan landscape. Deadhorse sat in a haze of fog in the distance, but there was no sign of a plane. She could only pray they hadn’t missed it. “If you had told me the whole truth, my son wouldn’t have been kidnapped.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t understand who you’re dealing with—”

  “Because you never gave me a chance to understand. How can you say that you left me to protect me, when you didn’t even warn me—”

  “I warned you not to try to find me. How was I to know they’d try to use you to get to me?”

  But Monica suddenly hit upon the answer. “They shouldn’t have to go through me and Peter to get to you. If you hadn’t run away—”

  “I ran to save my country.”

  “No, you didn’t. You ran because you were scared. Your country needs you. If you’d faced Octavian instead of hiding—”

  “Nothing good could come of my facing Octavian. I did what I had to do. I made the best possible choice.”

  “This is the best possible choice?”

  “I sacrificed six years of my life. Do you think living on the edge of the earth has been easy?”

  “No one’s had it easy, Thad. I’ve seen on the news what’s been happening in Lydia. Your brother and sisters risked their lives, your father was shot. Peter was kidnapped. Your son shouldn’t have to pay for your mistakes.”

  “I agree. No son should have to pay for his father’s mistakes. I tried to end what my father started.”

  “You failed.”

  Thad came around and stood in front of her. She didn’t want to face him, but the pain in his eyes pulled at her heartstrings. His eyes were too much like Peter’s. And she would never turn her back on her son.

  “I never meant to hurt you.” His voice had dropped to a rumbling whisper, swollen with regret.

  Monica fought back angry tears. When they spilled over in spite of her efforts, she swiped them away, and stepped past Thad toward Deadhorse. “You failed at that, too.”

  * * *

  Thad let Monica walk away.

  She was right. In spite of all his sacrifices, in spite of his exile, he’d failed the one woman he cared about most in all the world.

  He’d failed the son he’d never met.

  Somehow, he had to make things right again, but he didn’t know how. He’d done the best he could do, made every sacrifice he knew how to make, and things had only gotten worse. It seemed Octavian was going to get his way, no matter what he did. But he would do everything in his power to keep his country safe from this madman.

  And he would give Monica back her son or die trying.

  Dragging his exhausted feet forward, he caught up to her and handed her his phone. “Here. Call your folks. Let them know what’s up.”

  “Octavian said—”

  “He said not to contact the authorities. Your parents already said they were going to call the police. That will only upset Octavian more. Try to explain what’s up as best you can, and ask them to keep the authorities out of it. Peter’s already out of police jurisdiction.”

  Monica blew out a long breath and took the phone.

  He listened with half an ear as Monica struggled to assure her parents that she knew who had Peter, and she was going to get him back.

  “I don’t know. It’s quite complicated,” she explained, over and again.

  “Yes,” she admitted finally. “It does have to do with Lydia, actually. Pray for the kingdom of Lydia, will you? I don’t think we’re going to get Peter back until the trouble in Lydia is resolved.” She let out a very long sigh just as a plane cut through the fog, landing on the Deadhorse strip between them and the outpost town. “Please, I have to go now. Just pray, okay?”

  She closed the call and looked up at him with fear in her eyes.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he told her.

  “Liar.”

  Since there was nothing he could say to convince her otherwise, Thad didn’t argue. They hurried toward the aircraft and climbed aboard the plane in silence, settling into the bench seat that took up most of the tiny cabin. Monica scooted as far from him as she could get.

  The pilot looked back at them, but said nothing before taking to the sky again.

  Wherever they were headed, Thad figured it couldn’t be too far away. The man hadn’t even bothered to refuel.

  From what Thad could tell by reading the plane’s instruments over the pilot’s shoulders, they never left the Arctic Circle. Somewhere between Alaska and Russia they put down on an expanse of land that jutted upward like a rotten tooth in the middle of the steel-blue sea.

  Thad reached out his hand to help Monica disembark, but she turned her back to him and hopped out on her own. He stepped down beside her and looked around. In the middle of the gray crags of rocks, an expansive sea of concrete stretched toward a bunkerlike dwelling, its cement sides as bleak as the sea and the dismal sky and the metallic scent of the air.

  “Dear God, keep Peter safe,” Monica prayed in a whisper.

  Thad had hurled enough unanswered prayers heavenward to know better than to bother with something as futile as prayer. But at the same time, he hated to think of his young son being held on this gloomy rock. At best, he hoped the young boy had fallen asleep after a full day of play. After all, the hour was well past midnight, though the perpetual light of the Arctic summer illumined even the nighttime sky with its twilit, green-tinged glow.

  Armed guards approached them, their uniforms the same gray as the concrete, the rocks and the thin fog of the air they breathed.

  “This way.” One of them spoke in a voice devoid of emotion, and Thad stepped forward, tempted to reach for Monica’s hand, but she didn’t look at him as she followed the guards.

  Wide double doors welcomed them into an open foyer where interior balconies circled the antechamber in a manner that reminded him of a prison. Footsteps echoed above them, and Thad looked up to see a man approaching the stairs, flanked by more uniformed guards.

  Octavian wore a gray suit. His face was an
unnatural orange, his slicked-back hair too dark for his age, his hairline lower than Thad recalled it being at the last meeting. His jawline was tighter, too. So, he’d had hair plugs and a face lift. Thad wasn’t surprised. If there was a medical procedure that could make him taller, no doubt Octavian would have had it done.

  “You were foolish to think you could run from me, Thaddeus of Lydia.” Octavian’s voice echoed as he stood high above them at the top of the stairs. “Haven’t you realized, I always get my way? All you’ve accomplished with your ill-advised game of hide-and-seek is to make me upset. Now things will be more difficult for you and more painful for your family.”

  Octavian took a few steps down the wide staircase, and paused. “Now, you have a choice. You can cooperate with me, or you can invite more pain upon your wife and son.” He held up a small device, and a light illumined behind a pane of glass near where they stood. In its sudden glaring light, Thad saw a room with a sofa, and the figure of a young boy draped across the pillows.

  “Peter!” Monica rushed toward the glass.

  Immediately the guards stepped in front of her, their automatic rifles barring her way.

  She looked up at Octavian again. “Is he okay?”

  “He is fine. For now. Whether he remains that way is up to your husband.”

  Thad couldn’t help wondering how the man knew that he and Monica were married, or how the egomaniac had found out about Monica and Peter in the first place. But that question was eclipsed by his concern for Peter and what Octavian might threaten to do to him.

  “Now, Thaddeus.” Octavian took a few more steps down the staircase, though he still towered high above them. “You don’t have a history of making wise choices, but I’m hoping your time away from civilization has given you an opportunity to repent of your erroneous ways.”

  Rather than let the arrogant man blather on, insulting him and wasting precious time, Thad cut to the chase. “What do you want?”

  “The same thing I’ve always wanted. I want the kingdom of Lydia.” He chuckled and raised his arm, pointing a signal at the guards who barred Monica from getting any closer to the room where her son slept. The men deftly stepped around her, effectively cutting her off from Thad. Now they didn’t even have each other.