The Missing Monarch

by Rachelle Mccalla

  He labeled one column on the whiteboard Octavian, and the other Us.

  “He’s got Peter and Monica.” Thad filled in the empty space under his enemy’s name, writing quickly. “He’s got billions of dollars in resources, a mercenary army, unknown intel and six years’ head start in planning this thing.” Thad blew out a long breath and looked around the table. “What have we got?”

  “The scepter.” Alexander held out the object he’d vowed to protect with his life.

  Thad prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

  “We have the home turf advantage,” Levi noted.

  “But he picked the spot,” Isabelle reminded them, “so I wonder how much of an advantage that will end up being. I can’t help but suspect he has a reason for wanting to meet here. As Petrela pointed out, Octavian had the run of the place for almost a week while we were in hiding, and we know he had devices brought in. They may have been listening devices, or he could have rigged an ambush. He could have done anything.”

  “We’ve scoured the palace, and it appears to be undisturbed,” Stasi noted. “But I agree. We can’t assume he hasn’t done something to make our advantage his.”

  Thad had already written turf in their column, but he put a question mark after the word. “Anything else?” Their column looked woefully small and uncertain compared to Octavian’s advantages.

  “We’ve got the royal guard,” Kirk offered.

  “And the army,” Alexander added. “Insofar as they’ll answer to me.” Having only been appointed head general the week before, he’d hardly had an opportunity to alert his men of the change, let alone establish any protocol.

  “They’ll answer to you.” Lily squeezed his hand.

  “But what about Petrela?” Alec asked. “He’s disappeared again, and we still don’t know with any certainty where he stands.”

  Thad’s pen hovered over the column line. Then he reluctantly wrote Petrela in Octavian’s column. “Anything else?”

  He looked around the room, but didn’t hear a response, and started to put the cap back on his marker.

  “Your Majesty?” Dom Procopio cleared his throat. “You have God on your side.”

  Thad felt a shameful blush creeping up his neck. “I haven’t always been faithful,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I was mad at God for letting Lydia fall into this situation in the first place. I was angry that God forced me out of my homeland and my marriage. I’ve returned to my faith in God. I want to hope He’ll see us through, but—” he gave the lopsided columns a long look “—it’s hard to have hope when my wife and son are in the hands of someone so evil.”

  “I don’t believe God intends for Octavian to control them,” Dom Procopio told him bluntly.

  When Thad looked up, he saw that Lillian Bardici had raised her hand.

  “Yes?”

  She looked sheepish as she started to speak. “When your brother and I were trudging through the desert without water, I thought we were going to die. I really did. But we kept walking anyway, and now we’re here, and we’re engaged.” She squeezed the prince’s hand. “Sometimes what looks like the end is really just the beginning.”

  Thad wasn’t sure what to make of her story.

  His brother met his eyes. “Soldier on.”

  * * *

  Monica wasn’t sure what to expect. But then, she figured that was likely part of Octavian’s strategy. If her attention was focused on sorting out what was going on, she’d have less time to figure out a means of escaping. Besides, why should he tell her anything? She was a pawn. And he was playing for the crown.

  But even though she didn’t know what to expect, she felt her son deserved some warning about what was about to unfold. Without her purse or phone, she had no pictures of Thad to show him. She pulled Peter onto her lap and asked, “Do you remember the picture that sits by your bed?”

  “Of Daddy?”

  “That’s the one. Do you know where Mommy has been for the last few days?”

  “On a trip.”

  “That’s right.” Her son had answered with the exact explanation she’d given her parents before she’d left. “I went on a trip to look for your daddy.”

  His eyes flashed with excitement and he bounced on her lap. “Did you find him?”

  Sudden emotion swelled her throat, taking her by surprise. She’d thought she had a handle on the situation, but she hadn’t realized until she’d seen the sparkle in Peter’s eyes—so like Thad’s eyes—how emotionally raw she still felt.

  She still had feelings for Thad. Strong feelings. But she couldn’t let those feelings get the best of her. She had to keep a clear head. Octavian already had too many advantages.

  “Yes,” she answered in a whisper, “I found your daddy. He looks a lot like the picture by your bed, but his hair is longer now. I’d forgotten how tall he was. He’s the tallest person in the room, no matter where he is.”

  Peter looked at her expectantly, his eager expression just like the look he always got on his face just before opening a present. Monica worked up the courage to tell him the rest of what she knew he needed to know. “Your father loves you very much. We’re going to try to visit him.”

  “Yay!” Peter nearly leaped off her lap.

  She had to shush him. “Listen, Peter, this is important. You remember that man who gave you the train set?”

  “Octo-man?”

  “Octavian.” Monica pronounced the name patiently. “Octavian wants you to think he’s nice, but he’s not. He’s the reason you haven’t been able to see your daddy all this time. And, Peter?”

  Her son nodded solemnly, absorbing the news about the father he’d wanted to meet for so long.

  “If anything happens to me, I need you to know that you can trust your daddy. You can’t trust Octavian. He’s not a nice man. He might try to tell you things about your father that aren’t true. He might even try to tell you that I don’t love you. But you know I love you, right?”

  “I know,” Peter whispered. “I love you.”

  Tears dripped down Monica’s nose, but she swept them away. She had to keep herself together. “Your father loves you, too. If you ever have to choose between Octavian or Daddy, choose your father, okay?”

  “Okay.” Peter threw his arms around her neck. “But I want to choose you, too.” Then he looked at her with earnest blue-green eyes. “Is that okay? Can I choose you and Daddy?”

  Monica struggled to speak calmly and clearly, though her heart felt as though it might burst. “I hope so, Peter. I hope you can choose us both.”

  Peter snuggled on her lap awhile longer, content just to be near her after being apart for so long. Then someone knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  She’d half expected Octavian, but it was General Petrela. Though she wanted to cling to the sliver of hope that Petrela might be working for the Royal House of Lydia, as he’d claimed, Monica immediately realized Petrela would be foolish to try to cross Octavian. Could he have possibly operated right under the egomaniac’s nose for so long? Petrela was the only one of the three conspiring generals still living. Surely he hadn’t survived so long while planning to double-cross his boss.

  She’d have to watch him carefully. And for now, she’d have to do whatever he said.

  “Please come with me.”

  Monica scooped up Peter and carried him tightly in her arms as she followed the general. They’d provided her with shoes and fresh clothing, just as
they had for Peter, but the brand-new sneakers squeaked as she walked down the long hallway to the exterior doors.

  The blades of the helicopter were already moving when they stepped outside. Peter looked excited about the opportunity to ride on a helicopter, though he balked slightly when they approached the craft.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Monica whispered, and Peter relaxed. She hoped she was right.

  TWELVE

  There was nothing left to do but wait.

  Thad checked the lines of communication one more time. The men posted at all the doors responded in a timely manner, as did those stationed at all the major hallways inside the palace.

  Even the first-floor windows were all guarded.

  Still Thad couldn’t suppress the sickly feeling inside his stomach. It didn’t matter how tight a lid they kept on the building. If Thad had to choose between letting Octavian harm his wife or son, and watching him walk away, he’d choose the latter.

  As he looked around the circle at his brother and sisters, he couldn’t help but be in awe of the love each of them had found. Though the future of their kingdom remained uncertain, they each had someone who would love and support them through the trials ahead, who made them smile even in the midst of hardship. Six years before, when he was young and afraid, he’d turned his back on such a love.

  They went around the circle and each person prayed. Then it was Thad’s turn. He asked God to protect his kingdom and keep his people safe. He prayed that the sacrifices his siblings and their friends had made would not be in vain. And then his voice creaked as he dared to ask for something he was certain he didn’t deserve.

  “Dear God, if You could see fit to give me back my family...” His voice broke, and he realized there wasn’t any way he could continue. He’d willingly walked away from his wife, but it had been a mistake. Now he wondered if he’d ever get the chance to tell her he still loved her.

  A hoarse-voiced chorus of “Amen” closed the prayer, and his sisters hugged him before running off to the balcony that overlooked the throne room, the safest place he knew of for them to watch the meeting with Octavian.

  And they’d insisted on watching.

  Alec approached him, scepter in hand. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  Thad couldn’t help recalling the solemn way his father had handed it over eight years before, when Thad had signed his name, promising to lead the tiny kingdom faithfully.

  He was ready to be faithful to God again. But would God deem him worthy of ruling? He didn’t feel worthy.

  “No one’s ever asked the question of what you should do if Octavian forces you to choose between the scepter, or your wife and son.”

  “I have to defend the scepter at all costs. You were shot for it.”

  “I couldn’t have given it away if I’d wanted to. I didn’t know where it was.” Alec gave Thad a stern look. “It’s just a hollow hunk of metal.”

  “But it signifies—”

  “It signifies that the man who holds it is God’s chosen ruler of Lydia. I don’t believe God would choose a leader who would hand over his wife or son in exchange for a hollow hunk of metal.”

  Thad swallowed. He understood. “But if Octavian gets his hands on the scepter—”

  Alec had already started to walk away. “Sometimes what looks like the end is really the beginning.”

  * * *

  Monica glanced up several times at the stoic general who shared the helicopter with them. If there was any chance he was on their side, she wanted to give him ample opportunity to communicate his plan, using eyebrow twitches if necessary, since Octavian was facing them both, his silent glare as terrifying as any of the threats he’d previously spoken.

  Petrela didn’t twitch. Not even his eyebrows. He sat stiffly in place, and Monica slowly realized he was wearing thick body armor under his uniform. She glanced at Octavian, and surmised that he was similarly protected. Suddenly she felt even more vulnerable, and hugged Peter close, as though her embrace could shield him as effectively as the armor the men wore.

  What was it Petrela had told Natalie? Something about covering Peter?

  Fear traced its cold finger down her spine. These men were going in expecting something, weren’t they? And they didn’t care what happened to her.

  Thankfully, Peter was content to watch the Lydian shoreline pass by beneath them. He didn’t bounce around excitedly as she might have expected him to on a helicopter ride. But then, there was a stress-filled vibe in the air that, even at five years of age, Peter likely felt strongly enough that it kept him glued to his seat.

  “Look at that castle, Mommy,” he whispered, more excited about the palace turrets than any other landmark they’d passed.

  “I think that’s where we’re going.”

  “Are we? Do you think there’s a king who lives there?”

  Monica swallowed back the emotion that surged upward at his innocent question. “Yes,” she answered softly, “a very good and noble king.” Though she’d criticized him for hiding, Monica realized Thad had acted nobly. She wanted to apologize for her harsh words. But she had to survive the exchange first.

  The helicopter settled down in the courtyard, and they stepped out to find themselves surrounded by guards.

  Octavian didn’t appear to be the least bit surprised by the guards. He was vastly outnumbered, arriving, as he had, with only two guards, plus the general. Monica looked around, half expecting to see Octavian’s mercenaries appear from out of the sky, but all she saw were royal guards.

  What was the man up to? He strode confidently into the palace, and Petrela motioned for her to follow. Peter wanted to walk, so Monica set him down, but kept tight hold of his hand. She followed Octavian and his guards down the hallway with Petrela following her.

  She’d seen enough of Octavian’s mercenaries to know the man could have brought in enough forces to outnumber Thad’s armies two to one.

  And yet, he’d come alone.

  Why?

  As they entered the throne room and Monica saw all the men the royal family had stationed there, she felt the imbalance all the more acutely. Considering the stakes, Octavian wouldn’t have let himself be outnumbered so vastly unless he had a very good reason for doing so.

  Monica feared the reality was more accurately a very evil reason.

  * * *

  Thad’s breath caught in his throat as Monica’s familiar figure stepped into the room, nearly overshadowed by Octavian, Petrela and the two guards with him. Their party shifted formation as they came through the doorway, and Thad spotted a golden-haired boy holding Monica’s hand. Thad’s heart caught in his throat. He’d never seen anything that moved him as much as the sight of his wife and son.

  “Peter.” The name left Thad’s lips in a silent whisper, and he felt the challenge of all that lay ahead. He would keep this little boy safe.

  Peter’s blue-green eyes roved the room, wide with wonder as he took in the high-lofted ceiling, the heavy inlaid thrones and the crown in its glass case near the front of the room.

  “Wow.” His cherub lips hung open in awe, and he tugged on his mother’s arm.

  She bent slightly, and they exchanged whispers. Thad wished he could hear what they said, but when Monica pointed his way he knew.

  Peter’s gaze followed his mother’s hand until he saw him, and a bright grin lit up his face.

  Thad wanted to smile a greeting, to do something to communicate his love an
d support to the boy, but his sorrow and concern were too great. He’d already been such a disappointment as a father—absent, completely absent. He’d endangered his son. He endangered him still.

  But Peter didn’t look disappointed. His wide eyes twinkled and he looked as though he might have gone running forward, had his mother not kept a tight hold on him, tugging him back against her and crossing her arms over his chest. They stood no more than three meters away from him, and yet Thad felt as though the gulf between them was immeasurable.

  Octavian stepped forward, stealing Thad’s attention away from Peter.

  “You have the scepter.” His plasticized face was expressionless. “I have a document that requires your signature.” Octavian walked over to a side table. “You will sign here in exchange for your wife.”

  “What about my son?”

  “When this transaction is complete, you will hand over the scepter, and then I will give you back your son.”

  Two for two. It made sense. Octavian had been unable to steal the scepter out from under him, so he’d taken his wife instead. He needed two things to reign: Thad’s signature and the scepter. He’d trade his wife and son, one for each. It was mathematically sound.

  But Thad didn’t like the terms at all.

  And Octavian didn’t seem to like waiting. “You will comply with my request, or we will leave, and you will never see your wife and son again.”

  Thad crossed his arms over his chest. “I need to know why you think you have grounds to make these demands.”

  “I made a deal with your father. He tried to back out of it. I’m just doing what I must to claim what’s rightfully mine.”

  “According to you. I’ve never seen any proof that my father ever agreed to anything beyond the business arrangements that have been fulfilled in the past.”

  Octavian’s eyeballs bulged, and he raised one gloved hand, pointing his index finger up toward the high vaulted ceiling. “I have been wronged by your family—”