The Missing Monarch

The Thad she’d once known would never have uttered any sort of lie. Certainly not about something as critical as whether he was even alive. But then, this Thad seemed to honestly believe the man he’d once been was buried and gone, and could never rise again.

A hot lump burned in her throat, and she bit back the reminder of all she’d lost. Her husband. Her life’s love. Her son’s father.

Octavian had given her more to say, but in the face of this unexpected stranger, she realized those words belonged in another world—a world that still cared about rules of succession and time-honored traditions, and the sanctity of life and death.

She’d gotten a hint of it, traveling from oil rig to oil rig, of the desolation the men endured working there, living off the dregs of greed at the edge of the earth. What had they told her time and again? Most men worked in two week shifts—on the rig for two weeks, and then back to civilization and their families for two weeks. It was the only way to keep them sane.

If a man missed his shift swap, he’d be near buggy by the time he got off the rig. Men did desperate things, and went near suicidal under those conditions. It wasn’t any way to live. Not for a few weeks. Certainly not for six years straight. But Thad, as so many had noted every time she’d asked for him, didn’t seem to be a man at all. Instead of rotating off the rigs, he hopped from rig to rig.

Never stopping. Never resting.

More like a machine than a man.

Maybe the man she’d married was gone. But that didn’t change the threat to her son.

“If you don’t cooperate, Octavian has threatened to hurt my family.”

“Why would he do that? There’s nothing he could gain from that.”

Monica forced herself to breathe in and out slowly. Steadily. Thad would be thinking only of her parents and sister. Though he’d never met them personally, she’d spoken of them often enough. Her father was a medical doctor. Her mother had been a nurse decades before, but ever since Monica’s birth, Sheila Miller was mostly an at-home mom and volunteer of the year at half a dozen different places. And Monica’s little sister was a lawyer—perfectly capable of defending herself.

No, she wasn’t too worried about them. Lydia’s enemies had little reason to go after them—not when she had a more vulnerable relative with closer ties to Thad’s country.

She had no other option but to tell him. Her son’s life depended on it. Her hand shook as she pulled out the pictures of Peter. “We have a son.”

Thad’s face blanched white under his beard, and he seemed to stop breathing for several long seconds as he stared at the pictures with unblinking eyes. “No.” He closed his eyes firmly, as though to shut out the evidence she held in her hand.

Monica waited patiently for him to open his eyes again, to take in the images of the child who strongly took after his father. “His name is Peter.” She quoted the name she knew her husband loved, his favorite apostle from the Bible. “He’s five years old—almost five and a half, as he tells everyone whenever they ask. He has your eyes.” She looked him full in the face, comparing him to the photographs of Peter. “Almost your eyes—his are a little more greenish-blue.”

Thad reached for the pictures with trembling hands, but then drew back as if touching the photographs would confirm a truth he didn’t want to accept. “No.”

But Monica could see that he’d spotted the resemblance. She watched the truth sink in. “Peter is your son.”

Still he shook his head. “No, no, no,” he stuttered mournfully, no longer protesting the truth of what she’d said, but rather, expressing deep regret that it was true.

She’d told herself he wouldn’t likely be happy about the news, but his response—utterly appalled—cut at her heart. She loved her son more than anything.

Thad looked as though he wished the boy had never been born. “This changes everything.” He looked weary, almost sorrowful.

His expression pierced her heart, but she leaped on the hope he offered her with his words. “So, you’ll come with me?”

“Where is he?”

“Peter? He’s staying with my parents in Seattle.”

“Octavian knows he’s my son?”

She didn’t know how Octavian had figured it out—unless he’d only guessed. But even if it had been only a guess, she’d already confirmed the truth with her terrified reaction to Octavian’s barrage of questions. “Yes.”

The sorrowful look in Thad’s eyes glimmered with fear, and Monica felt an uneasy terror grip her.

Thad’s respiration rate increased. He took the pictures from her, tucking them back away into her wallet and slipping it inside her bag as though he could just as easily hide Peter from anyone who might be looking for him. “The pilot is working for Octavian?”

“Octavian hired him because of his familiarity with the area. But I don’t think the pilot knows him. He’s not one of his men,” she said, a sickening fear crawling up her back. Thad acted as though Peter was already in danger. But no, Peter was safe. He had to be. Octavian had said Peter would be safe as long as she did exactly what he’d told her to do. She hadn’t agreed to find Thad in order to endanger her son. She’d done it to protect him.

Still, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise in response to the panicked look on Thad’s face. Thad never looked panicked. Or he hadn’t when she’d known him. Now an ominous chill swept up her spine.

Thad’s face blanched pale. “We’ll have to take the plane. Let them think we’re cooperating. With this fog rolling in we don’t have any other way of slipping away.” He pulled the door open. “We’ve got to hurry.”

“Hurry?” She couldn’t be sure what he was muttering about, but she didn’t like the sound of it. He strode down the hall, and she had to trot along just to keep up with him.

“To warn your parents.”

Fear swept over her as though she’d been doused with icy water. Her son had to be safe. Octavian promised. Peter had to be safe. “Why do we need to warn my parents?”

“They’ll have to sneak away with Peter before Octavian gets his hands on him.”

“I thought Octavian was after you. He was only threatening Peter to get to you.”

“That may have been what he told you, but if he hasn’t figured it out already, it won’t be long before Octavian realizes the legal loophole Peter has created.” Thad spun around in the empty hallway and, almost as though he feared the very walls might overhear, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I’ve been living in self-imposed exile in order to keep Lydia out of the hands of an evil madman. But if I have a son, they don’t even need me.”

She felt a wordless plea rise up inside her, that God would take away the words she feared her husband was about to speak. Her fear for her son’s safety drowned out any comfort she might have felt being so close to her husband.

Thad pulled away just enough to meet her eyes. “All they have to do is get their hands on my son.”

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