The Rebel King

Chapter 9

My son.

Nikolas was surprised by a contrary surge of resentment- contrary, because he knew hearing the words should be a cause for joy, not anger. And he did feel anger, though not with Weston, not even for such a blatant assault on his emotions- perhaps even deliberate manipulation. He was angry with himself for the way his heart kicked when those two words replayed in his mind. For the way they'd arrowed right through his protective shields and found the hidden desires of his soul.

"I'll be happy to do as you ask, sire," he said evenly. "Or at least try. Not, however, as your heir, and definitely not as 'future king.' Understand this-I don't want anything from you, least of all your crown."

Weston inclined his head slightly. His eyes were shielded, but his lips had twitched into what wasn't quite a smile. "I must accept that, I suppose-for now. Why, then?"

"Because I was planning to do so anyway, for one thing. And then-" he smiled sardonically, making a valiant effort to keep his eyebrows level as he made a little mocking bow "-there is the small fact that you are my king, and as such, your wish is my command."

Weston's features spasmed briefly, as if he'd felt a twinge of annoyance, or maybe pain. He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and said gruffly, "When I give you a command, Nikolas, you will know it. However…" He drew a breath and straightened his spine. "Whatever your reasons for accepting this charge, I thank you for it. And now, there is something I would like-" He turned as if to retrace their steps, then halted when he saw Nikolas had remained in place, feet firmly planted in the thick layer of garden mulch. "Yes? Is there something more you wish to discuss?"

"Two things." Nikolas said bluntly, folding his arms on his chest. "First, I'd like to have Rhia-uh, Agent de Hayes-the woman who came with me today-working with me on this. And second…" He hitched in a breath. "I'd like to see the evidence-the proof-whatever it is that makes you so certain all this is true-that I am, in fact, this missing heir."

Weston's eyebrow shot up. "Proof-other than your appearance, you mean?" His smile tilted, and his strong bony hand closed on Nikolas's elbow. "That proof is what I am about to show you. Come.

"Of course," he added grandly as they strolled back through the overgrown garden, "you may have whoever and whatever you need to assist you in solving this mystery of ours-the resources of my kingdom are at your disposal."

They walked on, footsteps crunching on garden debris and pine straw, releasing earthy scents into the warm autumn air. "This agent of Corbett Lazlo's…de Hayes. She seems like a capable young woman. A competent agent. I assume?"

Nikolas kept his expression and tone neutral. "More than competent."

"Yes, yes…I suppose she must be, if Lazlo chose her to find and bring you back." Nikolas didn't reply. Their footsteps crunched slowly on. keeping step. Weston threw him a sideways glance, and his tone became…could it be sly? "She is also, I observe, an extraordinarily attractive young woman."

Nikolas opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was almost certain, above the crackle and scuffle of footfalls, that he heard King Weston chuckle.

"Don't you wish you were a little bee out there in that garden right now?"

Despite its softness. Lady Zara's voice startled Rhia. She was standing beside the open French door, so intent on watching the two men outside that she hadn't realized anyone was behind her. She gave a little spurt of laughter and placed a hand over her quickened heartbeat. "Oh-I didn't hear you come in. Sorry."

"That's okay-I can see you have…someone else on your mind." Zara's smile and sympathetic eyes left no doubt as to her meaning.

Rhia closed her eyes and sagged against the draperies. "God…is it that obvious?"

Lady Zara laughed. "I'm a newly wed, remember? I know how it feels-and what it looks like, too. I get to see it every day in my husband's eyes."

"Great." Rhia muttered on an exhalation. "That's all I need." Her eyes returned to the two figures in the garden as if pulled by forces beyond her control. "I can't let him know," she added bleakly.

"He doesn't feel the same way?" Lady Zara's voice was half-curious, half-sympathetic.

Rhia gave her head an impatient shake. "It's not that-well, actually, to tell you the truth, I don't really know whether he does or not. But…it wouldn't matter if he did. In fact, I think that would make it worse."

Lady Zara's forehead creased in a physician's concerned frown. "I can't imagine why."

The ache in Rhia's throat kept her silent for a moment. Down at the far end of the garden, Nikolas and the king were facing each other, deep in what was obviously a tense, even passionate conversation. "Look at them," she said at last, and left it there as that were explanation enough.

Following her gaze, Lady Zara nodded. "They are very much alike, aren't they? Anyone seeing them together like this would know them for father and son, without a doubt."

The ache spread into Rhia's chest. "He's born to be king- will be, one day." she whispered, then laughed and said flatly. "And I for sure am not ever going to be anyone's queen."

Lady Zara's mouth opened-in surprise, perhaps-then closed and curved into a knowing smile. "Oh, Rhia. Never say never. If there's anything I've learned from all that's happened in the past few months, it's that anything is possible. Anything. Trust me on this."

Rhia didn't bother to argue, or to explain to Lady Zara, daughter of a duke, whose husband had just been made a baron, that it was she, Rhia de Hayes, daughter of a blues musician who'd grown up barefooted in a Louisiana trailer park, who wanted no part of royalty. Instead she remained silent, her gaze focused once more on the two men in the garden. They had turned and started back toward the house, now walking side by side like old friends out for a Sunday stroll.

Lady Zara, watching them, too, spoke softly. "What does a man say to a son who was stolen from him, after thirty long years?"

Rhia touched away a single silent tear. "Or a son to a father he's been taught to despise?"

The other woman placed a gentle hand on her arm. "They'll be back here in a minute, but…a word of advice-from one who's been there? The man himself will probably be too dense to notice-it's everyone else you have to worry about."

She tapped the pocket of Rhia's jacket and smiled. "With those eyes…I suggest you wear your sunglasses, darling-at all times."

Rhia and Dr. Smith appeared to be comfortably settled in a pair of matching tapestry armchairs when Nikolas and the king reentered Weston's study. The women were drinking tea-and they might present the very picture of genteel ladies. Nikolas thought in some amusement, were it not for Rhia's sleek black leather, and the fact that he recalled her saying once that she didn't care much for tea. When his eyes had adjusted to the indoor light, though, he could see they were both smiling, and that their eyes were bright with laughter, and he felt a momentary twinge of envy for that lightness of spirit.

Both women instantly put down their teacups and popped to their feet when the king entered the room, but as before, Weston gestured impatiently for them to be seated. He touched Nikolas's arm. "Mr. Donovan, if you would please…open that door over there and ask the gentleman standing outside to bring in the chest-he'll know what I mean. Then come have some tea-Zara, my dear, if you would pour, please…"

While Nikolas went to comply with his king's request, Weston lowered himself heavily into the big leather armchair, then immediately leaned forward to accept a steaming cup from the doctor's steady hand. "Ah, yes…thank you, my dear. And do stay," he added, when she stood up and turned as if to leave the room. "You are the one who found it, after all. I'm sure Nikolas will have questions."

Weston waited while Nikolas returned and took his seat in the chair he indicated-a twin to his own brown leather, set beside and at a slight angle to it. Then he took a sip of tea and grimaced at the heat, placed the cup and its saucer on the table beside his chair and turned his keen black eyes on Rhia. "Miss de Hayes, I must ask you to forgive me."

Nikolas saw her give a small start, like a wool-gathering student called upon unexpectedly by the teacher. She hastily lowered her teacup and produced a hoarse. "Your Majesty?"

Weston smiled, although his eyes remained intent. "I haven't thanked you for finding my son and bringing him back to me- although thanks alone don't seem adequate for what you've given me. If there is anything I can offer you in return…"

Rhia's cheeks turned dusky pink beneath her tan. She muttered, "Oh-no-sire…I was just doing my job." Then she reached to put her cup and saucer on the table and added in a dry tone more like her own. "And I didn't 'bring' him." Her eyes flicked toward Nikolas but didn't quite make it all the way. "Nikolas-Mr. Donovan agreed to come. Entirely on his own."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure he did." Weston sounded amused, and with the chuckle he'd heard in the garden still fresh in his mind. Nikolas felt an inclination to squirm. "Nevertheless." Weston went on "I am grateful to you for whatever part you may have played in influencing his decision-which," he added, with a glance at Nikolas, "if my son is anywhere near as headstrong as I think he is, I imagine was considerable." He inclined his head in a gesture of honor. "Thank you, my dear, from the bottom of this father's heart."

During an awkward pause filled with throat clearings and rustlings and birdsong from the garden outside, Nikolas became conscious of an odd stiffness in his jaws, and at the same time a restlessness…an edgy sense of isolation…an unaccustomed need to make contact, to touch or lock eyes with another human being.

With one specific human being, Rhia.

But she was too far away to touch and seemed to be avoiding his gaze, and it came to him that the cramping in his jaws was tension, and that its source was the frustration he felt at being denied what he wanted. Needed.

I need her.

The thought was so new to him, so shocking, he was barely aware of the knock on the door…of the door opening to admit one of the uniformed guards-rather incongruously wearing latex gloves-carrying a medium-sized wooden chest. Still half dazed, he watched the guard march across the room and place the chest on the oriental rug between Weston's feet and Nikolas's. The guard then saluted, did a crisp about-face, and left the room.

As he blinked the chest into clearer focus, Nikolas felt a strange prickling in his scalp. Then a chill flooded him from head to toe, and the room and everyone in it receded, leaving him alone in a whirling vortex. Memories came at him like flying debris, and voices from his past filled his head, blocking thought:

Nikolas, it's past your bedtime. Put your toys away this minute.

Do I have to, Uncle?

Nikolas, are you still reading, boy? Put that book away and lights out. Tomorrow's a school day.

Yes, Uncle.

Nikolas, how do you think you'll do at Eton if you persist in playing games instead of studying?

I'm putting it away now, Uncle.

He became conscious of a choking sensation in his throat, and his lips moved as he silently said the only clear thought in his mind: Impossible.

It was very quiet in the room as King Weston took a key from his jacket pocket and inserted it into what appeared to be a new and very efficient lock. Everyone's eyes were focused intently on the chest-everyone's eyes but Rhia's.

At that moment hers were on Nikolas, which was why she was probably the only one in the room who saw his face drain of all color, his body jerk almost imperceptibly before going still as stone. She was the only one aware that the knuckles of the hands gripping the arms of his chair were bone-white… and that the eyes staring into the chest had gone glassy with shock.

In her concern, she almost… .almost spoke to him, said his name aloud. Instead, with her pulses pounding in her ears, she swallowed hard and shifted her gaze to the chest, forcing herself to think about it, focus on it, catalog every detail in her mind as she'd been trained to do.

In spite of some dirt and wear, it was actually quite attractive, she thought. And obviously very old, Rhia, who had a fondness for old things for their history and character, beautiful or not, felt a strong desire to explore it with all her senses…run her fingers over the smooth wood-cedar, perhaps?-and brass fittings…smell the old-wood-and-dampness smell that always reminded her of the French Quarter in New Orleans. An innocuous, innocent-looking little chest, to contain the cause of so much turmoil…so much grief.

"Where did you find it?"

Nikolas's calm voice startled her. Her eyes jerked back to his face, and she could hardly believe it was the same one they had been focused on a moment ago. His eyes, resting on Lady Zara, were merely curious, now, his face completely composed. Only a hint of white around his mouth and the muscle working near the hinge of his jaw gave evidence-and to her alone-that he'd just received yet another emotional body blow.

Lady Zara glanced at King Weston. "In a moment, Mr. Donovan. I think you should see whatever is in the chest first-don't you agree, Your Majesty?"

King Weston didn't reply. His eyes were shielded, his jaw intent as he leaned over, turned the key and opened the padlock, then removed it from the chest and placed it in his jacket pocket. He lifted the lid, which gave an obligingly gothic creak.

Then the only sounds were the incongruously joyful warble of a bird outside in the garden, and some faint rustlings as the king carefully lifted something wrapped in tissue from the chest.

"Before I show you these things, Nikolas, I must explain." the king said. "Naturally, the essential items of evidence are in Lord Southgate's custody, locked safely away in a forensics lab somewhere. I will tell you that they consist of a lock of hair, and a baby's, er…nurser-uh, bottle-from which they were able to obtain both fingerprints and DNA."

"But that doesn't-" Nikolas all but exploded.

The king lifted a hand to silence his protest. "The fingerprints on the bottle," he said patiently, "though an infant's, are a verified match to yours-" his lips twitched "-which I regret to say are on file with our police department, as well as national security. Your DNA is not. However, since the DNA recovered from the bottle, as well as from the hair follicles, is a close match to mine, it was considered necessary to obtain a sample immediately. Which Mr. Lazlo's agents-" he gave Rhia an acknowledging nod "-were able to do quite easily, from materials found in your office at Dunford College."

Nikolas stiffened and threw Rhia a look that stung. "You… broke into-"

"I did no such thing," she shot back, more calmly than she felt. "The dean was more than glad to-"

"Be that as it may." King Weston said, in a crackling voice that instantly reclaimed everyone's attention. "Your DNA was obtained, Nikolas, and it, too, was found to match the samples from this chest. But there is more." He took a breath, and his voice wavered and lost some of its volume. "There were…two items which I withheld from the forensics scientists. Lord Southgate-the Duke of Carrington-and I-and one forensics expert sworn to absolute secrecy-are the only ones who know of their existence." Almost reverently, he lifted the tissue-wrapped object he'd held concealed in his hands and folded back the paper to reveal a small silver box, quite tarnished but exquisitely carved. "And now…the three of you."

He opened the lid to reveal, nestled in a bed of royal purple velvet, a baby's silver cup, the kind once given to every newborn infant by doting aunts and uncles, engraved with the child's name or initials and date of birth. King Weston removed the cup from its velvet nest and held it up for all to see, turning it so the monogram HRW-Henry Reginald Weston-was plainly visible. Then he rotated the cup.

"This," he said softly, tapping the engraved crest on the other side with one index finger, "is the royal crest of my predecessor, King Dunford. This cup was given to my parents by His Royal Majesty on the event of my birth. I, in turn, gave it to my son, on the day of his birth. This-" with hands that shook slightly he held up the second item-a black-and-white photograph in a gilt oval frame "-is a photograph taken on that day." He handed it to Nikolas, quickly, as if it burned his fingers, and went on in a breaking voice. "That is your mother, Queen Alexis. This was taken just two days before she died- I know, because I took it myself-she would have no one else except the doctors see her. She thought-" He smiled slightly. "She didn't like the way she looked, you see. However, I thought she looked quite beautiful, as always, and I convinced her to let me take this one photograph. The babe in her arms, Nikolas, is you. And the cup you see in the picture, here- your mother was holding it for you-is this one." He held up the silver cup with an air of triumph. "This very same one."

The ringing voice seemed to hang in the air…in the ears… like the tolling of a bell. Nikolas shook his head to dispel the echoes and stared narrow-eyed at the photograph in his hands. Through the clouded glass he could see a gaunt, exhausted-looking woman with heavily lashed light gray eyes, her dark hair hastily arranged in a style he recognized as having been popular in the 1970s. She was propped on a massive pile of pillows, smiling bravely and holding what seemed to him an uncommonly ugly baby with a smashed-in face and puffy, slitted eyes. The child's most remarkable feature was a shock of jet-black hair.

In a harsh voice very unlike his own, he asked. "What makes you so sure I'm the child in this picture? He looks- it could be anyone."

Weston smiled gently. "I am sure, my boy. Absolutely certain, even without the DNA. Do you see in the photograph, the way the infant's hand is open and touching-holding, one could almost say-the cup? When I saw the photograph I asked Lord Southgate to have the cup tested for fingerprints. Remarkable as it seems, they were able to match the prints left on this cup by that tiny hand…to yours, Nikolas. To yours."

Dazed and fighting for control, Nikolas cleared his throat and handed the photograph over to Lady Zara. Ignoring her faint gasp as she looked at it, he croaked. "How could-how did this happen? Didn't you-didn't anybody notice it wasn't the same kid?"

It was brutal, but he was beyond caring. Sometime during the past ten minutes or so, the relentless assault on his emotions had evidently achieved what all the scientific evidence in the world could not. Nikolas was no longer speaking to a king; he was merely a son like so many other sons, having heated words with his father.

Weston leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Ah, yes. I assure you, I have asked myself that a thousand times since…all this came to light." He shot Nikolas a fierce glare. "I am certain it would not have been possible if your mother had been alive. She would have known her own child. But." His face spasmed with that same terrible grief, and he closed his eyes and shook his head. "But. shortly after I took that picture, she…there were complications. She was rushed into surgery, but she lapsed into a coma. Two days later, she was dead, and I-I'm afraid that in the days that followed I wasn't aware of much of anything. It was days-God help me, maybe even weeks-before I saw you-before I saw my son again. If I noticed changes, I wouldn't have thought anything of it- children change from one day to the next at that age."

"What about…I don't know-nurses, nannies?"

Weston's face hardened. "I imagine at least one of them had to be part of it, but they're all long gone, I'm afraid. Anyone who might have known about the switch is dead…" He paused and aimed his black stare at Nikolas. "Good God. You don't think-"

"I think," Nikolas said softly, "it's time Lady Zara answered my question. I'll ask it again. Where did you find the chest? And how?"

Mystifyingly, she blushed. Clearing her throat, she replied. "I'd rather not say how I found it. It's complicated, and… somewhat personal. Suffice to say, Walker-Dr. Shaw-and I found it in a vault under the collapsed ruins of an old pavilion on the grounds of an abandoned estate. The estate…" she glanced at the king and drew a steadying breath "…belongs- belonged-to Benton Vladimir, the Duke of Perthegon."

"Vladimir!" Nikolas exclaimed. "But…he's been-"

"Missing, yes-exiled, vanished." Weston said grimly. He waited a beat before adding in a deliberate tone. "For thirty years."

"Perthegon…" Nikolas shook his head, which was swimming with implications, with possibilities, with scenarios he didn't want to think about or look at too closely. Not now. Not now.

"Uh, excuse me." Rhia said, holding up her hand like a shy child in a classroom, "can somebody take pity on the ignorant American in the crowd and explain what all this means?" She knew quite a bit about recent developments in Silvershire, of course, and the name Vladimir sounded familiar, but she still felt like the only one in the crowd who didn't know the people being gossiped about.

Lady Zara gave a little spurt of laughter. Weston arched an eyebrow at Nikolas. "I believe we have time for a short history lesson. Professor Donovan, will you do the honors?"

She felt his reluctance like a stiffening in her own muscles as he turned toward her, and a shiver went down her spine at the hard, set look of his mouth, the cold glitter of anger in his eyes.

Empathy. Remember, it's not you he's angry with.

"The Duke of Perthegon-Lord Benton Vladimir," Nikolas began in a voice that grated with poorly disguised impatience, "was supposed to have succeeded Pritchett Dunford as king of Silvershire." He acknowledged his father the king with a formal little nod. "When Lord Henry Weston, Duke of Chamberlain, was chosen instead, this country was very nearly plunged into civil war." He paused to take a gulp of tea. When he continued he seemed to have relaxed a little, as if finding some small refuge from his rampaging emotions in the familiar role of teacher.

"The trouble began when King Dunford and his wife, Queen Eloise, were unable to produce an heir to succeed him on the throne. You know, of course-"

"A male heir, I assume you mean?"

"Any heir…actually." King Weston said, looking mildly amused at the interruption, as if Rhia had been a favorite child guilty of some minor misbehavior. "King Dunford and Queen Eloise had no children. If they had had, perhaps the issue of female succession would not have had to wait until this past decade to be resolved."

It was a moment before the meaning of that statement caught up with her. "You mean, a woman can-"

"Oh, yes, a princess can succeed to the throne," Lady Zara put in, glancing at the king with a smile of apology and sympathy. "It hasn't happened yet, but it will. Someday." She looked at Rhia…and winked.

"To return to our history lesson." Nikolas said, tapping a finger on the arm of his chair and looking stern. "In the Charter of Lodan, which was adopted in the thirteenth century following the Battle of Lodan-in the two centuries prior to that, you see, Silvershire's nobles had been trying their level best to annihilate one another-the rules of succession were set forth. One rather unique article states that the heir shall succeed to the throne on his thirtieth birthday, rather than waiting for the current ruler to kick off-thus, it was hoped, preventing the possibility of an interminable reign by a tyrannical or doddering monarch. And also, I imagine," he added drily, "reducing the temptation on the part of an impatient heir to hurry his predecessor's departure along.

"In any event, the system has worked quite well for a good many centuries-I will give it that." Nikolas aimed a fierce glare at his father. "But times do change. The world has changed. It's high time Silvershire entered the twenty-first-"

"That may be," King Weston interrupted gently. "However, my reign is at an end, and that, my boy…is an issue for my successor to decide. Now, if you will, please continue…"

Nikolas cleared his throat. "Of course. Forgive me. Anyway, as I said. King Dunford had produced no heir. The Charter provides, in that event, for the king to chose a successor from among his nobles. In this case there were two candidates-cousins, very near in age-Lord Vladimir and Lord Weston. Vladimir, by virtue of being two months the elder of the two, and from a slightly more exalted lineage-" Nikolas's mouth tilted sardonically "-was the obvious choice to inherit the crown."

King Weston nodded and picked up the narrative. "I had always assumed that would be the case, even though King Dunford made it a point to include me in his royal tutorials with Benton-Lord Vladimir. He wanted us both to have as much knowledge as possible about the running of the kingdom, you see, assuming that I would serve the kingdom in some position or other." He paused to rub his eyes, as if, perhaps, he had a headache, and Lady Zara gave him a look of concerned appraisal.

Ignoring her, the king went on. with a wave of his hand. "Unfortunately, Vladimir felt threatened by King Dunford's insistence in involving me at every level. Perhaps he believed the king was considering me for the crown instead of him… who knows?" Again the king paused. To Rhia, he looked like a man carrying a heavy burden of sadness.

"The sad thing is," King Weston said at last in a musing tone, "the circumstance that finally pushed Benton into acting as he did had nothing whatsoever to do with the succession. My father was dying, you see. He didn't wish that fact to cast a shadow over the coming coronation ceremony and the attendant festivities, so he had asked that his illness be kept secret. Only my mother and I and the king and queen knew the truth. It was, naturally, a difficult time for me, and I often sought my king's counsel.

"But Benton-Lord Vladimir-misunderstood these private meetings, and incorrectly assumed King Dunford had changed his mind about whom he would choose to succeed him. Fearing he was about to lose his chance to become king, Lord Vladimir-" King Weston made a grimace of distaste and an abrupt dismissive gesture with his hand. "I dislike speaking of it, even now. Suffice to say, Lord Vladimir made an attempt to discredit me by framing me for acts of high treason. Reprehensible acts. Thankfully, his plan was discovered before it could be carried out. I was chosen by His Majesty, King Dunford, to succeed him as King of Silvershire, and the Duke of Perthegon, just as he was about to be imprisoned and prosecuted for his crimes, vanished into thin air. He has neither been seen nor heard from in the thirty years since. It has always been assumed he fled the country. Now…I am not so sure."

Rhia, who had been listening intently to the king's story, stiffened to attention. "Are you suggesting he-the exiled Lord Vladimir-is behind these recent acts of violence and sabotage? And that it was he who switched the babies- replaced Nikolas-uh, the prince with an impostor?"

Again the king rubbed a hand over tired eyes. "I can think of no one else who would do such a thing. And," he added with a wry smile, "he did vow to make me pay for robbing him of his 'birthright.'"

The smile vanished and he brought his closed fist down hard on the arm of his chair. "God help me, though-I am at a loss to see how he could have done it! If he did not leave this island, if in fact he's been living right here among us all this time, how in blazes has he managed to do it? How has he managed to come and go at will, even invade the heart of the palace itself, without being seen? Where is he? How has he hidden himself? Who is he now?"

King Weston clutched the chair's arms and pushed himself to his feet. Lady Zara went instantly to his side, but he shook off her help. Holding himself tall and erect, he lifted a hand that shook only slightly, and when he spoke his voice held the vibrant timbre Rhia remembered from his television appearances. "This, Nikolas-and you, my dear-this is the task with which I now charge the two of you. Find that blackguard Vladimir. Wherever he is, whoever he is pretending to be, the wretch…must…be…found!"