The Rebel King

Chapter 15

My God," Rhia whispered, "I can't believe I'm actually wearing a Givenchy. Me-the former Miss Trailer Park of New Orleans."

Nikolas didn't comment; he knew how sappy he'd sound if he told her the truth, which was that in his opinion no queen or empress had ever looked more regal. Besides which, if he told her that, he was fairly certain it would only make her mad.

Although, to be truthful, lately he couldn't be certain of anything where Rhia was concerned. Since they'd arrived at the palace, she'd seemed…different. Edgy, nervous…lacking her usual poise and self-confidence.

"Are you sure I look okay in this thing? It's not too…you know…"

He didn't know what to make of her. It was the first time he'd ever known her to be insecure about her appearance. It was also the first time he'd seen her wearing a dress and high heels, and he did know what he'd like to make of that. Take them right off her again, as soon as he could possibly manage it.

He let his gaze slide over her-quickly, which was as much as his libido could stand. "No, love," he said gently, "it's not too…any thing. It's just exactly right."

"I don't know…it is from the nineteen sixties, after all." She heaved in a breath, twisting and turning in front of the window in a way that made his mouth go dry as she tried to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the dark glass. She paused to throw him a look of bemusement. "I still can't believe he let me wear his wife's-Queen Alexis's-your mother's clothes. I'm amazed he'd even still have them."

"Yes, well I suppose it would be rather difficult to dispose of something like a queen's wardrobe." Nikolas said drily, and to remove himself as far as possible from temptation, paced to the opposite end of the informal reception room in the king's private chambers, where they'd been left to await his majesty's pleasure. "It's not as though one can simply drop everything off at the Oxfam shop. I should imagine some will eventually go to a museum."

She gave a breathy little laugh. "In the meantime, I'm wearing Givenchy. I feel like…who is it?" She snapped her fingers. "Audrey Hepburn-Breakfast at Tiffany's. You know-the little black dress?"

He folded his arms on his chest and pretended to give her a critical once-over. Truth was, she did look a little like Audrey Hepburn-from the neck up: Dark hair piled high on her head, exotic eyes and luscious mouth…long, elegant neck. But from there down…from what he could recall, for all her grace and beauty. Audrey on her best day had never had curves like that.

Avoiding the issue, he frowned at his watch, then glanced at the doors that led to the king's inner sanctum. "Wonder what's keeping our royal host?"

Her eyes jerked to his and her lips parted. The look that came over her face was one he'd never seen before-frightened, even confused. His heart began to pound as he asked hoarsely, "What? Rhia, what's wrong?"

She shook her head-a quick, erasing motion-and pivoted away from him. "Nik-it's nothing. I…"

He was at her side in an instant, gripping her arms and turning her to face him. "It's obviously not nothing. Tell me."

She gazed at him…opened her mouth. But the words wouldn't come. It's hard…I don't think I can…I'm sorry. She'd never tried to put it into words before-the feeling. The sizzling under her skin, like static electricity…the flashes of something just on the edges of her consciousness that never came into focus…the hum in her head that wasn't quite sound.

She swallowed…took a breath. "I know this is going to sound…weird. I thought it was just nerves-you know. I'm wearing this dress, having dinner with the king, for God's sake. Anyway, I've been feeling it ever since we came in here. And then, when you mentioned him. I knew what it was. It's…"

"Your sixth sense," he said quietly. Not mocking, not questioning. The relief that flooded her almost made her knees buckle. And she knew she'd never loved him more than at that moment.

She nodded and clutched at his arms. "Something's wrong, Nik. Don't ask me how I know. I just do." She twisted to throw an anguished look at the closed door to the king's private rooms. "We can't just go barging in there-he's the king. What-"

"Who says we can't?" Nikolas crossed the room in long strides and gripped the ornate brass door handle. He pushed it, then looked at Rhia, who was right behind him. "It's unlocked. Do you think that's normal?"

"I don't know," she murmured through rigid jaws. The sizzling was more of a crackling now. she could feel it running along her scalp, lifting her hair. Her chest was tight with the certainty that she needed to get through that door. "But I think we should find out."

He nodded grimly. "I'll go first-"

"Like hell you will. I'm the one with the training here."

"Look, you don't even have your gun. If anything-"

"Who says I don't?" She lifted up her skirt to show him the Walfher strapped snugly against her thigh. "Now-are we going to stand here and debate, or open this door?"

He shook his head wonderingly. "Have I mentioned you're giving me an inferiority complex? Okay…you first, but go low. I'll cover your back. And…maybe you should leave the gun where it is until we know…"

"Right. Ready…let's go."

Adrenaline surged into her veins as Nikolas pushed down on the handle and silently opened the door; she scarcely felt her feet touching the floor as she slipped through. She was a breath of wind, nothing more. A wide paneled hallway stretched ahead of her…empty. She moved swiftly along it, glancing into open doorways as she went, aware that Nikolas was right behind her, and that what she was looking for was somewhere ahead of her… somewhere close.

And so was danger. She could feel it lurking, like something watching from beyond the firelight…

The Walther lay heavy against her flexing thigh muscle as she crept closer to the end of the hallway. There was only one door left, the one door that wasn't standing open. She approached it like a cat stalking her prey…took her position to the right of the door. Nikolas moved silently to the left side, facing her.

On her nod, he lifted a hand, knocked sharply on the door panel and called out. "Your Majesty, it's Nikolas. Are you all right in there?"

They waited, frozen, listening to the pounding of their own hearts.

Rhia held up three fingers, and he nodded, then pointed to her skirt and lifted one eyebrow. She shook her head; something told her it wasn't yet time to reveal her hidden ace. She held up one finger, then two, then three.

Again Nikolas gripped the handle and pushed open the door, but this time he managed to slip through before her, effectively shielding her from whatever might be waiting for them on the other side. The irresistible force that was her adrenaline-charged body collided with the immovable object that was his, and as the resulting explosion burst from her lungs in a gasp of helpless fury, she heard a cold, quiet voice.

Vladimir's.

"Come in," he said pleasantly. "I've been wondering when you two would decide to join us."

Nikolas barely heard the words. For those first seconds he seemed to be swathed in a gauzy film that muffled sound, paralyzed muscle and cloaked vision so that he saw the impossible scene before him through a reddish fog: Henry Weston, his father, sitting in an upholstered Queen Anne chair that had been positioned to face the door. Behind him, Lord Vladimir, clean-shaven now, and dressed in black fatigues and beret, holding a handgun with the barrel pressed to the king's temple.

Nik came abruptly back to the moment when he felt Rhia try to slip past him. Catching her arm, he pulled her against his side and stretched his lips in a smile. "Silas…"

"How did you get in here?" Rhia's voice could have etched glass.

King Weston's smile was wry. "It appears not quite all of those tunnels have been found and disposed of. after all. The blackguard came right through the wall in my library, if you can believe-"

Nikolas felt Rhia jerk as Vladimir's whip-crack laugh slashed across the last word. "Believe it, pretender. You can't keep me out. I know this palace better than you do-better than anyone does. And why shouldn't I? It's mine."

Holding himself in a grip of steel. Nikolas said. "What do you want, Silas?"

"My name is Vladimir," the intruder thundered, grasping Weston's arm and jerking him to his feet. "Lord Vladimir-Duke of Perthegon! I want what is mine-what was stolen from me. Nothing more, nothing less. And I shall have it- or die. But if I die, before I do, this-this thief will die, too!"

"Lord Vladimir," Rhia said quietly, "you must know it's over. Your secret is out-you can't possibly get what you want now. But if you give yourself up, you will have a chance to tell your story, get it out there for the people to hear, so everyone will know what was done to you."

Nikolas edged closer, still holding on to Rhia and trying his best to keep himself between her and the madman with the gun. He could feel her muscles vibrating and bunching under his fingers. It would be just like her, he thought, to do something unthinkable-like go for her weapon, or put herself in front of Vladimir's gun to save him or the king.

Vladimir's glittering eyes flicked at Rhia like the tongue of a snake. "Give myself up? So they can put me in a cage? What, wench, do you think I'm stupid enough to barter my freedom for my story? No-I'll die first, and die a happy man, so long as this-" he gave Weston's arm a vicious yank "-dies first. And before he dies…he will know the worst pain a father can feel." A terrible smile stretched his lips. The barrel of the gun slowly shifted.

Nikolas went cold. He felt Rhia's muscles gather under his fingers.

But before anyone could move or speak, there came a thunderous booming from the far end of the hall. From the reception area. Someone was pounding on the outer door.

Vladimir froze, teeth bared in a grimace of madness. He looked quickly one way, then the other, like a cornered animal, and then began backing in a tight circle toward the door to the sitting room Nik and Rhia had just come through, dragging Weston with him, the gun once more pressed tightly against the king's temple.

Henry Weston's face was pasty gray, but his eyes were calm as they met Nikolas's.

Nik didn't think. He just let go of Rhia's arm and stepped forward, hands out to his sides. Heard himself say harshly, "Let him go. Take me with you."

"No!" Color flooded back into the king's face as it contorted with anguish. "I'm the one he wants. I'm old, my reign is over. You're my son, Nikolas. You mean more to me than my crown. More than my life…"

The pounding was louder, now. A preemptory voice was shouting, "Maximillian-security. Your Majesty, is everything all right in there?"

Vladimir's eyes flicked from side to side, then narrowed. "This way-all of you," he hissed. Gesturing with the gun, he herded them through the door and into the hallway. "In there- hurry!" He pointed toward the first open door on the left.

Nikolas pulled Rhia with him into what was obviously the king's private study. Like his mountain lodge, the room contained floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with obviously well-read books. Vladimir shoved Weston in after them and followed, slamming the door behind him just as a loud bang and running footsteps were heard in the reception room down at the far end of the hallway.

"Don't move-any of you." he snarled, "or I kill him now." He backed across the room, still holding the gun on Weston, then let go of him long enough to grasp the carved molding that framed one of the bookcases and give it a mighty yank. Ancient gears creaked as the section of shelves slowly began to move.

To Rhia, it seemed that an eternity passed before the gap in the wall of shelves widened enough for a body to squeeze through. Everything, even her heartbeat. seemed to be moving in slow motion. Beyond the library door she could hear voices and running footsteps, but their rescuers, too, it seemed, were coming at the speed of growing grass. Meanwhile, she needed only a moment to go for her weapon, but it had to be the right moment. She didn't dare risk it as long as Vladimir had his gun to the king's head. She had to wait for her chance. Maybe, once they were in the tunnel, in the darkness…

But her chance didn't come-not then. Vladimir shoved her through the opening first, then Nikolas, then the king, with the gun jammed ruthlessly against the base of his skull. Once they were all crammed into the small dusty space behind the wall, Vladimir activated some sort of mechanism that reversed the door. Then, while there was still light coming through the opening, he took a battery-operated torch from a niche in the stone wall, turned it on and thrust it at Nikolas.

"Here-take this. She's going first-your lady friend. Keep the light pointed at her back. Don't move it, or I shoot her first." He didn't sound mad, now, only terrifyingly purposeful. Efficient. Like a stone-cold killer. "That way. Go on-move."

With a final groan, the panel clicked shut. In a darkness alive with jumping shadows and the sounds of breathing. Rhia moved forward, the Walther like a hot brick against her thigh.

The passageway seemed endless, following a bewildering succession of twists and turns, short ups and downs, until she had lost all sense of direction. Finally, at the end of a short stretch of passageway, she came to a flight of stone steps that seemed to disappear into the darkness beyond the glow of the flashlight. The steps led…not down, but up.

"So that's it." Nikolas's musing voice came from close behind her. "They found all the underground tunnels, but nobody thought to look up."

"Shut up," Vladimir hissed. "Climb."

"Just out of curiosity." Nikolas said in a conversational tone, as Rhia started up the steps, trailing one hand along the wall of ancient stone, "where does this go? To the roof, I assume? What do you do after that-fly?"

"You'll learn soon enough." Vladimir said with a sneer that didn't have to be seen. "Keep moving."

At least it's not a tunnel, Rhia thought with a shudder as she climbed steadily upward into the leaping shadows. The air was close, but reasonably cool, and smelled of ancient dust and rat droppings rather than mildew and damp. But she was worried about the king. How much more stress could he take?

I have to find a way to stop this. I have to get to my gun. Maybe…when we get to the roof…

Nikolas watched the flashlight beam dance across Rhia's slender back, swaying skirt and well-muscled legs. As he followed her up the stairs, he thought he could almost see the gun strapped to her thigh. It was within reach of his hand. Maybe…if they were to pause for a moment…if he could get to it…

I have to find a way to stop this. I don't know how much more my father can take. Maybe…when we get to the roof…

"This seems to be as far as I can go." Rhia's voice came drifting down from the shadows above him. "What now?"

"It's a trapdoor." Vladimir snapped. "There's a latch. Find it. Open it."

Nikolas moved the light higher and heard a grunt. "Ah- I see it. Okay…" There was a loud creak, then a thump, and a rectangle of starlit sky appeared overhead.

"I trust you will remember that I'm holding a gun, and that I will kill Nikolas first if you do anything I don't like." Vladimir said coldly. "With that in mind, please…ladies first. Nikolas, keep the light on her so I can see her clearly, or I will shoot this old man in the leg."

They emerged, one after the other, into the fresh air, like survivors creeping out of a bomb shelter. The night was chilly and clear-and where was the bloody fog when you needed it? Nikolas wondered, as a brisk autumn breeze penetrated the silk fabric of his evening jacket.

They were on a flat surface, stone, from the feel of it, not slate. He could see the lights of the old town, Silverton-upon-Kairn. twinkling festively just across the river, looking almost close enough to touch. He could smell the river, too, and hear the murmur of it as he turned in a slow circle, trying to get his bearings. How could the river be so close-almost beneath his feet, from the sound of it? And the spires of the Renaissance part of the palace so far away?

"Douse the light." Vladimir ordered. "Move on-down there. Go on…"

It came to him, then. This was the old part of the palace, the part built on the ruins of a medieval abbey. He remembered the docent on one of the tours he'd taken telling about the original structure, which had included a stone footbridge connecting the abbey to the market town of Kairn across the river. The bridge had long since crumbled and fallen into the river, leaving only the ruins of an ancient guard tower in one corner of the thick stone walls of the abbey courtyard. They had emerged from the passageway, he realized, not onto the roof, but the top of the six-foot-thick wall itself. Behind them was the king's special refuge, the Bourbon Rose Garden. Straight ahead, the remnants of the old bridge jutted out over the glittering water.

"Looks like a dead end to me." Nikolas said, holding his hands out to his sides. "Come on, give it up. There's no place to go. It's over."

"It's not over!" Vladimir was panting, his voice shrill with fury. "We can still do it-I can kill him for you-right here. It's what you always wanted-Weston dead. The people-they'll know it was me-they'll follow you, Nikolas. I have a boat-"

"It's over." Nikolas said softly. "Let him go."

"No!" It was like the roar of an enraged lion. "I'm taking him with me-he's my way out. If you try and stop me, I'll kill you and the woman. Maybe…" He paused, breathing audibly. "Maybe I will kill you-you betrayed me, boy. I raised you! I taught you! And you went back to this-"

"That's enough, Benton." Weston's quiet voice cut through the shrill babble like a knife. "Kill me. if you wish-I've lived my life. Nikolas, my son…I'm grateful to have had a chance to meet you. My only regret is that we didn't have more time. You will be a good king. Come, Lord Vladimir- leave them, and let's be gone."

"No!" Nikolas shouted, his voice shaking. "Father-"

While Weston had been talking, Vladimir's head had swiveled toward Nikolas; he could see the glitter of hatred in his foster parent's eyes. Now, those eyes flicked at Weston, and his lips pulled back in a smile. When the eyes returned to Nikolas, the barrel of the gun came with them.

"My son…" Vladimir said in a sneering voice, and laughed his whip-crack laugh. "Yes-this is a more fitting revenge, I think. Weston, say good-bye to your precious son. I took him from you once-now I do so again-forever!"

Nikolas never saw it coming. He heard a cry of pure anguish, a bellow of rage…threw up his hands in an instinctive and futile attempt to hold back the inevitable. Instead, something flashed into his line of sight from out of nowhere, hit him hard. He felt himself falling.

Even as his mind was screaming Rhia… No! he heard two shots, one after the other. And then he was lying on his back on the cold stones with Rhia half on top of him. and her gun was slowly drooping, falling from her limp hand.

Dazed, he lifted his head, straining to see beyond her inert body. And his heart stopped. A few yards away, Vladimir was crouched, swaying, blood dripping from one hand. The other still held the gun, which he brought slowly around until it was pointed directly at Rhia. Nikolas could see his teeth gleaming in a grimace of pure malice. And all he could do was fold himself over her body and brace himself once again, waiting to feel the impact of bullets tearing into his flesh.

Once again, that particular horror was spared him. Instead, he was forced to watch in dreadful slow motion as King Weston, summoning all his reserves of strength, lashed out and struck the gun from Vladimir's hand, then crumpled slowly to the ground. He had to watch helplessly as Vladimir, blind with rage and pain, swooped down on the helpless man, his fingers curved into eagle's talons, going for the king's throat.

"Nik…"

He almost didn't hear the whisper.

"Nik…take it. My gun…here…I can't…"

Moving as if in a dream, he picked up Rhia's gun from where it had fallen…found it sticky with her blood…aimed and squeezed the trigger.

Vladimir jerked as the first bullet hit him. Spun around and staggered backward with the second. With the third, he toppled slowly over the edge of the ruined bridge and disappeared into the dark water far below.

The silence that followed was like a blanket of ice. Nikolas could feel it encasing his body, his mind, his soul. He wondered if this was what death was like. The death of all hope and love and joy.

He didn't feel the gun slip from his hand. He was folding Rhia in his arms, holding her close and rocking her. trying desperately to force his own life-forces into her still, still body. Praying.

Stay with me, Rhee…stay here, my love. I need you. I love you. You don't have to be queen…I don't want to be king, not without you…

Again, he almost didn't hear her whisper.

"Nik…" Her fingers were touching his face, wiping something from his cheeks. "I'm not going to die."

"You'd bloody well better not," he said fiercely, brokenly. "You're going to marry me. I'll give up the crown. We'll go and raise grapes in Provence, if that's what you want. Just… don't leave me."

"You…don't have to give up the crown." She drew a rasping breath that sent cold ripples of fear through his body. "I'll marry you…one condition…"

"What, my dearest? Anything."

"I get…to keep my job. The…pro bono stuff…at least."

Nikolas was laughing helplessly, unable to speak, when he realized, suddenly, that he wasn't alone. That someone was there beside him, helping him support Rhia's body, lending them both his warmth and courage and strength.

"I believe that can be arranged," King Weston said.

Maximillian and an army of palace guards found them there a few minutes later, the three of them so tightly entwined they made a single silhouette against the sparkling lights of the city.