The Missing Monarch. Rachelle McCalla

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.”