The Rebel King

Maximillian had heard the exchange, and answered over his shoulder in the chatty but rather formal manner of a docent. 'Bourbon roses are named for their place of origin, not the alcoholic beverage, Agent de Hayes. They were developed on the He Bourbon, an island in the Indian Ocean now known as Reunion. They're quite old-from early in the nineteenth century, I believe.' He paused to unhook a velvet-covered chain barrier and waved them through, then followed, replacing it behind him. 'The palace's rose garden originated in the 1860s, when Bourbons had become quite the thing in Paris.'

'This is the first I've heard of it,' Nikolas said. 'I gather it's not part of the public tour?'

'No, Your Highness. In the first place, it is located in the oldest part of the palace, which, although having undergone some renovation in recent years, is still not considered safe. A regular maze, dark and confusing passages…not quite the place you'd want tourists wandering about. Then, there's the fact that His Majesty likes to spend time there.' He paused again, this time to throw Nikolas a look of apology. 'Since the queen passed, God rest her soul, he's the only one who does. It's been let go a bit. I'm afraid.'

The security chief had been leading them at a brisk pace through increasingly dim and dusty corridors festooned with cobwebs and rank with the smell of damp and decay. Now, he preceded them down a short flight of stone steps to a small vestibule, where a thick and ancient wooden door stood open to the courtyard beyond. Here, too, a pair of uniformed guards equipped with two-way radios and automatic weapons stood at ease in the rectangle of brilliant autumn sunshine, and snapped to attention when they heard footsteps on the vestibule's stone floor. They saluted the captain, flashed curious surreptitious glances at Rhia as they bowed to Nikolas, then stepped aside to let them pass.

The first thing Rhia noticed was the smell. Not roses, which she'd expected-something darker, earthier, more mysterious.,.but to her every bit as sweet. So sweet, and so achingly, wrenchingly familiar it brought a soft gasp to her lips and an unexpected stinging to her eyes. For the second time in the past week she found herself inundated with memories of her childhood, of the bayous…of slow-moving water and thick black mud…of rotting leaves and moss and all manner of growing things. It must be the river-the Kairn, she thought. Silvershire's largest and most important river, which she knew flowed right through the heart of the capital city. Quite nearby, too, perhaps just beyond the thick courtyard walls. But even standing in that sunlit rose garden, she felt that if she only closed her eyes she would feel the soft humidity on her skin… hear the frogs and cicadas singing their shrill duets…see fireflies winking against the blackness of her eyelids.

The pressure of Nikolas's fingers on her arm as he guided her around the arched and swaying branch of a gigantic climbing rosebush dragged her out of the past, back to the present. And it hit her then-the tiling he'd tried in his own way to tell her earlier that morning. The bayous were her past. This-old roses in a palace courtyard…the familiar weight of a nine-millimeter handgun against her side…Nikolas, close to her…touching her, holding her hand-this was her now. Like the river beyond the walls, her life flowed on…always and only onward; it could never go back. And childhood had been left behind long ago.

The ache in her throat felt like a whispered good-bye.

King Weston was waiting for them at the far end of the courtyard, in a shaded alcove created by two stone arches and a tangle of nearly leafless rose canes. Beneath the thicket of canes, two carved stone benches had been placed facing each other. The benches were thickly upholstered with leaves and the fallen petals of a scattering of autumn blooms, evidence the king had not been making use of them before they arrived. As he came to greet them, leaning only slightly on an ivory-handled ebony cane, the bouquet of densely petaled blossoms in his hand-and several more spilling from the pockets of his jacket-gave a hint as to how he'd been occupying his time.

As before, Rhia found herself hanging back to observe the reunion between royal father and son, keeping a distance-a physical one, at least. Impossible, though, not to feel the pressure of colliding, conflicting emotions as she watched the two men greet each other with a typically awkward masculine embrace. Impossible not to feel her heart flutter when both men turned to her wearing the same unbelievably appealing smile. Impossible not to feel shivers all through her body-shivers of love-when she thought how beautiful Nikolas was. and how good. Yes-he was a good man. He would be a good king, too. Like his father, good to the core.

Unlike her father.

…I'm bloody well not like your father.

'Rhia, my dear!' King Weston held out his arms, cane in one hand, roses in the other, and to her utter astonishment- and Nikolas's obvious amusement-embraced her and kissed her soundly on one cheek. 'So very sorry to hear about your injuries.' the king said, drawing back to study her with a concerned frown. 'I trust you'll heal quickly, my dear. That blackguard Perthegon must be caught! And soon-before he does any more harm.'

'Yes, uh, sire-er. Your Majesty…' Damn. She was all but stammering. She took a breath and felt the calming press of the Walther against her ribs. 'We're doing our best.'

'Yes,' the king said, with a wry and glittering look at Nikolas. 'I expect you are-and everyone else as well. I feel as if I'm a prisoner in my own home-a prisoner on…what do they call it? Huh-lockdown. I believe. Yes. Anyway, I came out here to get away from it all. For a breath of freedom. And fresh air.' He waved the rose bouquet in a sweeping gesture. 'How do you like my rose garden?'

Rhia coughed. 'Uh…it's…beautiful.'

King Weston laughed. 'You lie rather badly, my dear. It's a neglected mess.' His eyes creased in a squint of sadness as he gazed around him. 'This was the queen's favorite spot, you see. After she died, I'm afraid I let it go to ruin. Lately, I've begun to think about putting it right again. This one here-' he held up a blossom of rich rose- pink, sniffed it, then pointed it at the tangle of canes overhead '-was her favorite. Zepherine Drouhin, it's called. It has no thorns, you see. That's why she liked it-she loved roses, but was always pricking herself on the thorns.' He touched the blossom to his lips, and to Rhia's complete bemusement. presented the rest of the bouquet to her. 'These are for you, my dear. Welcome to the palace.

'And now,' he said, taking Rhia's arm and turning to walk a few slow steps back toward the vestibule. 'I expect you'd like to see the rest of the place.'

'Uh, yes,' she said, clearing her throat in a valiant effort to pull herself out of the Disney movie she seemed to have wandered into. 'As a matter of fact, I'd like to go over security arrangements-'

The king waggled his cane. 'No need for that. Between my own palace guard and the extra security forces Corbett Lazlo has provided, everything has been well taken care of. I assure you. We are all safe here.'

Safe as a babe in his mother's arms? Rhia glanced at Nikolas and suppressed a shiver. His gray eyes were glittering as he looked back at her, and she wondered if he'd had the same thought.

'Forgive me,' he said, in a tone that was probably a bit more abrupt than should have been used to address a king, 'but Vladimir-Lord…Vladimir-has gotten into the palace before.'

King Weston nodded. 'Through the old tunnels, yes. But that's all been taken care of now. The tunnels have been closed off or filled in. At any rate.' he said firmly, drawing himself up and gesturing again with his cane, as if it were an eraser, 'you, my dear girl, are here as my guest, not my bodyguard. Nikolas-have Max get someone to give her the grand tour, won't you? And show you to your rooms. Then later on I should like it very much if you would both join me for dinner in my chambers.'

Rhia could actually feel herself blushing. 'Oh-but… Your Majesty…I'm not-I'm honored, but…I didn't exactly…' Oh God, and stammering, again, too. She didn't dare look at Nikolas; if he was grinning, she'd have no choice but to kill him. I can't believe this, she thought. I can't believe I'm going to say it… 'Your Majesty, I'm sorry, but I don't have anything to wear!'

King Weston halted and turned to her with smiling eyes. 'Quite frankly, I think you look smashing just as you are.' He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. 'However, I do know all women like to dress up, put on fancy things now and then. Don't worry, Miss de Hayes. I shall see to it that you have something to wear.'

He turned to Nikolas and clasped his hand. His voice seemed to deepen and grow husky. 'My boy. I'm glad you're here at last I shall look forward to our visit this evening-perhaps we can begin to get to know one another. I'll send someone to escort you to my chambers-shall we say…five o'clock?'

Nikolas murmured. 'Yes, of course. That will be fine.'

The king waved them on, then pivoted and returned to his roses.

'Will someone please just kill me now?' Rhia ground out between clenched teeth, as she and Nikolas made their way back across the courtyard. 'Could I possibly be more embarrassed? And don't you dare laugh, or I swear I will kill you.'

'I'm not laughing.' Nikolas insisted, while doing exactly that. Then he shrugged, and the grin faded. 'I'm not