The Rebel King

'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.

Epilogue

I.

Royal Palace, Silvershire, one month later

Do stop checking your tiara, my love.'

His Majesty, Nikolas the First, newly crowned King of Silvershire, spoke to his wife of three weeks and queen of scarcely three hours out of one side of his mouth as they made their way slowly along the royal purple caipet that stretched the entire length of the great reception hall, smiling, nodding and waving at the glittering crowd of specially invited guests. 'I've been assured that it is firmly attached. It's not going to come loose and tumble over one eye. And if it does,' he added tenderly, patting the gloved fingers curved around the crook of his elbow, 'heads will most certainly roll.'

'Don't joke,' Rhia snapped. 'I can't believe I let you talk me into wearing it.'

'I'm rather surprised about that, myself, actually. I imagine the chief of protocol was greatly relieved, and I know the citizens of Silvershire-your loyal subjects-loved it.'

'I didn't do it for them.' she muttered darkly behind a rigid smile. 'I did it for you and nobody else. This is our first public appearance together. I didn't want you to be ashamed of me.'

The king's chest fluttered with emotions he was still trying to get used to as he let his gaze rest briefly on his bride…his queen. Sometimes the miracle of her was almost more than he could bear, especially when he thought how near he'd come to losing her. It had only been a month since Vladimir's bullet had ripped into her chest, collapsing her lung and narrowly missing an artery. And scarcely three weeks since he'd married her in a small-very small, very private-ceremony in the newly renovated royal suite in the palace's medical facility. Only Lady Zara, Lord Shaw and King Weston had been present as witnesses. Lord Russell Carrington, in his capacity as regent and acting head of state, had performed the ceremony. Immediately afterward, Nikolas had taken his wife off to the south of France for rest, recuperation and TLC. Lots of TLC. Which seemed to have done the trick,