“I have no proof,” Marek told King Andre, Colonel Marianescu and Major Stesha in the king’s private office in the palace, to which he’d been summoned for this early-morning meeting. “Nothing that would hold up in court.”
“Then what have you got?” The king leaned back in his chair, his right hand toying with a letter opener in the shape of an antique sword.
“It was merely a matter of asking myself who could do this, Sire. And who benefits. Then it was easy.”
Colonel Marianescu smiled coldly. “Lay it out for him, Captain, the way you laid it out for me over the phone.”
“All along it bothered me,” Marek explained. “The precision involved in the attacks. The almost military discipline. A secret organization no one had heard of...until they struck without warning. And once we figured out the refugees were a decoy—”
“Yes, yes,” Major Stesha said testily. “This is nothing new. Get to the point.”
Marek glanced at the major on the other side of Colonel Marianescu. “Yes, sir.” Then he faced the king again. “Should you die, Sire, the crown prince will ascend the throne. And if the regents you named in the act of succession are also killed—the queen and you, sir,” he said, his gaze flicking toward Colonel Marianescu, “there would be chaos. At least until a new regent is named. With no one related to the crown prince by blood through the male line available, who would the country turn to?”
Marek read in the king’s eyes that he saw it now. “Are you saying...?”
“Yes, Sire. Who but your chief councillor on the Privy Council?”
Marek cleared his throat. “The Zakharian Liberation Front is small because he only needs small to achieve his goals. Flying under the radar? Done. Forcing you to declare martial law and diverting troops with his terrorist attacks? Done. Or at least he thinks it has been done. Assassinating the three people he needs dead in order to seize power? Easily accomplished even with a small paramilitary force, so long as it does not have to fight a large contingent of the Zakharian National Forces. Being named regent? Who else would the country insist upon in the ensuing crisis? And remember, nineteen years must pass before the new king turns twenty-one and can reign without a regent.”
The king’s stillness was unnerving, but Marek continued. “Once Colonel Lermontov consolidated power, once he was firmly in control...he would merely need to eliminate the young king...who would have no one to protect him. No father. No mother. No second cousin who is head of internal security,” he said, referring to Colonel Marianescu, “who is as devoted to him as his own father.”
Marek’s gaze was drawn to the king’s right hand, which now gripped the antique sword letter opener so tightly the fist was bloodless. And his face was a death mask, his eyes focused on something only he could see. “Not in this lifetime,” the king vowed softly. Then he turned that deadly face on Major Stesha. “Arrest Colonel Lermontov. Immediately.”
“Yes, Sire.”
But Marek spoke up almost before Major Stesha’s prompt reply. “On what charge, Sire? With what proof? I have none. My belief that it can be no one else is nothing more than that—my belief.”
“I will get the proof—from Colonel Lermontov’s own lips.” This from Major Stesha.
Marek shook his head, but he didn’t look at the major; his gaze was locked on the king’s. “‘Torture is not tolerated in Zakhar.’ Those are your own words, Sire, and you cannot countenance it. Not even for this.”
Seconds passed that seemed like hours, and Marek prayed, Please God. Not my king. He has the legal authority, but do not let him do this.
Then the deadly light in the king’s eyes slowly receded. His face was still implacable, his eyes still hard and cold. But the white-hot rage that would sweep everything before it, including honor and justice, was tamped down. Barely.
“Then what do you suggest, Marek?”
The use of his first name reminded Marek of the moment years ago when—shamed to his very soul—he’d confessed his failure to the king. And the king had insisted, “No, Marek. No blame attaches to you. If blame there is, it belongs to me and me alone...”
The king had given him back his honor. Priceless. Now it was Marek’s turn to give Zakhar’s monarch something equally priceless to him—his wife and child. “I will never fail him again,” he remembered telling Tahra. And he never would.
“We set a trap, Sire. Risky, because no matter how carefully we plan, something could go wrong. But nothing will happen to the crown prince, and not just because Colonel Lermontov needs to keep him alive. Nothing will happen to your son...or your wife. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
* * *
Adrenaline pumping, Marek passed Princess Mara’s suite—Tahra’s suite for now—but he didn’t stop. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time down to the main floor, envisioning her in his mind’s eye. Sleeping peacefully. Her long, dark hair splayed across her pillow in glorious disarray, the way she’d looked when—
He chopped that thought off. Now is not the time, he reminded himself sternly. He stopped off at his office and snagged the folder Major Stesha had given him, then headed for his car in the back parking lot.
He needed sleep, but he wouldn’t get it. Not until he’d gone through the file one more time. Somewhere in the file was a clue to the bait that would be too tempting for Colonel Lermontov to resist. Something that would trigger an assassination attempt sooner rather than later. And since they were prepared for it now, the sooner the better.
* * *
Tahra was awake and dressed long before Ani brought her breakfast tray Monday morning. She’d made her bed, too, despite the fact that it took her twice as long as usual because of the cast on her wrist. She just couldn’t get used to being waited on hand and foot.
She also couldn’t get used to being a lady of leisure. She missed her job—what she remembered of it. She didn’t have an important title...but she was important. Alec had told her as much at dinner on Friday. “The temp filling in for you is pretty good...but she’s not you.” Then he’d joked, “So if I slip you a bonus under the table, would you pretend you’ve recovered your memory so I can remove the hold on your security clearance and you can come back to work?”
Everyone had laughed, especially Tahra, because Alec was the straightest, most honest man she knew. He would never accept a bribe or offer one. And he would never compromise security at the embassy by letting her pretend to no longer be a security risk. But Alec’s joke had made her feel needed. And proud to be his administrative assistant.
She was standing on the balcony outside her bedroom, her right hand propped on the stone railing, her left tucked into the back pocket of her jeans, smiling a little as she remembered the dinner conversation Friday evening. Then it hit her. The smile faded and a chill of recognition whispered up her spine. “How did I know?”
How did she know it was a joke? How did she know the kind of man Alec was? The explosion had wiped out most of her memories of him, along with everything else. She remembered Alec as her new boss...eighteen months ago. “But I did know,” she murmured to herself. “I don’t remember...but I know.”
She darted inside and grabbed her cell phone from her purse, fumbling in her contacts until she found the name she knew had to be there, and pressed the button.
“Alec Jones.”
She squeezed the phone and blurted out, “Alec, it’s Tahra. Sorry to call you on your private line, but I didn’t want to go through the embassy switchboard.”
“Not a problem,” he assured her. “But how did you know I’d be here so early?”
“I just knew.”
His voice sharpened. “You remember?”
“No.” She shook her head as if he could see her. “It’s not a memory...not exactly. More like... I can’t really explain it, but...I just knew you get in early so you can leave early. Because of baby Drew.”
“Your memory’s coming back. This proves it.”
“Maybe. I have to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Remember at dinner on Friday, when you made that joke about bribing me to pretend to remember?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew it was a joke, Alec. I knew. Because I knew you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was just standing outside on the balcony a few minutes ago, feeling a little blue because it’s Monday and I should be at work, but I’m not. Then I remembered how you said you missed me at work, and that made me feel good.”
“And?”
“And I remembered your joke on Friday. Which I knew on Friday was a joke because you’re the most honest man I know.”
A tiny silence was followed by “Which you couldn’t possibly have known...if you didn’t somehow deep down remember working for me the past eighteen months.” Alec was quick to grasp the point she was trying to make.
“Exactly. It’s not like remembering the Denver Broncos outfit I gave Angelina at her baby shower. That was a specific memory. But this...this is different. Because knowledge like this is made up of hundreds of little moments. Maybe even thousands.”
“Yeah. Like knowing your mother loves you without remembering each time she tucked you into bed, each bedtime story she read to you, each song she sang to put you to sleep.”
“Yes.” Tahra’s throat closed at the simile, because she did have a few memories of her mother doing that...but precious few.
“That settles it. Your memory is returning. What did Marek say when you told him?”
“I...I haven’t told him. I called you first because I...I just wanted you to confirm I wasn’t wrong about...”
“Me being honest?” He laughed abruptly. “Well, I told Angelina Drew was beautiful when he was born, even though he was the sorriest mess I’d ever seen before they cleaned him up in the delivery room. But other than that, yeah. I try to walk the straight and narrow.”
“I knew it,” she whispered.
“And now you need to let Marek know about this development, PDQ. It’s a good sign, and he could use some good news.”
“I will. I’ll call him as soon as we’re done.” She let her breath out in a happy sigh. “Thanks, Alec. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“I’ve got a pretty fair idea.” Tahra was just about to disconnect when he added drily, “Oh, and by the way, I’d just as soon you not mention what I said to Angelina.”
“You mean about Drew being a sorry mess?” she teased.
“Yeah.” It was little more than a growl, and Tahra laughed.
“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. Just remember what a confidential administrative assistant I am...when review time rolls around.” Which meant they were both laughing when they disconnected.
Then another thought occurred to her. If her subconscious knowledge of Alec and the kind of man he was had returned, was it possible her subconscious was also influencing her response to Marek? Was that why she’d fallen in love with him again so quickly...because it wasn’t really quickly? Because deep down she knew the man he was, even if she didn’t remember specifics?
Tahra was just about to call Marek when she heard a knock on her door. Breakfast, she thought, and it was. Ani moved around and set the breakfast tray in the sitting room when she saw Tahra was already dressed and—since the bed was made—was unlikely to want breakfast there.
“You should not have done that, miss,” Ani scolded her. “Not with your wrist in a cast.” But she didn’t dwell on it because she was practically beside herself that Tahra had three letters next to her plate, two of which bore the king’s royal crest.
“From the king,” she explained reverently, as if Tahra couldn’t figure it out for herself.
When the little maid stood there expectantly, practically holding her breath, Tahra opened the first square vellum envelope, which had her name typed neatly in the center. She read the enclosed card twice. “It’s an invitation,” she said blankly. “To a reception in my honor this Saturday.”
“I knew that, miss. The master of the household announced it to the entire staff yesterday. Every Zakharian of note has been invited. It will be a huge gala event.”
Tahra made a little face. “I’m not all that good with crowds,” she confessed to explain her lack of enthusiasm, not wanting to go into detail about her painful shyness with strangers.
“Never you mind,” Ani assured her. “The king and queen will be with you. And Captain Zale, of course.” Her face grew rapt. “You will be the center of attention. What will you wear?”
Tahra laughed a little, because Ani’s question had topped her list of things to worry about, too. She cast her mind over the clothes in her closet—which she’d gone through the last time she was at her apartment—and she knew she had nothing that would do credit to an event like this. “I’ll have to go shopping, but I...” She made another face. “I don’t even remember where I used to shop.”
“The queen could advise you,” Ani said with a wise air that belied the fact she wasn’t even twenty. “Did you not say she was very kind to you?”
“Yes, but I don’t think my budget would run to the kind of clothes she wears.”
Ani’s eyes twinkled. “You would be surprised, miss. The queen is quite frugal in some surprising ways, and her clothes are one of them. I know because I am friends with her personal maid, Daphne. Yes, the queen’s wardrobe is extensive, because she is so very much in demand, you see, but many of her dresses are reasonably priced.” Ani gave a decided nod. “You ask the queen.” Then she inquired delicately, “And the other card, miss? Inscribed in the king’s own handwriting?”
“Oh, is that... I didn’t realize. You mean he wrote it himself?” Ani nodded, and Tahra picked up the second envelope, much in the way someone would pick up a tarantula. What could the king be writing her about?
Dear Miss Edwards, she read. I have already officially thanked you for saving those schoolchildren by sending letters to your president, the State Department for which you work and your ambassador here in Drago, a copy of which was delivered to you by my wife, Juliana. But that is merely the beginning.
By now you should have received an invitation to a reception in your honor this Saturday, which is Zakhar’s way of expressing its gratitude and deep appreciation for your bravery. Please know that invitations have been sent to the US ambassador and the regional security officer at your embassy. I have every reason to believe they will attend.
The queen and I would also like to extend our personal invitation to you and a guest for a private dinner with us before the reception. My wife speaks very highly of you, and I am looking forward to furthering our acquaintance.
Sincerely, Andre Alexei Marianescu, by the grace of God, King of Zakhar.
“Wow.” That was all Tahra could think of to say. And she knew she would cherish this personal note from the king even more than the official letter that had probably already made its way into her personnel file.
And now she had another reason to call Marek. Because just the idea of dining with the king and queen made her weak in the knees. The shyness that had plagued her all her life, which she’d always had to struggle to overcome, returned in full force. But she wouldn’t feel shy if Marek was with her. “You are the bravest woman I know,” he’d told her. “You have a warrior’s heart.” She didn’t need him in order to be those things. But she needed him to believe she could be those things. A fine distinction, but a clear one.
So as soon as Ani left, Tahra found Marek’s name in her contacts...and hit the button. But his home phone rang and rang, until the answering machine picked up. She didn’t bother leaving a message because there were two other numbers for Marek in her contacts—work and cell. She didn’t want to interrupt his work, so she dashed off a text to his cell phone. Then sat down to eat her rapidly cooling breakfast.
She’d just bitten into a scone slathered with butter and strawberry jam when her cell phone rang, and she swallowed quickly. “Hello? Marek?”
“Good morning, mariskya. I missed you yesterday.”
“I missed you, too.” She wanted to ask why she hadn’t seen him, but she wasn’t going there. She was going to trust him. She was going to believe he had a very good reason why...as well as a very good reason why he couldn’t tell her about it. So she hurried to state, “I wanted you to know I’ve remembered something else.” Then proceeded to tell him everything she’d discussed with Alec. “Alec says it’s a good sign, and I think he’s right.”
The sudden silence at the other end puzzled her, until Marek said, “You called Alec before you called me?”
The stiff way he spoke might have slipped right by some women, but not Tahra, and she realized it bothered him she hadn’t called him first. “Only because I needed him to confirm I was right about his being the most honest man I—” Oops, she thought suddenly. She hadn’t meant that as a jab at Marek, at the tangled web of lies and half-truths he’d told her since she’d come out of the coma. Nor had she meant it as a jab at him for the secret he’d kept from her until after he’d asked her to marry him.
She’d gotten past those things. Hadn’t she?
“I understand.”
Just two words, but she heard the pain underlying the stoic way they were uttered, and she rushed to say, “No, I don’t think you do.”
“Yes, I do. And you are right. Alec is the most honest man I know, too. He would never stoop to deception...especially not with the woman he loves.”
“Stop that,” she ordered, practically snapping her words off. “You did what you thought you had to do...to protect me. Right?”
She could hear his breathing accelerate. “Yes,” he finally admitted in a low voice.
“So stop acting like a...” At first she couldn’t think of something to liken it to, then she said, “Like an early Christian martyr.”
That got an unexpected chuckle out of him. “Is that what I am acting like?”
“Yes. No. Not really. Well, sort of. But it’s an exaggeration.”
There was a smile in his voice when he said, “I am glad we could clear that up.” Which made Tahra smile, too. “Is there anything else, mariskya, besides the wonderful news that your memory appears to be returning? Because much as I love hearing your voice, I have a staff meeting in twenty minutes, for which I must prepare. And Colonel Marianescu is not a man to accept excuses for being late.”
“Just a couple of things.”
“And they are?”
She’d never—as far as she could recall—asked a man to be her date for any reason. But if she wanted to take charge of her life... “Well...there’s this reception next Saturday.”
“Yes, I know. A reception in your honor, which is well deserved. Invitations have been sent to more than five hundred guests.”
She faltered. “Five hundred?” Her courage failed her for a moment as she imagined facing that many strangers...all there to meet her. But then she took a mental grip on herself. You can do this, her new, stronger self insisted. So she forged ahead. “And the king has invited me to have dinner privately with the queen and him before the reception.”
“Another honor.”
“Yes, well...the invitation is for me and...a guest.” Just spit it out, she told herself. “I was wondering if...”
“You are asking me for a date? Is this the new Tahra? The Tahra who wishes to do the proposing?”
Now she knew he was teasing her. “Just say yes.”
“Yes,” he said promptly.
“That was easy.”
He laughed softly. “Is now the time to confess I can deny you nothing that is in my power to give you?”
And just like that her heart melted. As it tended to do whenever he was around. They still had issues to iron out—including Marek’s slight alpha tendencies. But their love would find a way, because they saw the world the same way. They cared about the same issues. Prayed for the same outcomes.
Which reminded her of the other thing she’d made a mental note to discuss with Marek. “I don’t mean to keep you. I know you have to get ready for your staff meeting. But I wanted to ask you about the Ibrahim children. How they’re doing. And if there’s any word on their parents.” When he didn’t answer right away, she said, “I...I didn’t know who else I could ask.”
“Did you not receive the card I sent you?”