Chapter 2 - The Road Beneath the Palace
Alexander had never understood how large the palace was until he needed to escape it.
There were twenty-three public entrances, eleven service corridors, and a network of underground passages constructed during the civil unrest of 1948.
As a child, he had explored them with his father.
As an adult, he had forgotten most of them existed.
Tonight, one of those passages might be the only way to reach his son.
“Your Highness, we cannot trust the royal motorcade,” Captain Vale said.
Alexander walked quickly through the eastern corridor.
“Then don't use it.”
“The roads are already being monitored.”
“By whom?”
“I'm trying to determine that.”
Alexander stopped.
“You've been chief of my protection detail for eight years.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I'm going to ask you one question, Adrian, and I need an answer without a single word of protocol.”
The captain waited.
“Did you know about Isabelle?”
Adrian looked him in the eye.
“I knew the official investigation didn't make sense.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“No, sir.”
“And Henry?”
“No.”
Alexander studied him.
He wanted to believe him.
But that night had already taught him the danger of trusting men simply because they wore familiar uniforms.
“Then prove it.”
Adrian nodded once.
“Follow me.”
They descended a narrow staircase behind the old royal library.
The walls changed from polished stone to rough limestone.
The palace sounds faded.
Within minutes, the two men stood before a steel door fitted with a mechanical lock.
Adrian entered a six-digit combination.
The lock opened.
A black utility vehicle waited beyond it.
Alexander stared.
“How long has that been here?”
“Since your father's final security review.”
“Why?”
“His Majesty wanted an evacuation route that the Crown Regent's office couldn't control.”
Alexander turned toward him.
“My father ordered that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then he was afraid of something.”
Adrian's silence was revealing.
Alexander climbed into the vehicle.
“Take me to the service road.”
The engine started.
A clock on the dashboard read 11:55 p.m.
Five minutes until Isabelle's scheduled transfer.
Five minutes until the woman he loved could disappear again.
Alexander called the number that had contacted him.
No answer.
He called a second time.
The line was disconnected.
“Can we trace it?”
Adrian shook his head.
“Not without communications access.”
“Then who can?”
“One person.”
“Who?”
“Your father's former intelligence director.”
Alexander looked at him.
“Gabriel Shaw?”
Adrian nodded.
“Why would he help?”
“Because the king trusted him with things he wouldn't tell anyone else.”
“Where is he?”
“Living under a different name.”
Alexander stared.
“My father fired Gabriel Shaw after the Blackthorn investigation.”
“That is what the public record says.”
“What actually happened?”
Adrian took a breath.
“The king sent him away.”
“Why?”
“To keep him alive.”
The vehicle emerged from the tunnel into a deserted maintenance yard.
Rain hammered the windshield.
Alexander's phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
Do not trust the man driving you.
Below it was a photograph.
Adrian Vale standing outside a medical facility.
Beside him, a little boy in a blue jacket.
Henry.
The photograph was dated three weeks earlier.
Alexander felt his entire body tighten.
He looked toward Adrian.
The captain was watching the road.
“Adrian.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Pull over.”
“We're almost at the service road.”
“Pull over.”
Adrian glanced at him.
Something in Alexander's face changed his mind.
He stopped beneath a railway bridge.
Alexander showed him the photograph.
The captain went pale.
“Where did you get that?”
“Who is the boy?”
Adrian stared at the screen.
“I can explain.”
“Then start.”
“I was assigned to oversee a protected medical witness.”
“Henry?”
“I wasn't given his name.”
Alexander leaned toward him.
“You stood beside him.”
“Yes.”
“You saw his face.”
“Yes.”
“You saw my son's face and never recognized him?”
Adrian looked away.
“I suspected.”
Alexander grabbed his collar.
“You suspected?”
“I didn't know, sir.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because three months ago I tried to tell another member of your household about that facility.”
“What happened?”
Adrian slowly opened his jacket.
Beneath his shirt, a long scar crossed his ribs.
“They put me in a hospital for six weeks.”
Alexander released him.
“Who?”
“I never found out.”
The captain reached into the glove compartment.
He withdrew a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph of a medical building surrounded by woodland.
Aerial images showed three security gates and a fenced service road.
At the bottom was a name.
BLACKTHORN REHABILITATION CENTER.
Alexander stared.
Blackthorn.
The same name as the bridge where Isabelle had supposedly died.
“Where is this?”
“Twenty-seven miles north.”
“Drive.”
Adrian started the engine.
“Your Highness, there's something else.”
“What?”
“The boy wasn't the only patient I saw.”
Alexander waited.
“There was a woman.”
“Isabelle?”
“I don't know.”
“What did she look like?”
“Dark hair. Early thirties. Thin. She had difficulty walking.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
Eleven years ago, Isabelle had been the fastest runner he knew.
She used to race him through the gardens, laughing as he pretended he couldn't catch her.
He had imagined their reunion a thousand times.
Never like this.
“Was she conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Did she speak?”
Adrian swallowed.
“She asked me a question.”
“What question?”
“She asked whether the prince still hated her.”
Alexander looked away.
Rain streaked across the window.
For a moment, he was twenty-one again, standing beside an empty coffin, wondering how he had failed the girl he loved.
He pressed his palm against his mouth.
Then he lowered it.
“Get us there.”
They drove through the rain.
At 11:57, Adrian's radio crackled.
“Security vehicle seven, confirm location.”
Adrian switched it off.
A second later, headlights appeared behind them.
A black SUV.
Then another.
Alexander looked through the rear window.
“Are they ours?”
“No.”
The SUVs accelerated.
Adrian took a sharp turn onto a narrow country road.
The first SUV followed.
“Hold on.”
Their vehicle bounced across a drainage ditch.
Alexander struck his shoulder against the door.
Behind them, the SUV's headlights disappeared briefly.
Then returned.
“They're gaining,” Alexander said.
“I know.”
“Can you lose them?”
“Not on this road.”
Alexander glanced at the dashboard clock.
11:58.
Two minutes.
He pulled out his phone.
The last photograph of Isabelle glowed on the screen.
He stared at her face.
Then he called Victoria.
She answered immediately.
“Alexander?”
“Where is Isabelle?”
Silence.
“Victoria.”
“Are you alone?”
“No.”
“You have to leave the man you're with.”
Alexander looked at Adrian.
“Why?”
“Because Harrow has people inside your security division.”
“I know that.”
“No, you don't.”
Her voice shook.
“Alexander, the guards aren't supposed to kill you.”
A cold sensation moved down his spine.
“What are they supposed to do?”
“Bring you back.”
“Why?”
“Your mother needs you inside the palace when the transfer happens.”
Alexander frowned.
“Why?”
Victoria began crying.
“Because at midnight, something much worse than Isabelle's transfer is going to be signed.”
“What?”
“The document that makes you unfit to rule.”
Alexander sat motionless.
Victoria whispered.
“They're removing you from succession control tonight.”
The call ended.
At that moment, the lead SUV pulled alongside their vehicle.
Its passenger window lowered.
Alexander saw a man's gloved hand.
Then a flash of metal.
“DOWN!” Adrian shouted.
Glass exploded across the dashboard.
The vehicle swerved.
Adrian fought the steering wheel.
The tires struck loose gravel.
For one terrible second, Alexander thought they would roll into the ravine.
Then the vehicle crashed through a wooden barrier and stopped in a shallow ditch.
The engine stalled.
Rain poured through the shattered windshield.
Alexander's ears rang.
“Adrian?”
The captain leaned over the steering wheel.
Blood darkened his left sleeve.
“I'm fine.”
He wasn't.
Outside, doors slammed.
Men shouted.
Alexander reached for Adrian's radio.
“Give me your weapon.”
“No, sir.”
“Adrian.”
“There's a service culvert beneath the road.”
Alexander looked at him.
“What?”
“Forty yards east.”
“You're coming.”
The captain shook his head.
“I'll buy you time.”
Alexander gripped his shoulder.
“I'm not leaving you.”
Adrian looked straight at him.
“Your father asked me to protect you.”
A pause.
“Tonight, protecting you means letting you go.”
The approaching footsteps grew louder.
Alexander hesitated.
Then Adrian pressed a small metal key into his palm.
“Gate three.”
“What?”
“Blackthorn Center. Gate three. The staff entrance.”
Alexander stared.
“How do you have this?”
The captain's expression darkened.
“Because your father gave it to me the night before he died.”
Alexander had no time to ask another question.
Adrian pushed the passenger door open.
“Run.”
Alexander climbed out into the rain.
He heard Adrian shouting at the approaching men.
Then he dropped into the drainage ditch and crawled beneath the road.
Cold water soaked his ruined wedding suit.
His hands scraped against sharp stones.
Behind him, a gunshot cracked through the night.
Alexander froze.
A second shot followed.
Then silence.
He wanted to turn around.
Every instinct screamed at him to go back.
But his son's voice returned to him.
Daddy, promise?
Alexander forced himself forward.
He emerged beside a wooded embankment.
Far away, the lights of a medical complex glowed against the black sky.
He started running.
His phone displayed 11:59 p.m.
Then a message arrived from Eleanor Reed's number.
If you're close enough to hear the bells, you're already too late.
A second message followed.
Don't look for Isabelle in her room.
Look beneath it.
May you like
Alexander looked toward the distant building.
And somewhere beneath Blackthorn Rehabilitation Center, a heavy mechanical door began to close.
