Chapter 4 - The Price of a Crown
Alexander stared at the screen.
For eleven years, someone had stolen Isabelle's freedom.
For ten years, someone had kept his son from him.
Now they wanted the throne.
He looked toward the camera.
“You want me to abdicate?”
Harrow answered immediately.
“I want you to correct a mistake that should never have been allowed to continue.”
“My father made me his heir.”
“Your father made several unfortunate decisions.”
“Such as trusting you?”
A pause.
Then Harrow laughed.
“You sound very much like him.”
Alexander looked at Isabelle.
She was gripping his arm.
Her face had gone pale.
“Don't sign,” she whispered.
He glanced down.
“Isabelle—”
“That's why they kept me alive.”
Alexander frowned.
“What?”
“They needed me as leverage.”
The intercom crackled.
“Ms. Hart, I would advise you to remain quiet.”
Isabelle lifted her head.
“For eleven years, you told me Alexander abandoned me.”
“Be careful.”
“You made me watch recordings of him getting engaged.”
“Ms. Hart.”
“You told Henry his father wanted him dead.”
Alexander felt the words land like blows.
He looked at the screen.
Henry sat motionless.
His small face was turned toward the camera.
“Henry,” Alexander said.
The boy looked up.
“Listen to me.”
Harrow interrupted.
“Your Highness, the conversation is not yours to control.”
Alexander ignored him.
“Whatever they've told you, I never knew where you were.”
Henry's lower lip trembled.
“Grandma said you signed the papers.”
“I didn't.”
“She showed me your name.”
“Someone copied my signature.”
Henry looked uncertain.
Alexander took a breath.
“I can't fix what happened before tonight.”
His voice cracked.
“But I can tell you that I'm your father, and I'm not leaving you.”
Henry began crying.
Then the screen went black.
Isabelle made a sound of despair.
Alexander turned toward Sarah.
“There has to be another way out.”
Sarah looked toward the maintenance staircase.
“The old therapy wing connects to the service tunnels.”
“Can we reach them?”
“Not while the shutters are locked.”
Alexander studied the ceiling.
Then the walls.
His father had once told him that every royal building contained a weakness no architect wanted to admit.
He remembered the old palace tunnels.
The emergency drainage channels.
The hidden service access doors.
“Does the lower level have a fire-suppression system?”
Sarah nodded.
“Yes.”
“Manual activation?”
“Behind the nursing station.”
Alexander looked up at the nearest sprinkler head.
“Will it trigger an evacuation?”
“Only if the main fire panel receives an alarm.”
“Can it be operated locally?”
Sarah stared at him.
Then she understood.
“The emergency release valve.”
“Where?”
“Twenty feet behind us.”
Alexander set Isabelle down carefully.
“Stay with Sarah.”
She caught his sleeve.
“Alexander.”
He turned.
Her eyes were full of terror.
“Don't disappear again.”
He took her hand.
“I won't.”
He approached the emergency panel.
A small red lever rested behind a plastic cover.
He broke it with the heel of his shoe.
An alarm sounded.
Red lights flashed.
Water erupted from the ceiling.
Sarah hurried to the service shutters.
“Come on.”
A heavy mechanical click echoed through the hallway.
The first shutter lifted several inches.
Then a foot.
“Emergency evacuation override,” she shouted.
Alexander returned to Isabelle.
He wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
They moved toward the opening.
Halfway there, security guards emerged from the elevator.
“STOP!”
Alexander pushed Isabelle behind a concrete pillar.
A guard reached for him.
Alexander struck the man's wrist, forcing the weapon downward, then shoved him against the wall.
Another guard rushed forward.
Sarah pulled a wheeled medical cart into his path.
The cart overturned.
Glass shattered.
Alexander grabbed Isabelle's hand.
“RUN!”
They slipped beneath the rising shutter.
Sarah followed.
Behind them, the guards shouted into their radios.
The three reached a narrow service staircase.
Alexander guided Isabelle downward.
Every step hurt her.
He could feel it in the way she leaned against him.
But she refused to stop.
At the bottom, the staircase opened into an underground utility tunnel.
Sarah switched on a flashlight.
“This leads to the old laundry building.”
Alexander glanced at her.
“Will it take us outside the grounds?”
“Eventually.”
“Then keep moving.”
They followed the tunnel.
After several minutes, Isabelle slowed.
“Alexander.”
He stopped.
“What is it?”
She pressed a hand against the wall.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Tell me when we're safe.”
“No.”
Her expression frightened him.
“Before Henry was born, your father came to see me.”
Alexander stared.
“When?”
“Seven months after the bridge.”
“My father was told you were dead.”
“He knew.”
The words were barely audible.
“He knew where I was.”
Alexander felt a familiar wave of anger rise.
“What did he say?”
Isabelle closed her eyes.
“He apologized.”
“For what?”
“For not stopping Margaret.”
Alexander looked at her.
“And?”
“He promised he would take me home after Henry was born.”
“What happened?”
“He came back once.”
“Then?”
Isabelle swallowed.
“Then I didn't see him for years.”
Alexander frowned.
“You said he contacted you before he died.”
“He did.”
“How?”
“Through a nurse.”
Sarah glanced over her shoulder.
Isabelle continued.
“He left a letter.”
“Where is it?”
“Henry found it hidden inside the lining of an old medical records cabinet.”
Alexander felt hope stir.
“Does Henry still have it?”
“I don't know.”
She looked away.
“There was something else.”
Alexander waited.
“Your father said that the greatest danger wasn't Margaret.”
Alexander stared.
“Who was it?”
Isabelle's voice trembled.
“Edmund Harrow.”
A sudden noise echoed through the tunnel.
Footsteps.
Sarah pointed toward an iron door.
“We're close.”
Alexander helped Isabelle forward.
They reached the door.
It was locked.
Sarah took out her badge.
The scanner flashed red.
She tried again.
Access denied.
Behind them, voices grew louder.
Alexander looked at the lock.
Then at Sarah.
“Another exit?”
She shook her head.
“Not from here.”
Alexander stepped back.
He slammed his shoulder against the door.
Pain shot through his arm.
The metal didn't move.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Then somebody spoke from the other side.
“Step away.”
Alexander froze.
A familiar voice.
A man's voice.
Older.
Steady.
“Alexander, if you want that door opened, tell me what your father used to call you when you were six.”
Alexander stared.
The question hit him with the force of a memory.
There had been a nickname.
One his father used only when they were alone.
One that never appeared in royal records.
“The Little Falcon.”
The lock clicked.
The iron door swung open.
A tall man with white hair stood on the other side.
Gabriel Shaw.
The former royal intelligence director.
The man Alexander had been told betrayed the crown.
Gabriel looked at Isabelle.
Then at Alexander.
“Your Highness.”
He lowered his head.
“Your father asked me to make sure this day came.”
Alexander stared.
“You knew she was alive?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
Gabriel looked ashamed.
“I tried to bring you the truth six years ago.”
“What stopped you?”
“Your father's death.”
He stepped aside.
“Come with me.”
Alexander didn't move.
“Where's my son?”
Gabriel's expression darkened.
“That's why I'm here.”
He pulled a small device from his coat.
A tracking receiver.
A red dot blinked on its screen.
Alexander leaned closer.
“What is that?”
“Henry's emergency signal.”
“Where is he?”
Gabriel turned the device toward him.
The dot was moving.
Fast.
Away from Blackthorn.
Toward the coast.
“Someone is taking him to the old naval airfield.”
Alexander stared.
“Why?”
Gabriel's voice dropped.
“Because the boy has something Harrow can't afford to let you see.”
“What?”
May you like
Gabriel looked straight into his eyes.
“The last recording your father made before he died.”
