Kathleen Creighton: The Rebel King

"Yeah, I did. Until my father came and took me away from it."

Before Nikolas could reply, she rose abruptly, frowning. If she had been a cat, he thought, her tail would surely have been twitching.

"Mind if I use your…what do you Silvershirers call it? The loo?"

"Do you mean the bathroom?" He said it with the deadpan courtesy of a butler he'd once known and gestured with the whisk in his hand. "It's that way-next to the bedroom."

She slipped from the room like a cat through fog, and left him with a bowlful of eggs on which to beat off his bemusement and frustration.

"You're a pretty good cook, Donovan, even if you don't have any Tabasco." Rhia remarked, studying the last bite of her omelette before popping it into her mouth. As she chewed, her expression grew thoughtful. "Not that that surprises me- you cooking. I mean, not the Tabasco. I imagine you're good at whatever you take a mind to do."

"Thank you." Nikolas said, with only a hint of a smile. He was glad to see she'd recovered her aplomb, since he'd found she was a much nicer person when she felt she had the upper hand.

"Tell you what does surprise me, though." she went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I never would've taken you for a coward."

It took some doing, but he kept his expression bland. "A coward, you say. Really."

To his further bemusement, she wiggled in her chair and said in a testy tone, "Oh, stop it. I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?" The woman did have a way of keeping him hopping off balance. He didn't know whether he found it amusing or demoralizing.

She waved her finger in a circling motion. "That…that thing with your eyebrow."

"My eyebrow?"

"Yes. It goes up. Just one. The other doesn't. It's damned annoying, if you want to know."

"Really." He leaned back in his chair and gazed at her, trying his best not to elevate any of his facial features. "I had no idea. Well, I shall endeavor to keep my various body parts under better control, if it offends you. Now, what was it you were saying about me being a coward?"

She returned his gaze with a narrow stare of her own, as if she suspected him again of mocking her. Then she gave a shrug and pushed back her plate. "Well, you did run away."

"Ah. Yes. There is that." He scrubbed a hand over his face, as if doing so could rub away the tiredness and confusion that were like a veil of cobwebs over his brain at times. Then he tried a sardonic smile. "I prefer to think of it as a strategic retreat."

"Look-Nikolas-"

He held up a hand to stop her there. "Miss de Hayes-Rhia. Try and put yourself in my shoes. Six months ago the heir to the throne of Silvershire is found dead in his mountain retreat-murdered. So who do you suppose shot directly to the top of the list of probable suspects? Right you are-an organization bent on doing away with that very same monarchy, an organization known as the Union for Democracy, of which I happen to be founder and de facto head."

"Yes," Rhia said, frowning, "but your group was considered an unlikely candidate for Reginald's murder, since it's well-known you've never advocated the use of violence."

"Ah, but that didn't stop the rumors, did it? Especially after the king's collapse due to the grief and strain of his son's death. There were rumors Reginald was being blackmailed, rumors of terrorism, of hostile invasion or violent revolution. Rumors of a split in the UFD, with a violent faction taking over control. Even after I met with Russell-Lord Carrington-to reassure him-"

"Just because they're called rumors doesn't mean they can't be true," Rhia said quietly.

Nikolas looked at her for a moment in silence. Then he pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his chair with a careless wave of his hand. "It's true there've been some… things going on in the UFD I'm not happy about. There've always been members of the group who are somewhat…shall we say, less than patient with the slow-grinding wheels of change, which is what we've advocated up to now. That faction seems to be growing of late. But I see that as a result of the unrest surrounding the monarchy, rather than the cause of it."

"Sort of a We-should-strike-while-the-iron's-hot attitude?"

His smile was brief and wry. "Something like that."

"How did you get involved with the organization?" She asked this in a conversational way, leaning forward with an expression of great interest, though Nikolas was fairly certain whatever dossier the Lazlo Group had on him would have included that bit of information.

Still, she was a treat to look at and fun to spar with, and he didn't mind playing along once again. So he settled back, outwardly relaxed but inwardly alert, and replied. "When I was in college, actually. That's when we got organized. Before that, my uncle Silas-the man who raised me-had already gotten me interested in the idea of bringing about an end to monarchy in Silvershire."

"You say…your uncle. That would be…"

"My father's brother."

"Ah," she said, those feline eyes of hers intent again, "but now we know he couldn't have been your father's brother, could he?"

An expected surge of anger hardened his voice. "So you say. So they say. If you ask me, it's all ridiculous nonsense" Please, God, let it be so.

This is hard for him, she thought. His whole life, who he is, his perspective - everything has changed.

She knew how that felt. She'd had only a few short years to be Rhia de Hayes in a Louisiana trailer park with her mama and her big laugh and sparkling eyes, where there was always music and dancing and good things to eat and she could run barefoot all summer long. Then one day everything had changed, her world and everything in it-her home, her school, her friends, her clothes, even her name had changed. As everything would change for this man.

She wondered if he was thinking now. Who the hell is Nikolas Donovan? Who am I?

She said gently. "I'm afraid it's not nonsense. You are the biological offspring of King Henry Weston and his late wife, Queen Alexis. DNA proves that, and DNA doesn't lie, Nikolas."

He said nothing, only burned her with his smoldering eyes.

"I'm curious, though. What did your-uh, Silas Donovan-tell you about your parents? That they were dead. I assume, but what was supposed to have happened to them?"

His mouth hardened. "My parents were patriots-some would say traitors. I suppose. Insurgents-anti-royal activists-call them what you will, it was Weston's people that had them killed. It was supposed to have been a road accident. Their car was forced off the road-went over the cliffs near Leonia into the sea. Their bodies were never found."

"Oh, ouch." Rhia winced. "So you were pretty much programmed to hate King Weston from birth, weren't you?"

"I don't hate the man." He rose abruptly, swept up her plate along with his and carried them the two short steps to the sink.

No…I don't think you have it in you to hate. Rhia studied him thoughtfully, quivering inside again with that strange sense of recognition. But where do I know you from, Donovan? I know we've met before. I know it.

"I don't even think he's that bad a king," he said with his back to her, and she could see the tension in his neck and shoulders, hear it in his voice. "I just don't think something as important as running a country should be determined by an accident of birth. Can you imagine Silvershire in the hands of that spoiled, selfish twit, Reginald?"

"Well, it didn't happen, did it?" said Rhia. "Someone made sure of that. What do you think of the current regent, Lord Russell Carrinston, by the way? I know you've met with him. He seems to be doing a decent job filling in for the king while he's been out of commission."