King's Ransom (Man on a Mission 2)

He slammed the phone down. Andre, he thought with a sudden spurt of anger. Whatever had prevented the successful execution of his plan—and he would find out the details later, in person—somehow Andre was involved. I should have known.

He couldn’t attempt something similar. Not now. Juliana’s death had to appear to be an accident, and two incidents of the same nature within a short time span would raise suspicions. He couldn’t let Andre suspect someone was deliberately trying to keep Juliana away from him—although he was.

He controlled his anger, calming himself with an effort. One failure was not the end of the world; he still had time. And as the Russian had said, he had the money. When their father died, he and his brother had inherited a fortune that was exceeded only by Andre’s royal inheritance. Unlimited funds meant he had unlimited options.

* * *

Juliana had already memorized the dialogue for the deathbed scene scheduled to be filmed tomorrow. The king had been mortally wounded in the raid that finally recovered the huge ransom he’d paid sixteen years before and exacted vengeance for everything his dearly beloved queen had suffered at the hands of her kidnappers. Now he lay near death, surrounded by those he loved. When Juliana stood before the tomb and read the words carved upon it, a portion of that scene came back to her.

“I’m here, Andre. Can you feel my hand?”

“So dark...so dark. Light the torches. I cannot see your face...”

Eleonora glances from the terrible wound on her husband’s brow to the torches blazing in their holders, knowing no light can pierce the darkness surrounding her Andre—it is the end. “Hold my hand, beloved. As you did once for me, I will lead you out of the darkness into the light.” She slides Andre’s dagger from its sheath.

“Mother...” Raoul, eldest son and heir—only twenty, but already a man—speaks from the other side of the bed, as he suddenly realizes her intention.

Eleonora silences him with a fierce look. She clasps Andre’s hand in one of hers, the dagger in the other, listening intently to her husband’s ragged breathing. Waiting. Waiting...

“My light...always.” Andre struggles for breath. “Promise me...” He can’t finish his request, and no one ever knows what promise he wished to secure from his wife.

“Always,” she tells him reassuringly. She kisses him tenderly one last time. “Forever and a day, beloved.”

“Eleonora...” One word. One gasp. And then no more.

Agony flickers across her face as she whispers her husband’s name. “Andre.” But there are no tears in her eyes, no hesitation—Eleonora plunges Andre’s dagger in her heart, ending her heartbeat almost simultaneously with her husband’s.

“Mother!”

Juliana came back to her surroundings with a start. Tears stained her cheeks and she struggled for breath as she knelt at the tomb, experiencing Eleonora’s agonizing loss, understanding what had driven Zakhar’s first queen to take her own life. It was a conscious choice, but a grievously difficult one—orphaning her seven children to accompany her husband into the darkness...and bring him with her into the light.

A sudden sound of footsteps on the gravel path behind her made Juliana jolt to her feet and turn around sharply. Andre stood there, dressed in the riding clothes that always emphasized his vibrant masculinity. His ever-present bodyguard was nowhere in sight.

Andre’s eyes took in her tear-ravaged face, but he made no move to come closer, and Juliana scrubbed furiously at her cheeks, embarrassed to have Andre see her so emotionally devastated by the love story she had professed not to believe in. His silence unnerved her, and she turned back to the tomb, thinking of the two buried there, sleeping peacefully together throughout eternity.

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, Andre said softly, “It was not easy for Raoul—he had to fight the whole Roman Catholic Church to allow his parents to be buried together in hallowed ground. Suicide usually meant an unhallowed grave in those days.”

“I...” Juliana cleared her throat. “I didn’t know that.”

“I never told that part of the story to Mara and you,” Andre said, coming to stand at her side.

“I thought the church was all-powerful back then,” she said. “How did he...?”

A faintly cynical smile touched Andre’s lips. “He used the only leverage he had—he threatened to join the Protestant Reformation that was already sweeping parts of Europe if the church refused.”

Juliana looked up at him, startled. “Wasn’t he risking excommunication?”

“Perhaps.” He seemed to search for words to explain. “Raoul fiercely loved his parents—the mother who bore him in captivity and shielded him from the worst their captors dealt out, and the father who freely acknowledged him as his son even before paternity was proved.” Juliana’s gaze was drawn to Andre’s hands and the slight genetic defect that marked many of the Marianescus, including the original Andre Alexei and his son Raoul. “He was willing to take any risk to ensure they were not separated in death.”