27 April 1959
It took a fortnight to make all the necessary arrangements. It would have taken longer, in truth, if Lucien had not run roughshod over nearly all of the suggested security protocols and diplomatic events. Lucien had no interest in meeting with the Chairman - who, mercifully, did not appear particularly interested in meeting with him, either - and he did not want to endure a state dinner or a ball at his country's embassy or any of the rest of the proposed ceremonies, not when people were starving in the countryside in China and his daughter was waiting. Though it had nearly driven Matthew into fits Lucien refused to travel with a grand retinue of soldiers, requesting instead no more than two dozen of his own castle guardsmen. Lucien would have been content with just three of them, Matthew and Danny and Charlie, but Charlie was still out of commission and Matthew had been unwavering on the point of his king's security. After a lengthy discussion - shouting match might have been a more apt description - Lucien had finally convinced his old friend that arriving with a platoon of soldiers would likely only cause friction between their country and the People's Republic of China. He was not coming as a king or a foreign invader; he was coming as a father, and as such he had no time for pomp and circumstance.
The plan was a not a simple one. He would fly to China in the company of his protective detail, and be met at the airstrip in Beijing by his appointed ambassador to China, and some other dignitaries. From there he would be delivered to his country's embassy. He would spend the night in the embassy and the following morning his retinue would fly from Beijing to Shanghai. The ambassador was managing the arrangements of Lucien's visit with his daughter, and he currently planned to spend a single night in a fine hotel in Shanghai after he met her, before beginning the laborious journey home. It was a lot of effort to spend a single day with Li, but she was more than worth it, and somewhere in his heart Lucien harbored the hope that their meeting would go well, that he would extend his stay at least another day or two, that he might talk happily with his child, meet her husband, perhaps even meet the people who had raised her. It was a fierce hope, but a fragile one; her letter had not been particularly warm, and Lucien knew that one wrong word from him would put an end to any good rapport between them, likely forever.
There was no way to fly direct from Lucien's home to Beijing and they would be forced to make two stops along the way. It would have been faster, Lucien supposed, to fly east, but that would mean a stop over Turkey or perhaps the USSR, and neither place would be particularly welcoming to him, just then. Politics demanded that instead they fly west, and he would be forced to endure two days in the United States. During his stay in China Lucien knew that the Chairman and his spies would be invisible and yet keeping a close eye on the visiting king, but in the States things would be different; they would be watching him out in the open. Ike did not want to let the opportunity for a meeting of the minds to pass him by, and Lucien had been cordially - but firmly - invited to a dinner at the White House. His one consolation was that he had managed to put that visit off until his return trip; at that moment, he could think of nothing but Li, and the machinations of the American president did not interest him in the slightest.
The trip from his home to Washington had been uneventful, and so too had been the evening spent in the embassy. They were up again at first light, bearing west; they had stopped for the night in Alaska, in a small hotel that was otherwise entirely unoccupied, though Lucien could not say whether that was done for his sake, or just the result of a lack of tourists at that season, when snow was still on the ground. The next morning they were up again, this time bound for Beijing. It was a dreadfully long flight, and though he could not see it Lucien fancied a shiver had run through him as they passed over Malaya, the memory of a thousand grievous wounds all beginning to itch at once. Returning to this corner of the world was more bitter than sweet, but he would do whatever was necessary just to see his child again.
And those were the steps of the journey that led him here, how he came to be sitting on a plane, a commercial airliner now filled only with wide-eyed castle guardsmen and a few somewhat frightened looking stewardesses. Lucien was sitting by a window, staring out at the racing clouds that surrounded them, when Matthew plonked himself down in the next seat.
"I still don't like it," Matthew grumbled, propping his cane up next to his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.
"We're almost there," Lucien answered. "It's not as if we can just turn the plane around."
"I didn't say I don't think you should go. I said I don't like this plan. There's too many holes. Security is too light. Do you have any idea what would happen to the rest of us if you go and get yourself killed?"
"I imagine it would be very unpleasant, but then if I'm dead it's not really my problem, is it?"
Matthew barked out a laugh. Though initially he had been mindful of the differences in their station Lucien had slowly worn him down over the last six months, and their conversations had grown lighter, easier to bear. Sometimes, Lucien felt as if he had been transported back to the old days, when he was the prince and Matthew was the cook's son and they would tear through the corridors of the castle without a care in the world. He took great comfort in Matthew's cheek, just now.
"I would love to know who put this hairbrained scheme in your head," Matthew added. And perhaps it was a bit mad, the way it had all come together. A ten day trip, most of it spent travelling through the air at breakneck speeds, more time spent in hotels than in embassies or palaces; it was hardly the way a king navigated the world. And yet it was the method Lucien had chosen, for it was the most efficient way to reach his child, and she was the only thing that mattered to him in all the world.
At least, she was the thing that mattered most; perhaps not the only thing, however, for Matthew's question had reminded Lucien of something - someone - else that mattered to him a great deal. For a moment he considered answering truthfully, explaining that it was Jean who opened his eyes, Jean who had reminded him of the power he commanded, reminded him that he must bow to no man's wishes. He was the bloody king, and that meant that sometimes he must be the one to give the orders, and let others follow as best they could. He was neither so arrogant nor so foolish as to think that he could make every decision necessary to keep his kingdom afloat, but he was certain that in this instance he knew best. But Matthew had warned him once, on the subject of Jean, and so Lucien did not speak her name now. At least he did not speak it aloud; it echoed in the chambers of his heart, where his soul missed her so dearly he almost ached with it. He was flying into the unknown, about to confront his daughter for the first time in seventeen years, and in that moment he longed for Jean, her gentle wisdom, her tender touch. If only she were with him, she might have offered him counsel, might have consoled him, might have comforted him and led him to the right path, but he was bereft without her.
"What makes you think I didn't come up with it on my own?" he asked lightly, keeping his lonesome thoughts of his housekeeper to himself.
Matthew shot him a dark look, but then the voice of the pilot echoed through the plane.
"Gentlemen," he said, "please fasten your seat belts. We are now beginning our descent."
A telegram arrived, around 4:00 in the morning, and Jean was the only person in the castle awake to receive it. Well, not the only one; the cooks were stirring about, kneading bread and brewing coffee and shuffling through the kitchens, and Alice had found her in a corner of the library, rubbing her sleepy eyes and offering the telegram for her inspection. The king had arrived, safe and sound in Beijing, and Jean breathed a sigh of relief. It was the third such telegram they'd received, and each time she had felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. He had made it safely, from their home to Washington, then to Alaska, now to China. Jean had never flown on a plane in all her life, and the thought of her king hurtling through all that empty air had terrified her, though she had not breathed a word of that fear to anyone.
His tribulations were hardly at an end; he would have another flight, in about twelve hours' time, and then would be several more days in foreign countries where Jean could not see him, could not speak to him, could not see for herself that he was well, and she knew she would worry for him every minute he was away. But these fears she kept to herself, for it would not do to reveal just how very much she cared for him, just how very much she missed him.
In addition to the telegram Alice had brought coffee, and she offered Jean a cup as she settled into the next chair, leaning back and stretching her legs out in front of her.
"It would be so much easier if I were there," Alice said. That had been a point of contention, Jean recalled. Alice was the king's Personal Secretary, and arranging his travel should have been her purview. But the intelligence service had muscled in and taken over, and Alice had been left behind, and the king had been too desperate to leave to fight for her.
"At least we know he's all right," Jean answered, taking a sip of tea. She had not seen him, had not spoken to him since that day he'd dragged her from the kitchen; he had been caught in a whirlwind of plans, and she had been fettered by fears for both their reputations. But that day, that last time they'd stood together, alone, he had looked at her with wonder and kissed her lips and her heart ached, now, to have him so far from her side. Friends, they had declared themselves, friends and no more, but as each day passed without him Jean was beginning to realize how foolish that declaration had truly been. A friend could be missed, longed for, worried over, but the pining in her heart was not that of friendship. Without his gentle smile, without his warm voice, without any chance to stand alone with him, sipping tea and talking quietly to one another, she felt herself utterly bereft. And that kiss! It had been tender, but casual, as if he had not even realized he was doing it, and the subconscious way he had done it spoke louder than any words could have done; his mind had been racing, but his heart had wanted her, and reached for her in an instant, forgetting all about his vow not to kiss her. The intimacy of that affection had left her stunned and recalling all too clearly the night he'd kissed her on the battlements, all roaming hands and searching tongue and burning passion, and it had woken a desire in her that could not be tamed.
Of course Alice knew nothing at all of her turmoil, and picked up right where she'd left off.
"I don't like this plan," she said. "He's out in the open. And two dozen guards won't make one bit of difference, not if someone decides-"
"Really, Alice, surely you don't think-"
"Someone tried to kill him here. Why wouldn't they try there? It would certainly be easier."
That thought had occurred to Jean as well, but she had tried to console herself, tried to believe that the elements who wanted her king dead were homegrown, and would not dare venture so far afield in order to wreak such havoc on foreign soil.
"And if his daughter really is determined not to come home...well. I for one have no intention of serving King Edward."
That didn't even bear thinking about; the king's cousin Edward was a brute and a Nazi sympathizer and to hear some tell it a wife-beater as well; Jean could think of nothing more wretched, than to replace her brilliant, compassionate king with the likes of Edward. It would be, she thought, a calamity from which none of them would recover.
"He'll come home," Jean said firmly. He has to, she added in her mind. I have to see him again.