8 May 1959

"Aren't you supposed to be in charge of him?" Sir Patrick was saying. "What the bloody hell does he think he's doing, any way?"

"There isn't much I can do from here," Alice answered coolly. "And since Bill Hobart decided I wasn't needed-"

"Bloody Bill Hobart," Sir Patrick grumbled.

Jean's mother had taught her that it was wrong to eavesdrop on other people's conversations, but there was a certain risk inherent in the work she did; she flitted in and out of rooms all day, slipped silently down the corridors of power and lingered on the edges of parties and meetings with some of the most influential people in the kingdom, and during her tenure in the castle she had overheard more than her fair share of interesting - and incendiary - conversations. Such moments were almost always entirely accidental, a case of being caught in the wrong place at the right time, or her uniform of dark navy dress and white dress having made her invisible to the more noteworthy guests in her home. She did not gossip, did not share little tidbits of news she had gleaned from these clandestine encounters, but she remembered every word, and took them all to heart.

On this particular day she had been polishing the silver in the counsel room. Ordinarily such a task would have been undertaken by someone less experienced than she, but the items in this room were precious and her hands itched for want of occupation, and so she had taken it upon herself. Sir Patrick and Alice Harvey had come storming in together, but when she made to leave Sir Patrick had waved his hand and said it's nothing you don't know already, Mrs. Beazley, and told her to carry on. So she did, sitting at the far end of the counsel table while Sir Patrick and Alice sat at the other, discussing their wayward monarch.

"He should have been home by now," Sir Patrick continued.

"You saw the same telegram I did, sir," Alice said. "He wanted to spend more time with his daughter."

"It's been over a week! Isn't that enough? He's needed here, and every minute he stays there…"

"Is there something you know that I don't, sir?" Alice asked carefully.

In truth, Jean had been wondering the same thing. The King's original itinerary had him spending the night of the 28th of April in Shanghai, then flying back to Beijing, then to Alaska, then to DC where he would spend an evening with the President, and then back home. He should have been home no later than the second or third of May, but here it was the eighth, and he was still in Shanghai. The telegram Alice mentioned had made its way to Jean, as well, and said only that the king had decided to stay on in Shanghai, to spend more time with his child. Other news had reached her; that he had slipped past his security and gone with her to visit the people who had raised her, that he had traveled the countryside with only Matthew and Danny to accompany him, but by the time Sir Patrick had found out about this the deed was already done, and there was nothing the Prime Minister could do but grumble fecklessly. He seemed more than frustrated as he spoke to Alice just now, however, and that was what worried Jean, more than anything.

"Someone's been reporting his movements to the newspapers," Sir Patrick said, a note of weariness in his tone, "and that means that somewhere in this castle there is a leak. If someone knows of his movements, if they can advise the more...disgruntled elements of the King's extended family as to where he'll be, and when, well...it would have been so much easier if he'd just stuck to the original schedule! We had plans in place! We have no contingencies for this. And the longer he stays there…"

"He will come back, sir," Alice said levelly. "You know he will."

"That man never wanted to be king, Miss Harvey. And now he's got a taste of freedom, and his daughter besides. No, I don't know that he will."

All in silence Jean rose, the damp rag she'd been using to polish the silver clutched tight in her trembling hands, and slipped from the room entirely unnoticed by the Prime Minister or the king's personal secretary. Her thoughts were racing, so many disparate hopes and fears tumbling through her mind that she hardly knew where she was going, and hardly cared.

Sir Patrick was afraid that the king was not coming home, and it was not until this moment that Jean allowed herself to admit that she shared that same fear. He could be tempestuous, unpredictable, this king of hers, and she knew, now, after many long conversations witnessed only by the twinkling stars above or the glittering appliances in the deserted kitchen that a part of him missed the life he'd led before. The life he'd led when he had been free to come and go as he pleased, when he had been a soldier, a doctor, a husband, a father. He was not much concerned with statecraft and had in fact allowed the politicians do as they pleased with very little input from himself. How tempting it might be, she thought, for such a man to find himself in a foreign country - one where he perhaps might have felt more comfortable than he did in their little kingdom, considering how much time he'd spent in that part of the world - with no one dictating the order of his days, with his daughter close to hand. How tempting it might be to feel the wind on one's face, the dirt beneath one's feet, far from responsibility and the shades of grief. There was a piece of Jean's heart that longed for freedom, too; she knew how that longing could wind its way around a heart, and squeeze and squeeze until there was nothing left to do but run, or perish.

Her feet had carried her to the king's suite. There was no one in the corridor to see her, and so she slipped inside, drifting listlessly through the rooms until at last she seated herself on the end of his grand bed. Jean tended these rooms each day, determined to keep them fresh and clean for the king's imminent arrival, but there was something lonesome and terrible about seeing them so empty, particularly when she did not know for certain if he would ever set foot in that place again.

What if he never comes back? She thought as she sat, her back ramrod straight, her hands still twisting the rag round and round. What if he decides he's happier there? What will become of us, without him? What will become of me?

It was selfish, she knew, to even think such a thing, but she could not deny it, not here in this place that still smelled ever so faintly of his cologne. She missed him, and she wanted, more than anything else, to see him again. To hear his soft voice, to see his gentle smile, to feel his broad hand on her shoulder or elbow or at the small of her back. She wanted him to come home, wanted to walk up on the battlements in the warmth of a spring evening and wait for him there, knowing he was coming, delighted still when he arrived. It was not her place to yearn for him, to want anything more than the friendship they'd declared between themselves, but she could content herself with friendship, could keep her love and her need and her want locked away inside herself, if only he were here. To be abandoned by him, to know that whatever he felt for her, whatever responsibility he felt towards his people, paled in comparison to his own selfish desires...she could think of nothing that would wound her more.

Nothing except for that threat Sir Patrick had mentioned, that insidious, desperate fear that wound its way around her heart. What if her king wanted her, what if he wanted to come home to her, but the machinations of evil men conspired to take him from her? What if he stepped from his plane, his feet at last resting on the soil of his homeland, his heart full of hope at the thought of seeing her again, only to be gunned down by some madman with a soul full of hate?

Hail Mary, full of grace, Jean began to pray as the tears slipped down her cheeks. The lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.

"I understand," Li said.

They were sitting together at a small table in the corner of the hotel's dining room. It was empty at present, save for the Chinese police and Lucien's guards, and of course Lucien and Li. The hotel's proprietor was a pinch-faced man who seemed quite eager for him to leave, and Lucien couldn't blame him; there was too much fuss, too much work, too much attention required when a king was in residence, and kings were not held in particularly high esteem in that place, particularly not kings from the old guard of Europe who came jaunting in and making demands of the locals with a bevy of armed guards in tow.

"I'm glad," Lucien answered. "You must know, my darling, I don't want to leave you."

She smiled at him softly from across the table. It was not in her nature to smile often, nor to do so simply because it was expected; when Li smiled, she meant it.

"But you must, and so you will," she said firmly.

"I would like to come back to visit, though. Especially once this little one arrives."

She smiled again, brighter this time, and her hand dropped to rest against the gentle swell of her stomach. "I would like that," she said. "Very much."

Whether or not he would ever be able to manage such a feat again, Lucien wasn't entirely sure, but he knew that he wanted it. Sir Patrick had allowed him some leniency this time in the hopes that Lucien might return with the heir to the throne on his arm, but those hopes had been dashed, and he knew he might not be so lucky the next time he tried to slip past the net. There would be so many more challenges, in the future, but of one thing was certain; this would not be the last time he saw his child. He would move all of heaven and earth to make it so.

But she was not coming home with him. Her family, her husband, her friends, her very life were here in this place, and Lucien could not blame her for not wanting to leave. To trade a familiar life for a place where no one spoke her language and everyone would eye her foreigner's face with mistrust would be all but unbearable for her, and Lucien would not ask it of her. Besides, there were elements in his kingdom who wanted to see him dead, and he was loath to put his child in such danger. Let her stay here, he told himself, where she is happy and safe. Christ, just let her be happy. There was nothing more he wanted in the world, than for her to be happy.

It would complicate things for him upon his return, he knew. A bargain had been struck in good faith, and Sir Patrick had kept up his end of it. It would not do for the King to renege on his promise now. Sir Patrick had found his family, but Lucien would not be returning home with a wife or an heir. When his feet were planted firmly on home ground he would have to turn his thoughts firmly to this promise he had made, and how he intended to go about keeping it.

He knew what his heart wanted. There was only one woman he could imagine himself marrying, spending the rest of his days with. There was only one woman who had the power to make the blood run hot in his veins, and yet could with a few soft words quiet his chaotic mind and point his feet onto the right path. There was only one woman, beautiful, gentle, strong, he wanted in his bed, on his arm. Sir Patrick would not approve of her, but Lucien had not sworn to choose a woman of the Prime Minister's choosing, and he would not allow himself to be backed into a corner. Sir Patrick would want children, but Jean was not so very old yet -

That thought, he knew, was putting the cart very much before the horse. We'll sort it out later, he told himself, over and over again. One thing at a time.

And so he focused on his meal, and on his daughter, and when at last they could linger no more he rose to his feet, and so did she. It was only then, so many days after first meeting her, that Lucien was finally able to do what he had longed to do for nearly two decades; he wrapped his arms around his child, and held her tight.

"I love you, Li," he whispered to her fiercely.

Her embrace was graceful, but he could feel her trembling in his arms. "I love you, too, Papa," she whispered, and then with her back straight she left him, allowed the police to escort her away, and as he watched her go Matthew came to stand beside him.

"All right?" Matthew asked gruffly as the door closed behind Li.

"Yes," Lucien answered, though his throat was tight with unshed tears. "Let's go to bed, Matthew. Tomorrow we go home."