The Throne (Prince Harry fanfic #6)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Harry told himself it was nothing, but he had been waiting three hours now. Lucy was supposed to home an hour ago. He had looked into her schedule. He called her mobile multiple times, but she hadn't answered.

It is nothing.

However, Harry still looked outside the front room windows. It was still black, even with London never sleeping, especially in prime London tourism season. Three hours until sunrise. Lucy never stayed out this late.

It is nothing.

Harry sat down on the couch again. Pacing didn't help, even though he stood up again and again. Earlier, Harry tried to sleep on the couch, and perhaps it worked for an hour. Yet he was fully awake now.

It is nothing.

His legs didn't stop twitching as he sat on the couch. Harry sweated. His hands wiped across his pants. Lucy would've been home any moment. The event was just going late. His sometimes went late. Why was this different?

It is nothing.

Harry knew Lucy's car would pull in soon. Tony would've been driving and would've offered an apology. Lucy would've said it wasn't his fault but she got distracted by something. Perhaps she was overly interested in something.

It is nothing.

However, Harry didn't believe that. Not after all the years that Harry knew and loved this woman could he believe that this was nothing. Lucy didn't pick up her mobile, and she hadn't sent a text.

It is nothing.

No, it fucking wasn't.

Angrily, Harry got off the couch and grabbed his mobile who was on the other side of the room. It was the only way that Harry wouldn't call Lucy over and over again. Harry rung Lucy again. There was a ring, and a ring, and a ring, and a ring, and a ring, and then nothing. Her voicemail didn't come up. It just stopped. Harry called her number again, and it didn't ring this time.

Harry didn't want to do this but he did. Calling Tony, Harry waited for Tony to pick up. The mobile rang and rang and rang and rang and rang and rang and rang. His voicemail came up, all professional and clean cut. Harry left a message in the calmest tone that he possible could. Harry thought about calling Tony again, but he knew Tony wouldn't pick up.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," Harry mumbled to himself.

It is nothing.

Were those lights in the distance? Harry got close to the window, almost nose to the glass. Were those lights of a car? Was that Lucy's car? Was she home? Was all of this for nothing? Harry focused on the lights, as they looked to turn close to Kensington Palace. It was Lucy-- or it was someone coming to tell Harry what happened to Lucy. No, it was Lucy, and she was home. All of this was for nothing.

Harry blinked. The lights were gone.

"Shit," he spat.

Harry's body trembled. His stomach threatened to throw up food. His mind buzzed. His heart pounded. Where was Lucy?

Dialing Siobhan, he waited and waited. There was a ring and a ring and a ring and a ring and a ring and-- "Hello, your highness?" she asked breathlessly.

"Siobhan, where's Lucy?"

"Sir?"

Harry tried to keep his voice in check. "Where is Lucy? She's supposed to be home by now."

"Sir, I don't--"

"I called her mobile and I called Tony's. Neither of them picked up. Where is Lucy?" he demanded.

"I'll look into it, sir."

"Find her now!" Harry couldn't control it anymore. "Find her." He ended the call.

Harry went back to the window and waited. His blue eyes focused outside the window. Any moment now, hopefully, hopefully, Lucy's car would pull in. It was just his mind playing tricks. Harry was scared because of Lucy's past, which was filled with this kind of shit. She had been shot and stabbed, almost blown up, someone tried to mug her once-- what happened to her now? Someone broke into their Kensington Palace apartment once-- what happened to her now?

What if it was her head? But that wouldn't have had anything to do with Tony. Tony was involved somehow. If it was Lucy's head, Tony would've called. Harry would've known long ago.

What if there was a car accident? That involved both of them. Tony was dead or injured-- oh, Harry didn't want to think about that. Tony was okay, like Lucy was. But was thirty-six, which was the age his own mum died at. What if it was a curse or something? What if it all repeated? What if history repeated? Lucy said something: History is easy; it always repeats.

That word again: always. It was a promise yet a failure. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always--

"Dad?"

Harry whipped around.

Freddie stood in the doorway.

When Harry yelled through the mobile, of course he woke up the kid that couldn't sleep because he was concerned for his mum.

"Dad, where is Mum?"

Harry thought about lying to his son, maybe telling him to go back to bed, telling him it was nothing. Mum was just working really late. She was coming home soon-- she was on her way home now. Freddie needed to go back to bed because he had an exam tomorrow. Freddie needed his rest for tomorrow. But if something actually happened to Lucy-- to Freddie's mum-- no one was going to school tomorrow.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I don't know where your mum is." Voice breaking, Harry looked out the window so that his son wouldn't see tears in his eyes. He pushed a sob back in him.

It is nothing.

Harry swallowed and looked out the window.

"Dad?" Freddie asked.

Harry turned to his son.

"What happened to Mum?"

"I don't know." Harry shook his head. "I don't know anything." Tears brimmed his eyes. "I don't know where she is or what's going on or... or.... I don't know, Freddie. I'm sorry." He pulled everything back inside. "I'm sorry."

Freddie came into the front room. "Dad, it isn't your fault. She's just... just...." Freddie looked out the window. He waited for his mum too, wherever she was. "She's coming home." His voice had hope. "She's coming home." He had such hope.

Harry nodded, even if he didn't believe it. "Yes, she's coming home." If he said it enough, Harry would've believed it. "She's coming home soon."