The Throne (Prince Harry fanfic #6)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The information about the man called Guy Fawkes had been taken and ran with. Now all agencies looked through information until they found anything that might help. It was a waiting game now; Harry didn't do well with waiting. It wasn't the name Guy Fawkes or that man's history that haunted Harry; what haunted Harry was why that name was chosen and how mental this man was. The only information Harry hadn't given up was the trade. Guy Fawkes, or whatever his name was, was willing to make a trade for Lucy, and Harry was willing to do it too.

Harry had all confidence in his wife, but he feared for her now. If this lunatic called himself Guy Fawkes and planned to follow in his footsteps, it was only time until something else happened. Harry wanted to speed to get home, to be with his children.

The trade stayed on his mind, because Harry of course was willing to do it. Lucy's voice hovered in his head, calling him a moron for even thinking about it. But Lucy was thirteen years younger than him, she had more time, especially now that Harry received her test results. The call earlier had been from her doctor; it wasn't cancer in her head. It was benign. Once removed, she should've been fine; Lucy had a long, healthy life in front of her. Harry used to smoke, and he did drugs and he drank; Lucy had a longer life, he assured himself.

Neglecting to look outside, it wasn't until he was close to Kensington Palace that Harry noticed the shift in activities. His eyes came up, realizing there was a heavy police presence, and there wasn't anyone outside Kensington Palace beside police officers. It wasn't just the normal police officers, but they held large military-style guns with their fingers close to the trigger. As for the lack of civilians, a large sign hung close to Kensington Palace, a normally touristy spot during the sun, saying it was closed, like all other royal landmarks and some other London landmarks.

Car pulling into the back, more police officers were around, all standing at attention. Guns were at the ready. Harry's blue eyes traveled upward and caught a glimpse of his children looking out at the top windows sadly. This was much more than any of them thought. The heavy police presence proved it.

Siobhan came out of the apartment and looked solemn.

"Is she dead?" Harry asked. It wasn't time yet; the old man said Harry would get a call.

"No," she said, "but the media knows about the Duchess' abduction."

His eyes snapped to her. "Who told?"

"We're unsure, your highness."

"Was it them?"

"We're unsure, your highness."

"Is there anything you're sure about?" Harry sprinted inside, taking the steps at two. Inside, he bypassed all the agents and other royals that floated around. He went straight up the stairs where his children had been staring outside. At the top of the stairs, Harry was greeted by the children hopelessly as they stared at him.

Harry couldn't ease their pain, and he couldn't lie to them because he would've said the wrong thing. There was no way to make this better. He couldn't end the suffering and the unknown. They just had to wait, and no one wanted to wait. Waiting was the worst; Harry knew that. All hope was gone, replaced by sadness. Tears had obviously fallen from their eyes with puffiness and red cheeks. Even the boys had fallen into tears. And no one was with them. They shouldn't have been alone at a time like this, but Harry was willing to do it again. It would've just been for a little bit.

Emma was the first one to approach him. Freddie and Henry tried to hold the girls, but since she was the smallest, she managed to squirm free. Hesitantly she walked over to her father. He picked her up and held her close to his chest. She just waited there, without any tears. She was calm and collected, even with evidence of tears. Emma was calm in his arms, even though small. She was a survivor like her mum.