The Throne (Prince Harry fanfic #6)

Chapter Forty-One

Lucy's anger had only grown. Harry wasn't actually a moron; he wasn't actually doing this. This wasn't allowed. Lucy liked to have control over things, and this didn't help. She wanted there to be control, and no one was allowing her to be in control. If Harry was doing this, he was leaving their children. He was leaving safety. He was giving up.

Harry might have seen it as saving her, but she saw this as stupid. And when she saw him, she was going to put him in his place, which was under her. No, this wasn't allowed.

"Hey!" Lucy screamed in her cell. "Hey! I want to talk to you." She slapped the door. "I want to talk to you! Let me out!" Anxiety boiled up in her. Harry wasn't safe; Lucy needed to keep him safe. "If you think for one second that I'm going to let this happen, you're fucking dipshits. I'm not allowing this to happen." She banged her shoulder into the door. "This isn't allowed. This wasn't part of the deal. I'm not letting this happen. You don't get Harry!" Lucy kicked, hit, punched, slapped and so forth to the door.

Letting out shrieks, Lucy rammed her shoulder into the door again and again, and it jerked slightly. It actually moved. Hope sprang up in Lucy. She rammed her shoulder over and over into the door. It moved more. The lock was slowly coming out of place. Again and again, Lucy found her energy. The door finally shifted enough. Lucy got through.

Immediately, everything was silent. Though her heart pumped and head pounded, Lucy became silence. Placing a hand over her mouth and nose, she listened. There was nothing. There weren't any footsteps or voices. There was nothing.

The only light given off was from her basement concrete cell behind her. Darkness lied around her. Lucy's fingertips touched the windows and mold. This place was severely old, and it wasn't a place she wanted to be anymore.

If Lucy got out of here in time, maybe she could've called for help. She could've stopped Harry.

Her ankle hit a wood plank, and immediately Lucy tumbled forward and slapped her head and broken nose against the wooden staircase. She was already in so much pain; a little more meant nothing. Lucy grew silent again and listened. Nothing was above her; there wasn't a sound.

Arching her back up, Lucy went up the staircase one stair at a time. It creaked underneath her. She paused. Lucy went up again. She paused. She went up again. She paused. She went up again. Her hands touched the a wooden door. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened. Silence stayed.

Her shaking hand gripped the doorknob. The door was unlocked. Two options again: swing the door open and do it quietly, or open the door and go in mentally. This time, Lucy chose the quieter path. Slowly, the door creaked open, and Lucy poked her head out. It was dark inside the house, so it was dark outside. She had been here for over twenty-four hours. Why wasn't she tired or hungry or anything else?

Lucy knew the answer: adrenaline.

It pumped through her veins. It made her body move. Her breath caught and she waited. Lucy was alone.

Eyes searching in the dark, Lucy caught as the silver shimmered. Quietness ended within her as she rushed over. Lucy grabbed the silver mobile and held it heavily in her hands. It was one of those really old mobiles, the one she saw when she was young, a flip phone. The nice thing about flip phones was that no lock required.

Lucy hoped she still had time as she dialed Harry's number once and read the numbers. It was correct and she pushed call. Harry had his phone, she wanted to believe. He wasn't a moron, so she knew if he already left, he wouldn't have taken it was him or he would've been tracked. Lucy hoped he hadn't gone yet.

"Hello?" a male voice answered, impossibly English in the King's tone.

"William, where's Harry?"

"Lucy?" William asked. "Lucy, is that you? Where are you?"

"William, where the fuck is Harry?"

There was a pause. "He isn't here; he's gone," William said sadly. "I don't know where he went. Someone said he went out to get a smoke, and then he was gone. We can't find him. He's not at Kensington Palace. People are out looking for him, but he's not.... Lucy, where are you?"

"He's gone," she echoed. He left our children; he is a moron. "He's coming to save-- he's a fucking moron."

"Lucy, where are you?"

Glancing out the window, Lucy tried to find out, but she was somewhere in the poor suburbs. "I think I'm in--"

Something dropped on the floor, and Lucy yelped. A bright lip snapped on. Slowly, her eyes adjusted. Black dots clouded her vision. She blinked them away. Mister Fawkes stood in front of her; the smile was gone. In his hand was the gun. The safety was off. His finger held the trigger. He was ready to kill her.

"Lucy?"

And behind Mister Fawkes was his band of misfits and morons, dressed in black like they were going to rob a bank. All hand their own weapons of stupidity against guns. Bats wouldn't have done anything. None of them showed their faces, only Mister Fawkes, and he waited.

"Lucy?"

"Please put down the phone, Miss Smith." He managed to stay pleasant. "I wouldn't want you to do something you'll regret."

"Lucy?"

Lucy glanced at the silver mobile.

"Come now, Miss Smith."

"Lucy?" asked William.

She could've saved herself or she could've saved Harry. What was it going to be?

"Mummy?" asked her child through the mobile. "Mummy, is that you? Mummy?"

Immediately Lucy hung up. She didn't want her children to hear Mister Fawkes' voice. She didn't want Mister Fawkes to hear her children's voices. Lucy put down the mobile on the counter and moved closer to him. She put her hands up to show she held no weapons or anything else. Lucy handed herself over willingly.

"Take me to my husband."