The Crown (Prince Harry fanfic #5)

Chapter Thirty-Three

At the sight of the knife, Harry lurched. Panic arose in him. It was there below, under the surface of the skin that there was panic. When Harry saw the knife, it rose to the surface. His body jerked. There was an immediate protection of his wife and future child, but his mind wandered to Freddie. He was in the room over. Was he okay? Did this male hurt him? What was happening with him?

Harry was in the British Armed Forces, and he planned in his mind. Components fell into place. He noticed the knife was clean, in the moonlight and in the darkness. There wasn't any blood that oozed from the ground, not even dried blood. If Harry could've taken down the male wielding a knife, then Lucy and Freddie and the baby would've been safe. He had been stabbed before, and if he was stabbed now, it was for at least a good reason: the protection of his family. Again, he had been stabbed before; it wouldn't have hurt too bad, right? He was used to the pain?

"Don't think about it, your highness," the male said. "You think you might be able to take me down, your highness. In fact, you might be able to take me down, your highness. But what if, on the off chance, that you can't, your highness? Who will I hurt, your highness? Your son, your highness? Your wife and unborn child, your highness?"

Every time he said your highness, it wasn't mock but respect. His voice sounded respectful. It sounded like he cared. The male yet held a knife to the couple. But then it also sounded compulsive, like he needed to say it over and over and over again.

"Tell me, your highness, is it a boy or girl, your highness?" he asked. "You can trust me, your highness. I won't tell anyone, your highness."

"It's a surprise," Lucy lied, "even we don't know."

The male with the knife smiled in the moonlight. "Good, your highness." Suddenly, the hilt of the knife started to beat into his thigh. He whispered something to himself. His eyes came back to the couple. "Over there, your highness." He pointed the knife off to one side of the room. "You, over there, your highness."

Neither of them moved from the spot. Harry kept a firm grip on Lucy's hand.

"Now, your highnesses!" he roared.

Slowly, Harry and Lucy parted. Harry was the first one to get off the large bed. The male's eyes watched Harry, seeing him more as the threat. Harry's feet were light against the ground, soft even, as he backed up into the curtains that covered the windows. The male's eyes turned to Lucy next, as she slowly made her way out from under the sheets of the bed. Her feet pressed against the ground as she took a step toward the other side of the room.

"Faster, your highness," the male urged.

Stumbling, Lucy fell down to her hands and knees, no more than a foot away from the bed. She let out a groan.

"Luce!" Harry called from across the room. He quieted down immediately as the knife was pointed in his direction again.

The male asked kindly, "Are you all right, your highness?"

Shakily, Lucy stood tall once again. Turning around, she looked at him. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

The male nodded in her direction. "Keep going, your highness."

She did. Her back pressed against the far wall. From across the bedroom, in the dim light, Harry met her gaze. Both remained calm.

"What do you want?" Harry asked. "Why are you here? What do you hope to accomplish? Are you going to hurt us? Do you want to kill us? Are you angry at us for something we did?"

The male didn't answer. He stared straight forward, with the knife pointed at Harry, the perceived threat.

"What's going on, sir?" Lucy asked, peaceful and nice as ever. No longer was her voice a diamond, but rather a blooming rose. There was a lightness about it. She spoke the same way to the male with the knife that she did to a child.