Chey set the towel down on the counter, over her make up box. Recalling she'd put the pregnancy tests inside earlier, an epiphany hit about how to tell him about their child.
Taking the towel over to a drying rack, she draped it over a rung and returned. Her fingers snapped the clasp to the kit open. Just as she was about to lift the lid, someone knocked at the bedroom door.
Chey bit back a curse. Maybe whoever it was would go away quick. “I'll get it. You finish removing the sandpaper from your face.”
On her way past, she pinched his hip.
“You like the way it feels when I rub it on your--”
“Sander.” She refused to laugh. Her heart wasn't in it, despite that a flicker of amusement raced through her.
Opening the bedroom door, she found Mattias there, fully dressed. She wasn't sure whether to be alarmed by the look in his eyes or not. A look she couldn't exactly read. Was it bad news? Good news?
“You both come down to the parlor as soon as you can,” he said.
Sander appeared at the archway to the bathroom, rubbing his now smooth skin with a small towel. “What is it?”
“Just come down,” Mattias said, features enigmatic and impossible to figure out. He disappeared down the hall.
Chey closed the door and glanced at Sander, bemused. “What was that about?”
“I don't know. Let me put a shirt on and we'll find out.” Rather than intrigued, Sander looked disturbed. He retreated into the bathroom and the walk in closet. Moments later he emerged in a long sleeved shirt of steel gray. Foregoing shoes, he escorted her out of the room.
“If it was an emergency, he would have said, right?” Barefoot herself, Chey padded alongside, putting thoughts of baby confessions aside for now. There was still time when they got back before bed.
“No telling with him. Let's hope not.”
They descended to the first floor and went straight to the parlor. Several guards stood with Mattias around the television. Images of what looked to be a mass gathering scrolled across the screen. People bundled in heavy coats, scarves and caps carried handmade signs. Others held candles. Many chanted and called out.
Chey couldn't tell where it was, if it was a riot or a demonstration or something more serious. Although she had picked up several words in the native language, she couldn't read one word of it.
“What's going on?” she asked. Around her, a few guards commented in their own tongue, which helped Chey not at all.
“I'll be damned,” Sander said. He stood right in front of the television, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What? What is it?” she asked again, annoyed that everyone in the room understood but her.
“The people,” Mattias said. He flanked Sander to the left.
“What people? From here? Why are there so many and where are they?” she asked.
“They're coming out in droves in support of Sander. Aksel made that announcement earlier, remember? That he'd been exiled? The people of Latvala are expressing their displeasure at it and also their demand to see him reinstalled as heir,” Mattias replied.
Chey glanced from the screen to Sander. All she could see was part of his profile. An intent look had taken hold of his features. “They're not angry because they think you exiled yourself, then?”
“Apparently not. Maybe the people realize Dare wouldn't voluntarily do that,” Mattias said.
Another guard who had been in the foyer entered the parlor, cell phone in hand. “It's not just at the family seat. It's all over. Kalev, the smaller towns and villages. Not hundreds but thousands.”
Sander tongued the underside of his teeth. A calculating gleam made his blue eyes bluer. He pivoted away from the television, determination writ in every line of his body.
“Sander, what are you doing?” Chey asked, following him with her eyes.
“Getting dressed.” He glanced at the guards. “Prepare to leave within fifteen minutes.”
“Yes sir,” the guards said, spinning away to do as asked.
Chey marched after Sander. “Leaving? Just where do you think you're going?”
He stopped at the bottom stair and turned only his head to the side to bring her into view. “Kalev. Come on. You're coming with me.”
Chey's mouth fell open. “You can't be serious. What are you going to do in Kalev? After everything that happened tonight? It's too dangerous.”
He didn't argue. Twisting his shoulders around, he plucked her up off the floor and carried her groom-style up the stairs. He took the last few in pairs, as if he wasn't carrying anything in his arms at all.
“Sander!”
“You ask too many questions. Get dressed. You're coming with me,” he repeated, heading into the bedroom.
“You're impossible.” Chey shut her protests off lest he change his mind and leave her behind once more.
. . .
The trio of Hummers arrived in Kalev just past eleven o'clock in the evening. Moonlight gleamed off snow piled at the sides of the street and rooftops covered in it. Nervous at being exposed so soon after the shooting at Mattias's house, she watched as the nearly empty streets became less empty the closer they got to the main part of town. They knew from the news reports that the biggest gathering in Kalev was in front of a municipal building; the closest they were able to park was three avenues over. Crowds made it impossible to drive any closer.
Once a few citizens noticed the Hummers, and what it meant, word spread like wildfire.
Sander, fearless in the face of such support, exited the Hummer with Chey in tow. He kept her close, a long coat of black covering black jeans and an iron gray sweater beneath. She chose a navy coat with cream piping on the collar and cuffs and wool slacks that would keep her legs warm in the cold. Mattias flanked her on the left side.
They walked straight into the fringe of the gathered, Sander shaking hands and greeting people one at a time. He was a force all his own, confident and brazen and prepared to stay out as long as it took to garner as much support as he could.
What shocked Chey more than anything was the reception she received. The citizens remembered her, oh yes they did, and her welcome came with warm smiles, fond touches to her hands or arms, and now and then a frigid cheek kiss.
While Chey fretted they would be attacked by rogue assassins cut loose by Aksel once the King saw what they were doing, she didn't back down from the challenge of making her presence known among the natives. More and more people flocked to the avenue where Sander paused to speak to several reporters. Hundreds upon hundreds chanted their support as he explained he was not in exile after all. Boldly, he told the people to expect much more news in the coming days, alluding to a big announcement that he refused to discuss beforehand, no matter how much the reporters badgered him.
During a lull in well wishers, Chey had the opportunity to watch Sander, back lit by citizens armed with candles and signs, reveling in the natural leadership and dominance he displayed. This was no shrinking Prince; here was a man back to fight for what was his, for what he believed in, even though he gave no hard details.
Pride swelled in her breast for his easy charisma and eloquence in the aftermath of Laur's death. He went all out, promising details and information as well as his word that he would not leave the country again.
The people wanted Sander, not Mattias or Paavo, as heir to the throne.
Four hours later, the crowds still strong and defiant, Sander made his goodbyes alongside Chey. The group departed, Hummers forging a slow path along the middle of the street while people cheered and waved their signs.
Slumping into the seat once they were away from the scene, Chey rubbed her forehead with gloved fingers. Her nose was frozen, as well as her cheeks, skin stinging as the driver turned up the heat.
“I think it went very well,” Mattias said from the front seat.
“So do I. With any luck, word will spread. By morning, I hope to have thousands more behind me,” Sander replied. He seemed to hum with left ove
r adrenaline.
“Do you think your father will try to preempt you?” Chey asked.
“He might try, but he can no way know what I plan to do. He'll never expect to be detained.” Sander pushed up the sleeve of his coat and glanced at his watch. “In less than two hours, in fact, if all goes as it should.”
“Is this going to force you to move up making an announcement?” Chey asked. Sander had wanted to wait. Now she wasn't so sure waiting was a good idea. He had the support of people in the street, a growing movement that might go stale if he disappeared for another two or three days.
“Yes. I'll have to do it not long after we detain the King and Queen. Waiting would mean losing all the momentum the people have so graciously given me,” Sander said.
In the front seat, Mattias inclined his head, agreeing. “I'll arrange it so we'll be able to have the funeral in private anyway. When we get a lull in the activity, that's when we'll do it.”
A pall fell over the group that lasted until they arrived at Mattias's home. Chey, torn between emotions, accepted Sander's help down out of the Hummer after the driver parked in the garage. She was cold to the bone, exhausted, and starting to feel a little nauseous again. The adrenaline of seeing and interacting with large crowds, not to mention the niggle of fear that assassins might suddenly appear around any corner, fizzled like water drops on a hot griddle.
Inside, she noted the arrival of more guards. They stood sentry at every entrance and exit as well as at the base of the stairs and the archway to the halls.
She knew the bodies of the dead or wounded had been removed while they were gone. Small comfort.
Upstairs in the bedroom, Chey peeled out of the heavy coat, the gloves and the boots. She had just draped the coat over a rack by the door when Sander touched her shoulder. Turning, she glanced at his eyes.
“What?” Then she realized he wasn't removing his clothes.
“I'm heading to the castle. I'll be with the Generals when they detain the King and Queen,” he said. “Mattias will begin the meeting with the council in my stead until I get there.”
“But...you didn't say you were leaving. Did you just decide this now?” Chey fought to keep her dismay in check.
“I hadn't planned on it. Right now, I feel it's best to be involved on all fronts. There are more than enough guards here to protect you this time. You're safe. Once we have any and all dissenters contained, I'll send for you. So gather what you need to, all right?” he said, cupping her jaw in his hand.
The chill from outdoors hadn't dissipated. Chey shivered. “If that's what you think is best. I--”
“I do. This is the hardest part, the most dangerous. We'll be past it, with any luck, before lunch time rolls around. Then it'll be dealing with fallout, the media, things like that,” he said, bending to brush a kiss against her mouth.
Chey, interrupted from blurting news about the baby, kissed him twice more. “There's--”
He covered her lips with a finger. “I have to go. Rain check, okay?” Sander kissed her forehead then stepped around her to the door. “You have my number. If anything goes wrong, or you need me, call.”
Exasperated, all she could do was watch as he let himself out. Too tired to care about missed opportunities, she shed her damp clothes, pulled on yoga pants and a sleep shirt, then fell into bed.
If tomorrow—or later today—was going to go anything like she thought, she needed at least some sleep to cope.
Chapter Twenty
“You ready for this?” Mattias asked.
Sander stared out the window of the limousine. Just landed in the helicopter, they were on their way to the castle, prepared to rendezvous with the three generals and enough troops to overpower the guards. He tugged on the edge of his leather glove. They had made a stop over between leaving Mattias's to change into much more austere clothing. Suits, polished shoes, clean, long coats.
“As ready as I'll ever be. I can't believe it's come to this,” he repeated. The dividing window was up between the front and the back, protecting his conversation with his brother.
“I can't either, to be honest,” Mattias replied. “I wish it felt less like a coup than not.”
“Yeah, same here. That's exactly what I was thinking. He brought it on himself though.” Sander had no sympathy for the King or the Queen. Not after Laur.
“He did.” Mattias's phone went off in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered. “Yes?” His expression remained neutral for two seconds, then shifted into something more keen.
Sander regarded him rather than the snowy landscape. His brows arched when Mattias made eye contact.
“Yes, thank you. Keep the contents secure.” He hung up. “Positive. The DNA tests were a match. Laur was our brother.”
A muscle flexed in Sander's jaw. He kept tight control over his temper. Now wasn't the time to lose it. “We were not wrong, then. It solidifies the decisions we've made here, as far as I'm concerned.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Here are the troops.” Sander saw the gleam of moonlight on a cluster of military grade vehicles in the road ahead. He counted no less than twenty carrying troops and three Hummers containing the generals themselves. All lights were off, engines silent. They were too far from the castle as yet to be detected by spotters in the towers.
Mattias twisted a look out the window.
The limousine pulled to a stop in the other lane. Sander said, “Good luck with the council. Keep them occupied until I get there.”
“I've got it covered. Take care.” Mattias spared a thin smile.
Sander exited the limousine when the driver stepped back to open the door. Already, all three Generals stood outside on the ground in full military regalia. They saluted Sander, then extended their hands to shake. Sander went through the motions with crisp efficiency.
“General Masing, Rummo, Vaser. Good to see you all. Everyone still on board with our plan?” He assumed so considering they were blocking the north bound route leading to the castle. Sander didn't like to assume, however. He wanted verbal confirmation.
Masing inclined his head. He was in his early sixties with hair gone mostly silver. Sharp-eyed, the General was Sander's main ally.
“Everyone stands in the same place as when we spoke last,” the General said, obviously speaking for the rest as well as himself.
“Excellent. Once the lead vehicle gets to the guardhouse, the men will need to get out fast and secure the guards. We need control of the gate at all costs.”
General Masing inclined his head. “All right.”
“Once we're inside, I want the special teams to go forward first and detain the King and Queen. I don't know if his guard will open fire or not, but I suspect they might. Your men are all prepared for that possibility?” Sander asked, looking between the Generals.
“Each and every one. They were selected for their loyalty to you,” Masing said.
“Good. Once the King and Queen are detained, I want them confined to their personal bedchambers. The King in his, the Queen in hers. We'll deal with everything else from there,” Sander said.
“We reminded the troops just before we left to separate the King and Queen,” Masing said.
Satisfied that everyone was on the same page, Sander pushed his sleeve back to check the time. Dawn was fast approaching. If they wanted the element of surprise and darkness to help disguise their movements, they needed to get moving.
“Then let's get on with it,” he said.
Masing, with a gesture to his vehicle, said, “I have your seat in my car here, Your Highness.”
Sander glanced at the limousine a final time before climbing into the Hummer. Masing closed the door behind him.
Collectively, engines roared to life. Headlights remained off.
The limousine cruised forward ahead of the rest, picking up speed. One by one, the Hummer and other vehicles followed.
Faster, and faster, prepared to literally storm the castle.
. . .
>
The guards at the gatehouse were not prepared for the assault. Guns in their face, they relinquished control of the gate, hands in the air, weapons stripped from their person.
Sander caught glimpses of it as the gate opened and they sped through, rushing toward the entrance. Although armed, he did not draw his own weapon. Teams of men trained in this kind of exercise swarmed from the cars before they came to a complete stop. He climbed out as shouts and warnings were subdued before any shots rang into the cold morning.
Taking the stairs, he ascended while more guards poured down from the upper levels, contained by the troops who were better prepared and had surprise on their side. By the time he made it to the private floor of the Royal rooms, his brothers and sister were in the hall in their sleepwear and robes, furious and demanding answers.
Answers he was not yet prepared to give.
Rounding into another hall, he strode toward the King's chamber, appeased to see Aksel's men subdued and his own standing in their place. Stepping into the King's private domain, Sander caught sight of his father immediately.
Aksel, red faced, eyes gleaming with anger, sat in a plush chair while troops took phones out of the room, as well as televisions, and even Aksel's personal cell phone.
“What is the meaning of this!” Aksel demanded when he saw Sander.
“Your son is dead—but then that was your plan the second you realized Mattias and I had discovered who he was. Pity I could not save him. He was a man worth saving.” Sander tempered the fury that tried to creep into the syllables. Faced with his father, he found it more difficult than he imagined. He talked over Aksel's bluster and shouting.
“I am hereby detaining you for abuse of power. You and the Queen,” Sander said.
“You cannot--”
“You will remain detained until my meetings with the council are over, and until I have explained your cruel streak to the people of Latvala.” Never raising his voice, Sander continued speaking past the King's curses and threats. “When I am through, you will no longer be King. It may take several days for the council to think over all the information I am about to give them, and a few more days beyond that for the people to decide where their loyalty lies. Since it is unlikely I will be taking the throne, they will back Mattias instead of Paavo, for even they know without being told he is the natural leader behind me.”
Heir in Exile (Royals Book 3) Page 18