Heir in Exile (Royals Book 3)

by Danielle Bourdon

  Startled into momentarily silence, Aksel broke it with a question. “So you will remain in exile, then? Self imposed?”

  “No. I intend to tell the people why you forced me into exile, and the truth of my mother. Should they grant me the throne anyway, it will be me taking your place,” he said.

  “The council will never allow it. Not when they know. What are you thinking! To announce that to the world--”

  “Yet you did not hesitate to announce my exile in my stead when it suited your needs,” Sander said, cutting Aksel off. “This suits my needs. It satisfies my honor, of which you know nothing about. I will accept what the people and the council decide for my fate.”

  “The laws of this country won't allow it, that's what. To be branded a bastard is far better than you deserve,” Aksel said, a vein throbbing in his forehead, cheeks ruddy with anger.

  Sander realized with sudden insight that he was feeding the beast. Dangling fresh meat outside the bars of an animal's cage. He also realized that he didn't care to hear Aksel's limp excuses and thin threats. This man was a King past his prime, a man grasping, drowning, fighting to keep what he thought was his. Sander cared not to hear Aksel gloat over Laur's birth or death, did not want to be present while his father attempted to spin some story or another that was likely another lie.

  Turning on a heel, he left the room. Aksel's vehement diatribe faded the further he walked, until he could no longer hear it. Refusing to consider pandering to Helina in any way, shape or form, Sander stalked the hallway en route for the stairs. His brothers and sister had disappeared into their rooms, dressing he knew, to descend to the lower floors to find out what was happening.

  They could sit in on his council meeting and learn with the rest.

  Taking his phone from his pocket, he made a call.

  “Olev. Have Chey brought to the main castle at noon. I want an escort of no less than eight for her. Do not stop for anyone.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chey opened her eyes to the glow of the sun streaming through the cracks of the curtains. Squinting, she sat up in bed, rumpled and disoriented. What day was it? The events of the prior evening blitzed across her memory, reminding her why she felt so weak and drained. The attack on the manor, Laur's death, the late night visit to Kalev. So much turmoil.

  On the heels of that, she remembered Sander returning to the castle to have Aksel and Helina detained. Pushing the covers back, she shuffled out of bed. Heading into the bathroom for a quick bit of personal business, she took a turn at the sink after that to wash her hands and brush her teeth. Combing her hair into loose waves, she secured half of it back with a simple barrette and traded night clothes for a business suit in navy with white accents. Once or twice, she suffered a bout of dizziness so strong she had to shoot a hand out to balance against the sink or the wall.

  Gathering what few belongings she owned, she stuffed them into a bag, preparing to leave whenever Sander called for her.

  The knock at her door came just as she added her make up kit to the small pile. On a whim, she fished the pregnancy tests out and put them in a zippered side pocket of a purse. She didn't want to be separated from the evidence, not while Sander remained unaware of her status.

  “Coming,” she called, hurrying to the door. Olev, sober faced and serious, waited on the other side.

  “Miss Sinclair, Prince Dare has requested we take you to the family seat. Are you ready?” He glanced over her attire with a quick sweep.

  “Yes, all my things are on the bed.” Chey knew it was useless to try and carry any of it herself. The guards would ease it from her fingers with gentle smiles and carry it for her regardless. She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand to see it was straight up noon. Cringing inwardly at how long she'd slept, she stepped aside so one of the guards in the hall with Olev could enter to retrieve her things.

  “Any news about what's going on?” she asked as they descended to the main level.

  “Nothing yet, Miss Sinclair. We haven't heard back from Prince Dare or Prince Mattias since early this morning,” Olev said.

  Curiosity warred with worry while they piled into the cars. Distantly, she noted many of the guards were accompanying them on the trip. Sander was taking no chances, and for that she was grateful.

  The drive was not overly long, yet it felt an eternity to Chey. All the small towns they passed along the way had groups of citizens in the streets, smaller pockets of support for Sander, some carrying signs and others simply adding their presence to make a statement. It pleased her to know they loved Sander so. As he loved them. She knew it was a large part of the reason he meant to confess his birth status, risking it all to retain his honor. He might hate not leading his country should the council and courts go against him, but at least his conscious would be clear.

  Ambivalent about her return to Ahtissari castle, Chey regarded the imposing structure as it loomed up out of the snowy landscape sometime later. Sunlight glinted off the white covered turrets and winked off hundreds of window panes. The roads in and out, of course, had been freshly plowed for easy access. What was different this time, were the clusters of military looking vehicles parked at the turn in the road for the gate, and at the gate itself. Guards lurked in pairs and trios, armed to the teeth.

  Passing through the gate with no trouble, the vehicle cruised up toward the broad front steps where yet more military awaited. Olev helped her to the ground while another man retrieved her luggage.

  “Thanks,” Chey said, releasing Olev's hand. She glanced up at the facade of the castle, pensive and thoughtful. Her first month here had been fraught with danger, discovery and startling insight, both about the Royal family and herself. There were personal demons to conquer before she could ever feel comfortable about living under this roof. She needed to accept that there would always be situations out of her control, that plots and secrets and forbidden knowledge was a way of life in this world.

  Just as she crossed the threshold, she realized this was an inadvertent changing of the guard, as it were. Aksel and his old ways of rule stood no chance against Sander and Mattias.

  Chey paused three steps inside the immense foyer, struck by an epiphany. Her child would one day enter these doors as King—or Queen. They would stand right here, looking at the same vaulted ceiling, the same set of sweeping stairs. The ghosts of the past and all their figurative skeletons couldn't change the fact that she and Sander would shape and mold the next figurehead according to their beliefs and personal standards. She understood then the importance of her role, not just as Sander's wife, but as a mother. All her experience, compassion, honesty and loyalty played a part in the kind of person who next became King or Queen.

  If Sander retains rule, she reminded herself. If.

  “Miss Sinclair? Is everything all right?” Olev asked, brow pinched with a frown.

  She glanced away from the castle interior and curved a small smile. “Yes. I'm sorry. Lead on.”

  Olev escorted her through the grand hallways to a heavily guarded sitting room on the main floor. The palest peach covered the walls, with ivory crown molding outlining the seams and the ceiling. Rich fabric covered plush chairs adjacent to a large fireplace while sofas, divans and side tables cordoned the room into sections. It had the feel of money and power and extreme luxury.

  “Prince Dare asked that you wait here. He will join you shortly. Can I get you anything to drink or eat, Miss?” Olev asked.

  Chey set her purse on a table near one of the chairs close to the roaring fireplace. “Water, please. Thanks.”

  “Absolutely. One moment.” He stepped out into the hall while a guard closed the door.

  Heat from the flames made for a toasty atmosphere, the scent of pine and cinnamon subtle but pleasing on the senses. She approached the carved mantle and perused the many photos lined up there, stalling over several with Sander posing next to his parents or siblings. Even as a younger boy she could see the distance between him and his father. Oh, he
had pride by the bucket; true affection, the kind that kept children coming back year after year to see their parents for all manner of celebration, was missing. Even when Sander stood right next to Aksel, an enormous metaphoric gap remained.

  She was not displeased to see it. Chey wouldn't ever be able to deal raising a child to be anything like Aksel. Sander was an entirely different breed of man.

  “Did you have any trouble on the drive up?” Sander asked from the doorway.

  Chey twitched a look across the room, surprised at his quiet entrance. He wore a different suit, one cut so fine and elegant that it took her breath away. Dove gray silk, a black brocade vest, and crisp white shirt outlined his shoulders and tapered over his lean hips. A white silk tie added to the austere effect. He'd tied his hair back into a low tail, jaw still clear of whiskers. Recalling late that Sander had asked a question, she shook her head.

  “No, none at all. How did it go with the council?”

  Olev returned with her water. He passed it off to Sander who murmured his thanks, then closed the door in Olev's wake. With slow steps, Sander walked the glass across the room. He handed it off, expression sober and hard to read.

  “After hearing everything Mattias and I had to say, despite the hard evidence of the DNA tests, they have decided the rule of law cannot be overthrown like the King was, and that I will not be allowed to ascend the throne. Mattias, not Paavo, will be announced official heir.”

  Chey accepted the water, watching his eyes. She didn't put the glass to her lips and a moment later, gasping at the news, was glad she had not. Even though she'd known all along the council might vote this way, it was shocking to hear the words come out of Sander's mouth.

  “But why not? I mean, I know, I know, your mother was another woman--”

  “Yes, she was. We took a saliva swipe from me as well and sent it along with Laur's. Helina definitely did not give birth to me, which, in the eyes of the court and the land, makes me a bastard, unfit to be King.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, the hem of his suit coat caught on his wrists.

  Shocked, Chey searched Sander's face for clues on how he really felt. She couldn't decide if it was resignation or acceptance or something more maudlin that lurked in the blue of his eyes. “I just don't know what to say. Honestly, I thought for sure you would be the one. I can't believe, even with all the support of the people, they won't bend the rule this once.”

  “If you bend or break a rule like this, then you have to start breaking them all. I understand their position, that they're bound by covenant and law.” He glanced down at his shoes, then back to her face. “It was close. They argued it for three hours straight, and I do mean argued. Many feel I should take the crown regardless. The diehard lawmen, though, they won the day.”

  “And there's nothing else you can do? Nothing else you can say?” she asked, dismayed to the point she didn't want to drink the water now. But she did, in small sips, in case he spouted something unexpected and made her choke.

  “I spent an hour pleading my case. There isn't anything else to say.” He looked at the pictures on the mantel, mouth quirking at a corner.

  “So what happens now? Do you just...ride off into the sunset and lead a normal life? Will you be stripped of the title of Prince, have all your holdings revert back to the crown?” Chey asked. She set the glass down on a small end table and rested her hands on his hips, careful not to wrinkle the suit.

  “They're deciding the semantics as we speak. Mattias is still in there, furious, fighting to at least have Kallaster castle remain mine. I don't ever think I've seen him that mad,” Sander said with a faint tick of his lips. He looped his arms low around her, staring down into her eyes.

  “I'm so sorry. I really am. You fought so hard. What will the people think? What will they say when they find out? You had so much support last night.” Chey remembered the hundreds upon hundreds clogging the streets. Not just last night but this morning as word spread deeper into the countryside.

  “I imagine they'll accept it as they know they must. As of last night, they still didn't know I'm a bastard.” He said the word with a wealth of distaste. “Once they realize, I think it will take the wind from their sails. The people know as well as we do that a bastard cannot ascend the throne. After all, this was part of the reason I had my 'marriage' annulled to Valentina. What a hypocrite it makes me if I don't accept what law the council passes down considering how vehement I was in my desire not to put someone else's blood on Latvala's throne. So it's come full circle, and the people will love Mattias as their new King as much as they would have loved me.”

  “It's awful. I can't help it. Even I, a veritable stranger here, know you're the best one for the job.” Chey got on her tiptoes to kiss his chin. “But it doesn't matter to me what you are or aren't, as long as you're mine.”

  Lifting his hands, he cupped each side of her jaw. Cradling her face like she was precious. He spoke low, resonant. “I know. I also know how much you hate not wearing your ring, so get and wear it. I'm going to make the announcement some time today.”

  Chey searched his eyes. “Are you going to tell them about the baby, too?”

  On his way to kissing her mouth, he paused. His eyes narrowed, features sharpening with intent. “What?”

  “I said,” she whispered, emphasizing the word, “are you also going to tell them we're having a baby?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chey muffled a laugh when he suddenly picked her up, lifting her off her feet, and twirled her in a gentle circle. Then he kissed her like a man deprived of affection for years instead of hours. She saw instant joy replace all those other emotions he'd carried into the room. For this moment, at least, he allowed himself to revel in the news she had to give.

  “How long have you known?” he asked, refusing to set her down.

  “Only yesterday. I kept trying to tell you, but...too many things happened.” Chey wouldn't ruin this moment with mention of the attack at Mattias's home.

  “Unbelievable. Are you certain?”

  “Yes. I took two tests to make sure. Plus, there are other signs. Ones I completely missed with all the traveling back and forth and everything. I'm definitely pregnant.” Chey hoped the prospect of fatherhood would offset some of the disappointment she knew he was feeling about the loss of his Kingdom. It meant their child would never take the throne or rule after Sander, as she'd thought.

  Sander's eyes gleamed, bluer than blue. “That's excellent news. I want to step up the wedding then, make it sooner than later. Is that all right with you?”

  “Yes, it's fine with me. We can make it a small affair, since I doubt many in your family will want to attend anyway.” Chey was under no illusion about that.

  “We'll figure all that out later. How far along are you?” he asked, after kissing her again.

  Chey licked the taste of him off her lips. “I'm not positive. Ten to twelve weeks, I think. I'll need to go to the doctor soon.”

  “You'll have everything you need the second I'm done with these announcements. I have a news conference scheduled within the next two hours, and my family is waiting in another room to find out the details from this morning. Come with me,” he said, letting her slide to the ground.

  “All right.” Chey couldn't hide from Natalia forever. Might as well get the showdown over with, so they could all get on with their lives.

  Sander squeezed her before capturing her hand.

  As he led her through the room, Chey picked up her purse from the table and followed at his side. During the short walk, she mentally prepared herself, promising she wouldn't allow Natalia to get her too riled up.

  Up two flights of stairs, on the level where the Royals lived, Sander guided her to a set of carved double doors. He opened one, led her inside, and closed it behind them. Ten times the opulent splendor of the one below, the Royal sitting room consisted of lavish furniture, gilt accents and oil paintings in elaborate frames of their ancestors.

&nbs
p; Paavo, with his black hair and green eyes, paced with clear agitation near the ornate fireplace, hands in the pockets of his slacks. Everything about him was neat as a pin: the tuck of his snowy button down, the knot of his royal blue tie, the crease along the pant leg. Even his hair, combed carefully back away from his face, had been styled to perfection.

  Aurora, his betrothed, perched on the edge of a plush chair, hands folded demurely over one another on her lap. She was the picture of elegance and poise.

  Gunnar, the youngest, the brother who most closely resembled Sander with his fair coloring, brooded on a lounger, one foot resting across the opposite knee. He had a tumbler in one hand filled with amber liquid. Krislin, his wife, sat nearby, darting worried looks between the others.

  Natalia paced the room like a lioness on the hunt, obviously drunk, hurling what must have been curse words at Mattias's head.

  Chey only understood it was offensive by the stark look of disapproval on Mattias's face.

  “Oh, we're finally graced with his presence,” Natalia spat when she spotted Sander and Chey. “And he brought his little bitch with him. This is just perfect.”

  Paavo diverted course and headed straight for Sander. “Mattias will tell us nothing. What the devil is going on?”

  “Why are father and mother being detained? Is this a coup, Dare? Have you lost your mind?” Gunnar asked, pushing off the lounger. Although he had a drink in hand, Gunnar was in full possession of himself.

  Sander slowed to a stop at the head of the room, hand wrapped around Chey's. “Calm yourselves. I'm going to give you an abbreviated version of the whole. You can pick my bones clean for details later.” He paused to glare at Natalia. “Mind your tongue, sister, or I'll have you locked and secured in your room, as well.”