The Wrath of the King (Royals Book 5)
Page 2
Doctor Tahvo cocked a brow. “Are you sure that's a good idea, your Highness? It will require you to roll his Majesty onto his side--”
“I can handle it, Doctor,” Chey assured him. She might be far along in her pregnancy, but she knew what she could and couldn't do.
“Very well. If you need anything at all from our staff, you have only to ask. I'll return in the morning unless there is a change overnight.” He inclined his head to Chey and Wynn and departed the room.
“I think that was pretty encouraging. It sounds like he thinks Sander has a good chance to fully recover,” Wynn said.
“I hope so.” She wouldn't feel any relief until he was walking and talking and doing all the things Sander used to do. Pressing a kiss to the back of Sander's hand, she whispered, “Please wake up. Please. We need you.”
Machines click-beeped. Sander's chest rose and fell with even, steady breaths. Time ticked off a clock on the wall, ushering in the darkness of night.
Chey waited. Watching. Hoping. Praying.
He had to wake up. Had to.
She didn't want to live without him.
. . .
“Councilman Andersen, you may deny your involvement about the money all you like, but I've got solid proof.” Paavo eyed the councilman with a shrewd gaze. Their conversation had come full circle once again, with Andersen insisting he hadn't been laundering money from the royal coffers.
“What do you mean, proof?” Andersen asked. Tall, built lean, the one-time soldier straightened his shoulders defensively. The fine Italian suit of black hung limp from his body, highlighting recent weight loss that hollowed his cheeks and made him more bird-like than not. A pair of pale green eyes stared at the Prince with obvious wariness.
“Remember that I tried to do this the nice way,” Paavo said. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a manilla envelope. Tossing it down within Andersen's reach, Paavo waited. Expectant. He knew solid proof would tip Andersen's hand.
Andersen glanced at the envelope. He licked lips as if struck by a sudden bout of nerves. Checking the contents—three grainy, black and white snapshots—Andersen hissed and shoved the photos back inside. He slapped the envelope down as if merely touching it burned his fingers. Swiveling away from the polished desk, the man paced Paavo's office.
Sitting back in his chair, Paavo propped his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers. Andersen was the last councilman he needed to tip the balance of the majority in his favor. The rest had fallen in the same way as Andersen, succumbing to the pressure of blackmail after their filthy secrets had been exposed in private. One or two had accepted outright bribery, making his job easier.
“Now, you can keep on denying me, but if you choose to go that route, I'll make sure you're stripped of your position and jailed for the rest of your life. It's a high crime to steal from the monarchy, you know,” Paavo said.
“I know!” Andersen snapped. He cleared his throat after the outburst and ran a hand through his short, silver hair.
“You can't pretend to have morals after this,” Paavo added. “I don't see what the big deal is. All I'm asking you to do is throw your vote my way. When it's time, you back my proposition. I'll make sure you're compensated much better than what you were skimming off the coffers.”
“I know what you want, your Highness,” Andersen said. He stopped near a window, looking out at the dark landscape of Paavo's holding. Then, he turned just his head to bring Paavo back into view. “Compensation?”
“Yes, compensation. Give me your promise to stand behind me and I'll see that you not only don't go to jail, but you'll find five times your yearly pay deposited into your bank account.”
Andersen frowned. He stepped away from the window. “We all know your stipends have been cut. How are you affording this?”
Paavo rasped a laugh. “Leave the semantics to me, Andersen. Are you in, or are you out?”
“How many other men have you manipulated on the council?” Andersen asked.
“Don't worry, there are half going down the same road as you. Enough to get done what needs doing. You won't be alone when you vote.” Paavo regarded Andersen, knew the second the councilman's mind changed. Acceptance and resignation glittered in Andersen's gaze. Anger, too, at just how thoroughly he'd been used.
“All right.” Andersen threw his hands in the air. “All right. I want my entire family left completely out of this, no matter what happens.”
“As long as you stay your course.” Paavo pushed a different envelope across the desk, indicating Andersen should pick it up.
Inside, Andersen found an initial payment large enough to raise his eyebrows.
“Take that back with you to the family seat and wait. You'll know when to act.” Paavo reached into his jacket pocket and fished his phone out when it vibrated. Reading the text message, he stood from the chair and sent a text back. To Andersen, he said, “It may be sooner than we think.”
A knock at the door some minutes later preceded the entrance of General Ingvar. Paavo remained standing, as he was wont to do in this man's presence. A master of strategy, Ingvar was also a warrior's warrior, built thick but lean where it counted, which made him lethal and quick. Several inches taller than Paavo, Ingvar had a wicked scar on his chin, whiter than the rest of his skin. His eyes were so pale blue they were almost white, making him appear eerie and angry all the time.
Ingvar looked Andersen up and down once, briefly, then inclined his head. He put his attention on Paavo and stopped near the desk to bow his head. “Your Highness, I come bearing news.”
Sliding the phone into his pocket, followed by his hands, Paavo eyed Ingvar. “Yes?”
“There has been an attack on His Majesty's caravan. The King lives,” Ingvar paused, then said, “but is currently in a coma. It is unclear whether he will survive.”
Paavo heard Andersen suck in a surprised breath. “Aren't you glad you decided to side with me?” he said to the councilman without taking his eyes off Ingvar. To the General, Paavo replied, “I will, of course, come up to the family seat immediately to support Mattias.”
The General's cheek twitched. “We have been unable to locate Prince Mattias for the last four hours. The council has recommended you step in to take temporary reign.”
“When did the council decide this?” Andersen blurted. “Obviously, not every person was in attendance.”
Paavo swung his gaze to Andersen at the same time Ingvar did. “Emergency intervention, Andersen. The protocol is that the council in attendance at the time puts it to a vote and the majority prevails, even when all members are not present. If Mattias cannot be found in a timely manner, someone else must take over.”
“I know what the protocol is,” Andersen said. “I wasn't even contacted,” he added, pulling his phone from his front pocket. No messages awaited.
“Likely, they knew you were all the way out here. Busy. You wouldn't have made it back in time anyway. You'll be there, however, for the next big item up for vote.” Paavo switched a look back to Ingvar. “The troops?”
“All in place. It was a stroke of luck, however, about Prince Mattias,” Ingvar added.
“Yes, it was. Prepare for an early morning departure. We can't leave the country leaderless in a time of crisis.” Paavo exited the room, prepared to use the rest of his time tonight preparing to move his agenda forward. There wasn't a second to waste.
Chapter Three
“Chey, Chey wake up.”
A familiar, masculine voice pulled Chey from a restless dream. Lifting her head, she suffered a few moments of confusion, blinking sleep from her eyes. “Yes?”
“It's Gunnar, Chey. You awake?”
Gunnar's face came into view. Machines beeped and a clinical, stringent scent hit her nose. The hospital. She was at the hospital. Sitting up straighter, rubbing a spot on her stomach where part of the metal railing had been digging into her skin, she checked on Sander—no change—before looking up at Gunnar again.
“Very early this morning. I've been in and out, but I didn't want to disturb you while you were sleeping until I had to.” Gunnar walked around the other side of the bed and stared down at Sander. He touched his brother's arm, then trained his gaze on Chey.
Brushing loose strands of hair out of her face, Chey leaned back in the chair to give her spine a rest. She'd fallen asleep with her head on Sander's bed, leaving her body torqued in an awkward position for hours on end.
“I'm glad you're here. Have the doctors said anything more? Any news?” she asked. Her bladder demanded attention, but Chey waited for Gunnar's answer.
“Nothing. He's the same, they said, as he was last night. I was hoping he would come to this morning.” Gunnar stared down at Sander again. “Sander, you need to wake up. Do you hear me? It's imperative.”
“Gunnar, can you watch him a moment? I need the ladies room.” Chey couldn't wait another second. She didn't want to leave Sander without someone in the family remaining right at his bedside.
“Sure, go ahead. I've got something else to tell you.” He didn't glance up.
“I'll be right back.” Chey went into the bathroom and closed the door. Quick about her business, she washed and dried her hands, wondering what else was on Gunnar's mind. On her return to Sander's bedside, she spied Krislin out in the hall talking to Wynn and mouthed a hello, which Krislin returned.
Feeling better, Chey stood instead of sat, preferring to stretch her legs and get the blood flowing. “What's going on?”
Gunnar pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He wore a navy suit today, replete with a tie, cuff links and clean shaven face. Although his face was more slender and angular than Sander's, he looked most like his eldest brother than the rest of the boys.
“I had a talk about an hour ago with a few of the advisers. They came up from the family seat in the middle of the night. No one's been able to make contact with Mattias yet. That means they've decided to install Paavo as acting King until either Mattias returns or Sander wakes up.” Gunnar's grim expression suggested he wasn't happy with the decision.
Any remnants of sleep that had been lingering vanished at Gunnar's announcement. Chey snapped a look across the bed and met his eyes. Over the course of the summer, Paavo had come and gone from the family seat, laying low for the most part. He'd done nothing to instigate more action on Sander's part, and had even volunteered to take on a few more official duties than usual.
“Is that normal?” Chey asked.
“It's protocol if the next in line can't be found or contacted in a reasonable amount of time,” Gunnar replied.
“Well...where is Mattias? Nothing has happened to him, has it?”
“Probably not. Sometimes he shuts his phone off even when he knows he shouldn't.” Gunnar looked like he might say something else, then closed his lips before anything came out.
“Gunnar, isn't this going to cause a problem again? Like it did last time when Aksel suggested Paavo for the throne, then it didn't happen? Sander said the idea went to Paavo's head and that's why he made a move to divide the country and everything else.” Something about the whole thing made Chey uncomfortable. She couldn't believe that Paavo was responsible for the strike on Sander, but this is what Paavo had wanted all along. A shot at the throne. Gunnar was the youngest, unable to leapfrog Paavo to sit in his place.
“I hope not, Chey. Paavo hasn't seemed to be paying much attention to the throne and things these past months. He's been off tending to royal duties. Whenever we talk, he never brings any of it up, like he wants to be done with it,” Gunnar said.
“That's true. He talks a lot about other things these days and seems happier,” Krislin added.
Chey glanced back. Wynn and Krislin had come into the room some time during the conversation. “Then let's hope he doesn't decide he wants to fight for the throne during all this.”
“As much as I don't want to leave Sander, I think I should go back to the family seat,” Gunnar said.
“I think that's a wise idea. Will you call me and keep me updated? I'm not leaving Sander until he wakes up.” Chey would be hard pressed to even leave a nurse alone with him at the moment.
“I'll stay here and give you breaks when you need them,” Krislin said.
“You got it, Chey. It's only a matter of time until Mattias checks in. I'll monitor things until then.” Gunnar gave Sander's arm a squeeze, then said, “Hang in there, Dare. Wake up, you hear me?” Gunnar stepped away from the bed, kissed Krislin on the cheek, then departed the room.
Chey watched him go, then nodded once at Krislin for her offer. She trusted her more than she trusted anyone else to watch over Sander when Chey had no choice but to use the restroom or take a quick shower.
“I was about to go order breakfast. Do you want something, Chey?” Krislin asked.
“Just toast, thanks.” Chey didn't think she could stomach more than that. “And maybe some orange juice.”
“I'll be back in a little bit.” Krislin stepped out into the hall and engaged one of the nurses.
“What can I do, Chey? I'll sit here with Sander if you want to take a shower. Your clothes arrived overnight and are hanging in the closet.” Wynn picked up an empty duffel bag against the wall and moved it over toward a clinical looking dresser where she placed it into a bottom drawer. “There are a few casual maternity pants and shirts in here, too, already folded.”
“Actually, Wynn, I want you to do something else.” Chey waited until her best friend came close to whisper. “Get Mattias's number from Krislin and call his cell every half an hour. In the meantime, go back to the family seat and keep an eye on things for me, will you? I'd like to know what's going on in our absence.”
Wynn looked surprised. “Sure. You know I'll be discreet.”
“Excellent. Call me in the evenings, or if anything unusual crops up, okay? I suspect it might be a waste of time on your part, but I'll feel better with someone on watch.” Chey wouldn't ask anyone else to do this except Wynn, and only then because they'd been friends for so long.
“Just promise me you'll take breaks to walk and stretch and rest,” Wynn said. “I know you. You'll obsess until you push yourself into labor.”
“I'll do what I can, when I can.” That was the best promise Chey could make. After Wynn squeezed her hand, Chey watched the woman make her way into the hall and team up with Krislin.
Turning back to Sander, Chey pulled up her chair and sat down. Stroking the tips of her fingers along his arm, she willed him to wake up. Time, she thought, was not on their side.
. . .
Paavo watched the discomfort of three councilmen rise to almost palpable levels. Riding in the back of a limousine en route to the family seat, there was no where for the men to escape. Each had been compromised by blackmail and bribery, made to bend to Paavo's will through no choice of their own.
“So we're positive that when we take this to our meeting tomorrow, we'll meet no resistance, correct?” Paavo asked. He wanted the councilmen to say it out loud. Wanted them to admit the majority would vote his way.
“Yes,” one member said, not meeting Paavo's eyes. “Everyone that needs to be on board, is on board.”
“The others won't appreciate it and will raise protest,” another added.
“I'm not worried about the 'others'. With the majority, there's nothing they can do to overturn the decision. Which is why it's critical we get this right the first time.” Paavo believed his threats and manipulation would hold. Judging by the looks on the council member's faces, although they didn't like the circumstances, they wouldn't risk going to jail. Or risk the safety of their family.
“They will go your way,” the third man said. His fingers were a white-knuckled knot in his lap.
“Excellent. Is there anything else I should know before we arrive?” Paavo watch
ed the family seat rise tall through the window of the limo. He felt a distinct sense of satisfaction and rightness about his actions. This was the path forward to regaining control of his country.
“Some of the other members are concerned about what will happen should the King come out of the coma. To attempt a coup is treason, and the King has never been soft on traitors.”
Paavo didn't bother to look back at the men sitting across from him. “You should be more worried about what your new King will do once I have wrested the throne away from Dare. Many changes are about to take place, and you can either be a part of it, lending your full support, or skulk under the shadow of a man whose time as ruler is done. One way or another, gentlemen, I am stepping up in my father's place. There is no room for second guesses or weakness. If you're that afraid, then let's be done with the ruse and get on with the business of following through with the conditions—or should I say repercussions—of not siding with the proper heir to the throne.”
Silence was Paavo's only answer.
. . .
By eight that evening, Wynn was no closer to learning anything new than when she'd arrived back at the Ahtissari family seat. The whispers being passed from mouth to ear remained at the edge of her perception, something sensed more than heard or seen. She knew people were talking, could tell by a few expressions of the guard's faces and staff that concern for the King was prevalent on everyone's mind. Trying to glean any deeper detail had proven futile thus far.
Aware that Paavo had arrived at the castle earlier in the day, Wynn made several passes along the lower hallways near the conference rooms, hoping to hear snippets of conversation from assistants of the councilmen. Nothing concrete presented itself.
Exhausting all available avenues, Wynn ascended to the second floor, disgusted at her lack of information. She didn't want to call Chey without something.
“Lost?” a masculine voice said behind her.
Wynn twisted a look over her shoulder. There stood Paavo, his dark suit rakishly askew, three buttons open on the white shirt beneath. He had his hands in his pockets, the coat caught on his wrists. She'd seen him from afar several times; this was the first up close and personal. Unsure what to think, she pivoted enough to face him.