The Wrath of the King (Royals Book 5)

by Bourdon, Danielle

Gunnar frowned and Natalia gave Leander a suspicious look.

  “Who is this?” Gunnar asked. “An American?”

  “Leander is one of Mattias's best friends. Someone I've always been able to trust with my life,” Sander replied. He and Leander were the only two in the entire safe house—probably the only two in all of Latvala—who knew why Mattias was currently unaccounted for. That Leander was here at all spoke volumes to just how dire Mattias's own situation must be.

  “I don't understand. We've never met, or I would have remembered the distinction of my brother's best friends,” Gunnar said, clearly hesitant to give his own trust to the stranger.

  “We were never meant to meet, not really,” Leander said, his Latvala accent gone from his words. “I'm here because, inadvertently, Mattias sent me.”

  “That makes no sense,” Natalia said.

  “It does if you know what we know,” Leander retorted with a gesture between himself and Sander.

  “He's right. But what we know isn't knowledge I'm prepared to depart now, or ever. So take my word for it that Leander is here for our benefit. We're standing here wasting time with semantics when we need to be preparing to leave.” Sander turned back to the map, aligning the pencil to paper.

  “You look like you need about ten hours of hard sleep before we even think of leaving,” Leander said.

  Sander speared a withering look over his shoulder when Leander unknowingly parroted Gunnar and Natalia. “Sleep is for the weak. Let's get on it. I want to depart before midnight.”

  “Yes, your Majesty.” Leander tapped his heels and bowed his head, feigning allegiance.

  Sander snorted and got down to business.

  The hours till midnight ticked steadily away.

  . . .

  All roads leading to escape proved difficult to reach. Chey didn't know Paavo's holding well enough to plan a clean exit, not without alerting the guards, staff or members of the military spread out over the countryside. She didn't know who she could trust or who might be swayed to her side. It was dangerous to approach security already entrenched in Paavo's home and on his property, since it suggested to Chey that they were some of the most loyal.

  They had to be.

  Faking contractions might encourage Paavo to end her life early, rather than allow her to give birth to a live heir. That was a risk she couldn't take. Faking contractions in hopes he would send her to a hospital was out. She'd checked the french doors only to find them locked leading to the balcony. A pointless venture anyway, considering how high up she was and how far a fall it would be if she attempted to climb down the castle via precarious foot and handholds. Before pregnancy, that might have been a viable option. Now, with her extended stomach, she wouldn't have good balance or a secure reach.

  There had to be some other way.

  Pausing before a tall, broad window, bathed in moonlight, Chey considered what options were left.

  Not many.

  She couldn't just walk out the door into the hallway, and any excuses to go downstairs would seem like just that—excuses. Convinced pleading with Paavo would do no good either, Chey stared out at the milky landscape and sought a better solution.

  Bribery, out.

  Threats, out.

  Hoping the guards left their posts, wishful thinking.

  What she needed was obscured passage, a way to slide past the guards in the hall and down a back stairway leading to an exit that wasn't well known.

  With sudden insight, Chey departed the window and stood in the center of the room to get her bearings. The enormous bed sat against the right wall, the bathroom and closet to the left. Straight ahead, a wall of windows. Behind, the door to the hallway.

  Making her way to the bed, she began the tedious process of searching for a hidden panel. This castle was as old as the family seat, she was sure of it—perhaps even older—and the odds of hidden passageways for Royalty to escape were good.

  Finding the entrance was another matter. Built to look like part of the room, a person could search for hours and days and never come across the latch, switch, depression or other identifying opening. Her experience with the passageways in Mattias's castle and the family seat, however, gave Chey an advantage. She knew generally what to look for.

  It was how she understood that just because there wasn't a crack in the wall, didn't mean there wasn't a doorway present. Forty minutes after the search began, she hit pay dirt. After checking an oil painting three times, finding nothing, she went back to it and set her fingers to follow the shallow groove behind the outer edge. Feeling a demarcation line in the gold leaf, she grasped and pulled.

  A section of wall creaked and whispered as it opened, the seam disguised behind a flap of striped wallpaper. The scent of musty, stale air hit her nose from the darkness of the hidden passageway. She needed a flashlight, or a candle. Something to see by. Otherwise, she might take a tumble down a flight of stairs.

  Finding a tapered candle sitting on a half table against the wall, she searched the entire room and could not produce matches or a lighter. Frustrated, she was about to put the candle back when she spied the fireplace. Surely, someone had a device to ignite the kindling. She turned up a long lighter with enough fluid to spout a flame. With the candle lit, she backtracked to the window and opened it five inches, hoping to throw anyone off who might check on her. Chey was counting on the late hour to dissuade the guards or Paavo from doing just such a thing. If she was truly lucky, no one would show up until morning, giving her the entire night to make an escape.

  Stepping into the gloomy passage, she eased the panel closed and let her eyes adjust to the dimness. Slow and steady. That was the way to get from here to the ground floor without a mishap.

  . . .

  Wynn hated the fleeting sense of guilt that ate away at her good intentions. She hated the contradicting emotions she felt about a man who didn't deserve them, and she certainly hated her hesitation to take this devastating step she needed to take. In the hours between discovering Chey resided within the walls of the castle and now, only one answer presented itself as a viable way to distract the mass amount of security patrolling the hallways: fire.

  She didn't pursue the idea that this event might purge her guilt, a metaphorical burning that would turn her attraction to ash. It was just a fire, only a fire, a means to an end. Chey needed her, needed a distraction as surely as Wynn did, so they could flee the holding together.

  In a perfect world, the escape would work just like that. This not being a perfect world, Wynn tried to plan for the unexpected. She had disabled the fire alarm in the room to give the flames a chance to catch hold, to delay discovery long enough for Wynn to get to the Red Room.

  Standing in an upstairs parlor, the fireplace roaring in anticipation of Paavo's return, Wynn took a good look at the irreplaceable pictures on the walls, the antique furniture and expensive collectables in curios or on desktops. Several paintings were of ancestors, she thought, regal men and women with intense, staring eyes.

  To set fire to such a room was unthinkable, yet Wynn had no other alternative. The guards numbered too many, were too suspicious of her right out of the gate, and to dawdle longer meant possibly putting Chey's life in danger. Earlier in the day, Wynn had played an innocent game with one of the waitstaff's children, pulling the information from the little boy without seeming to. She knew the child would forget all about the game, or if not the game, then the contents of it.

  With knowledge of the Red Room's place in the castle committed to memory, Wynn snatched up a roll of papers she'd brought with her in the guise of files and stuck the end into the fire.

  There was no going back now.

  Taking the lit end to the draperies, she started a flame there. Then to a tapestry, which caught and burned immediately, and finally to an enormous Persian rug that traveled beneath four pieces of heavy, gilt furniture. Coughing against smoke, she threw the ragged ends of the papers down before they burned her fingers and dashed to the door. Up here,
in this particular hallway, fewer security roamed. She knew because she'd scouted out the best location to start a fire while pretending to go back and forth on errands for her 'boss'.

  Schooling herself not to run and draw attention, Wynn descended a floor, taking a back route around to the main hall. Ducking into a shady niche covered with scads of faux ivy, she waited until the first shouts came.

  It didn't take long.

  Pounding feet sounded along the corridor beyond the niche, guards running toward the commotion while calling their brethren up from below. She waited for a break in the flow, darting out from cover with a made up story sitting idle on her tongue, waiting for release should she be stopped and questioned. Although she could smell smoke, Wynn couldn't yet see it traveling high along the ceilings of the hallway.

  Please, please let it be enough to keep them busy for a while longer.

  Instead of running down the stairs, Wynn caught the banister for the staircase leading up. She took the steps by twos, stretching her stride out of necessity. Desperation made her a touch reckless.

  Hitting the landing, she broke into a run as a general alarm went off three floors below. Wynn cut into a dark room when she heard men approach from Chey's direction, waiting until they plunged down the stairs she'd just come up. Calls for 'all hands' assured that every guard available within hearing range attended the emergency; a fire was more critical than standing guard at a locked door with a heavily pregnant woman behind it. Wynn had counted on security deciding Chey wouldn't get far even if she did manage to get the door open.

  Coming up on the correct room, Wynn wilted with relief to see a deadbolt accessible from the outside. She didn't need a key to throw the bolt over and open the door.

  “Chey! It's me. Hurry, I've created a...Chey?” Wynn paused when she didn't see Chey anywhere inside. Rushing to the bathroom, she called for Chey in urgent whispers.

  Nothing.

  Chey wasn't in the closet, in the attached office or out on the balcony. For a few moments, Wynn suffered through a bout of panic that someone had already killed Chey and the baby. Where else would Chey be, if not here? Maybe she'd been moved. She searched several other rooms along the corridor, all empty.

  Back out in the hallway, Wynn knew she needed to make a quick decision. Someone would trace the fire back to her, she was sure of it. Somehow, some way, with enough time, Wynn was confident she would be found out. Which meant she needed to leave the castle by any means necessary. Without Chey, a fact that made tears sting the back of Wynn's eyes. There was no help for it. She couldn't linger any longer. There wasn't time to do a thorough search of every bedroom, sitting room and parlor.

  Yanking a cloth off from a nearby table, she draped it over her head as if she'd come from the smoking wing and ran back to the stairs. Down, down down, the scent of smoke stronger, the shouts from men fighting the blaze more urgent than before.

  She started passing guards vaulting the stairs on the last level, affecting an expression of fear and angst, portraying a woman only wishing to escape the threat of the flames.

  Not only did no one stop her, she, along with certain members of the staff who were in the way rather than a help to combat the fire, were escorted straight outside into the courtyard. Wynn wasn't the only one with a blanket or other article of cloth covering her head, which served to disguise her among the masses. Huddling with a group of women, she climbed into the bed of a truck and rode it out of the courtyard into the open, noting that several contingents of military in nearby tent housing were on their way to the castle.

  Her plan worked much better than she thought it might, except Chey was nowhere in sight.

  Distressed at the unknown fate of her best friend, Wynn used the cover of darkness and general confusion to break away from the camps, disappearing down the treed slope to a meandering creek. She ran along the edge, away from the castle, desperate to put as much distance between herself and Paavo as possible.

  Along the way she prayed. Prayed that Chey and the baby were still alive.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chey lifted the candle higher to better illuminate the next seven feet or so along the hidden passageway. She expected a set of steps any time, or a sharp corner before the steps—something other than what seemed like miles of endless corridor. She'd been at this for more than an hour, trying to make her way down to the ground floor so she could find a way out.

  Thus far, she'd succeeded in losing all sense of direction and somehow doubling back on herself when she'd taken a wrong turn at a fork some distance behind. Reminding herself to remain calm and controlled, Chey experienced a rush of anticipation when she saw the landing and staircase ahead.

  Finally. Another level leading down.

  Holding a palm flat to the wall for balance, she eased onto the landing and took the steps one at a time. This was the most treacherous part, feeling her way with her feet. She couldn't see straight down, not any longer with her belly in the way, and bending forward threw her into vertigo. Tapping her heel against the back of each step, she descended, cautious and careful and determined.

  Once at the bottom, she lifted the candle again to get her bearings. Fantastic. Another fork in the corridor. Reasoning over which direction was the best, she veered to the right, brushing away cobwebs and stray bits of dirt that randomly sifted down from the ceiling. She thought she was on the main level now after three flights of stairs. All she needed to find next was a doorway or tunnel splitting off from the castle. The passageway she walked down became mustier, more damp than before.

  Almost before she knew what happened, she lost her balance and stumbled forward, too confident in the fact she was on level ground to think there might be more steps ahead. For ten frightening seconds, she scrabbled for purchase on the stone walls, twisting her hips and back to prevent an outright tumble. The candle pitched forward into the darkness, briefly illuminating the tunnel before the light doused altogether.

  “Damn,” Chey said, getting her feet beneath her. That had nearly been disastrous. Breathing hard and fast, she coughed three times and straightened. She couldn't see a thing.

  Not her own hand in front of her face. Using her feet in the same manner as before, she went down the final three steps to flat ground.

  Now, thanks to the lack of light, the going would be much slower.

  Determined to get out, she felt along the cold stone walls with her hands. Seeking, searching, hoping. There had to be a door somewhere.

  She walked for approximately two hours, one foot in front of the other, testing the ground and the tunnel for breaks, stairs or other debris that might trip her up. When her toe hit something hard in the dark, she paused to feel it out with her foot.

  Stairs. Leading up, this time.

  “Oh no, not back up to the higher floors again,” she whispered to herself. That wasn't the way she wanted to go. Going back, however, wasn't an option. She ascended three shallow steps, hands coming into contact with what appeared to be a heavy wooden door. Finding a beam laying across to bar entry from the other side, she removed it and set it against the wall.

  Opening the door required more effort than Chey wanted to give. She had to bump the thing with her shoulder and hip, teeth clenched tight, pain shooting through the lower half of her body. The door gave with a loud squawk, swinging outward while a gust of cool air and the scent of trees greeted her.

  Chey's wince turned into an expression of utter relief. Exiting the tunnel, she closed the door behind her, leaving the mouth of low hill that helped disguise the entrance from easy view. Trees crowded close, though at least out here, Chey had the stars and the moon to provide at least a little light.

  Filling her lungs, she picked her way over thick roots, around large rocks and across a small stream. She stopped several times to catch her breath and rub the side of her stomach when a cramp struck.

  What she needed to find next was an ally. Someone to trust with her life. Not an easy task at all, considering where she was
located. Once she had her breath, she started forward again, moving closer to the tree line.

  At a certain point, she could see past the thick trunks to vast pastures and meadows. Moonlight slanted across tents lined up row after row, a few larger ones denoting a higher ranked official, she thought.

  Paavo hadn't wasted time in organizing those loyal to his cause. A thought she'd had before, flying over in the helicopter. It was more visceral here on the ground, several hundred yards from the encampments. If she had to judge, she was perhaps a quarter mile from the outer bailey wall of the castle.

  She'd gone farther than she thought in that underground tunnel.

  When a group of men went running off into the night in the direction of the holding, Chey's attention shifted higher, to the upper floors, wondering what caused the mild uproar.

  Seeing flames shooting out a window, she covered her lips with her fingers. Fire had broken out. No wonder more and more men were converging on the gate.

  Retreating deeper into the tree cover, determined to use the distraction to her advantage, Chey continued to pick her way through the foliage, sticking to shadow where ever possible. There could be scouts along the edge, prepared for someone to come slinking out of the trees from other parts of Latvala. She doubted they'd expect an escapee of the castle itself.

  Along the way she thought about Sander. Wondered if he was all right. Her worry over her husband had the ability to cripple her if she didn't stay focused. He was strong, capable and as determined as she to be here when their child was born.

  He would be okay. He had to be okay. The alternative was unthinkable.

  All she wanted was to get back to his side, where ever that may be. She wanted to feel his arms around her, wanted the security of his presence. Once, she choked up thinking about seeing their baby for the first time, touching a downy cheek. It had been all Chey could think about over the summer, seeing Sander's expression gazing down at their son.

  Getting her emotions under control, she put those thoughts aside in favor of survival. She wasn't out of the woods yet, figuratively or literally. There were miles to go, danger in every direction, and people more loyal to a traitorous brother than the King.