The Wrath of the King (Royals Book 5)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  In a quiet voice, Wynn said, “I'm worried, too. They should have called by now.”

  “If they're okay, I'm going to beat each of them to a pulp.” Chey didn't like the waiting game. She didn't like the odds that the men hadn't found time to call in or have someone else call in their stead. What did it mean?

  Chey didn't like the things that came to mind.

  “Hey lovebirds,” Natalia said from the doorway to the sitting room. “They're back.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chey reached the front door as Sander and Gunnar exited the dusty Hummer. As far as Chey could tell, Sander was in one piece. He wasn't limping, didn't have new bandages and didn't seem to be bleeding. A small sound of relief preceded her rush for the stairs. He glanced up as he rounded the nose of the vehicle, mouth set in a grim line that turned into a tight smile when he saw her. Gathering her up in his arms, he held her tight and pressed kisses into her hair.

  “What took you so long? It's the middle of the afternoon and we haven't heard a word!” Chey said, chastising him and Gunnar both. Someone should have called. She kissed his jaw, mindless of the faint layer of stubble on his skin. Leaning her head back, arms around his neck, she sought his eyes. Chey could usually tell many things by what she saw there.

  Today she saw weariness, pain, and other, less definable emotions.

  “I should have had someone get in touch, you're right,” he said. “We've been a little busy.”

  Chey took that to mean his night had been hard, and the day even harder.

  “Where's Leander?” Wynn stood on the landing, looking around the driveway, fear evident on her features.

  “He stayed behind to take care of a few things. He's fine,” Sander said to Wynn.

  “Yes, he's fine,” Gunnar said from where he greeted Krislin in the same way Sander greeted Chey. “He'll be here a little later.”

  Wynn wilted with obvious relief. “Thank God. I'm glad you're all okay.”

  Natalia stepped down to Sander and Chey and pecked a kiss to Sander's cheek, then to Gunnar's. “I knew you'd make it back in one piece. Congratulations.”

  Sander rumbled a sound like Thanks for Natalia's good wishes.

  Chey sought Sander's eyes after Natalia retreated. “What happened?”

  “In summary, we caught Paavo fleeing the castle after our men started skirmishes with his troops. Unfortunately, Paavo left me no choice but to maim him so he didn't do something stupid. He's fine, mad as hell, but alive,” Sander said.

  “Maim him?” Chey asked.

  “I had to shoot him.”

  That answer brought everyone's attention to Sander.

  “Paavo had his weapon aimed at Dare,” Gunnar explained. “He could have shot him any time. When it became apparent Paavo wasn't going to go down without a fight, Dare did what he had to so no one else would get hurt. Paavo's just nursing a wounded shoulder, nothing more.”

  “Do you really think he might have shot you?” Chey asked, disturbed by the mental images Gunnar's reply brought.

  “Maybe. I didn't want to take the chance. Besides that, Gunnar was there and he could have as easily gone after him. It was better to take him out first rather than wait and see just how far he would push it.” Sander scraped Chey's hair back from her forehead with his palm. “He'll have a trial and spend what's left of his life behind bars. It's not a perfect solution, but at least he's breathing.”

  “You're lucky he didn't shoot you right off,” Chey said. She ran her hands up the outsides of his arms.

  “We ambushed him. It was risky guessing that he would leave the castle, but a risk worth taking because it gave us the upper hand,” Sander said.

  “Dare knew exactly what Paavo planned to do,” Gunnar added. “He knew his adversary well.”

  “Either way, I'm glad it worked out the way it did,” Natalia said. “I was afraid...well, you know what I was afraid of.”

  “Yes,” Sander said with a glance at his sister. “Like I said, it's not a perfect solution. We have months and months of work ahead to fix what's broken, to regain the trust of the people. It'll take a full four weeks, I think, to make sure all of Bashir's 'borrowed personnel' are removed from our borders.”

  Gunnar snorted a derisive sound. “And what are you going to do about Bashir? He conspired in a plot to overthrow you.”

  “He'll pony up a good amount of money, that's what, to help right the wrongs. And if he doesn't, I'll make sure to inform the international community what kind of man he really is,” Sander said.

  “He won't dare tarnish his 'good name',” Natalia said with a rude scoff. “You'll get what you want from him in the end.”

  “We'll see. Sometimes he doesn't like to be parted with his money unless it's his idea,” Sander said. “Either way, it's over. I'll arrange a public address later this evening and tomorrow, I need to tour the country to see exactly what we need to do.”

  “That's fine. But right now, you're going to come in and let someone look at your stitches and other injuries. I won't take no for an answer.” Chey slid her hands down to Sander's and back-stepped up the stairs.

  “What's in it for me?” Sander asked, arching a brow. Regardless, he followed her to the landing and from there, to the open door.

  “Hours of blissful silence instead of me ranting in your ear.”

  A ripple of laughter swept through those remaining on the porch.

  Sander cut Chey a sly grin. “I had other things in mind.”

  “Sander, I can't see my feet, my ankles look like cantaloupes, and I'm pretty sure some of this bloat is gas. Still feeling frisky?”

  Sander guffawed and bent to sweep her up into his arms. “You're a real buzzkill, Chey Ahtissari. Let's go find the Doc.”

  . . .

  After getting the okay from an onsite physician, Chey accompanied Sander upstairs while he prepared a formal announcement. She rubbed his shoulders, played with his hair, and generally made a nuisance of herself because she couldn't keep her hands off him. Relief felt like a drug in her system. For the first time since their ordeal began, she was hopeful that the worst was over with family problems and that they could get back to a more normal life.

  Sander didn't seem to mind her hovering or her touches. Occasionally he reached up to skim the rough pads of his fingers across her knuckles or paused to lean back for a kiss. Otherwise, he was intent on his work.

  Later, after sending dispatches to the Crown Prince, Sander went before the cameras to give his speech. It was filled with heartbreaking honestly about Paavo's misdeeds and the fallout after the capture. But Sander was also stern and strong, letting it be known that he would not tolerate acts of treason or attempts to overthrow him. No matter who it was, even family. He did not discuss his coma, his wounds, or Paavo's attack on the caravan. The public got a modified version of the facts, enough, Chey thought, to quell any suspicion or more questions. She stood at his side, with Gunnar and Natalia on the other, lending her support to the process.

  When it was over, Sander led her back into the castle and closed the doors to the world. He led her to their temporary suite upstairs and, after changing into nothing but a pair of black boxers, passed out on the bed.

  More than anything, his actions told Chey just how exhausted Sander really was, and how hard the ordeal had been. The man he presented to the rest of humanity appeared to be bulletproof—Chey knew better. As she watched him sleep with one arm thrown over his forehead, the sheets haphazardly wrapped around his sprawled legs, she took in the essence of Sander the Man instead of Sander the King. Sander, with his flaws and insecurities, his weaknesses and vulnerabilities. He had them, just like everyone else. It made her love him more than ever, a feat she didn't think possible.

  She joined him shortly before midnight, after she settled her mind. He curled her instinctively against his body, holding her close enough that she heard his heartbeat under her cheek. The heat of his skin warmed hers, the masculine scent of aftershave and cologne mingli
ng with the soft floral of her own.

  It took an hour for sleep to find her. The first crack of a thunderstorm ushered her into dreams.

  . . .

  Wynn regarded the rain from a covered terrace on the second floor. It was too dark to see anything except when streaks of lightning blitzed the sky. Wrapped in a cardigan of gray, a borrowed garment from one of the female members of the staff, Wynn propped her chin on her knees and looped her arms around her updrawn knees. She couldn't sleep, couldn't get her mind off her confession. These were the hours she came to terms with the truth, with her real internal feelings.

  That she was so bothered about her lapse in judgment over Paavo was no real surprise when she thought about it. She'd always been in control of her emotions, never one to blithely engage men unless she knew exactly what she wanted. This proved, however, that sometimes a person wasn't as in control as they believed. Either that, or attraction was more powerful than she realized. Never before had she been drawn like that to any man, and perhaps, she reasoned with herself, part of the allure was the taboo aspect. Sometimes people wanted what they knew they couldn't have.

  She was glad it was over, glad that Chey knew. It eased the weight she'd been carrying around on her shoulders. With a deep breath of rain-tainted air, she let it all go. Just like that. No more would she pause to think about what if. Paavo was out of her life, no longer a threat, and no longer a temptation.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Wynn twisted around in the chair. Leander stood in the doorway, shoulder leaning against the frame. Instead of fatigues or a uniform, he wore distressed denim and a midnight blue button down. The boots looked rather worn, perhaps a favorite pair. Wynn understood in that moment that she'd been wrong about something: this man attracted her on a whole other level than any other. It wasn't just physical, although there was a wealth of that as well. It was how he handled himself, his confidence in the face of adversity. There didn't seem to be anything he couldn't do. Anything he couldn't fix.

  Leander also had secrets. Things about his life he couldn't, or wouldn't, tell her.

  “I was just thinking what a dunce I can be sometimes,” she admitted. Why not be honest? Leander should know what he was getting into, she decided.

  “You mean about liking Paavo and hating yourself for it?” He cocked a brow in question.

  Floored by his perceptiveness, she changed the angle of her posture to see him easier. Should she be honest about that, too?

  “You don't need to scramble for an answer,” he said next. “It's written all over your face. Just for the record, it doesn't matter either way. A thousand women have probably thought the same thing about him.”

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  “I'm good at picking up small details about people. It wasn't all that hard to figure out.” He didn't move from his lean.

  “I don't know what to say.” Wynn spoke the truth. She really wasn't sure what to add to that. Leander had hit the nail on the head. For a moment, she wondered if Chey told Sander, and Sander told Leander. Right after that, she dismissed the notion. Sander didn't seem the type to run about, passing off gossip.

  “You don't need to say anything. Although if you need to talk about it, I could use an hour to wind down from the day.”

  Wynn gestured to a chair adjacent to her own. “Of course. I talked about it to Chey earlier, and just decided that I didn't want to think about all that anymore. It's behind me. I accept it for what it is, and now it's done.”

  “Pragmatic, like I knew you would be.” Leander strolled over to the chair and threw himself down into the cushions. “Don't beat yourself up about it. You've probably done enough of that already and honestly, he's not worth the effort.”

  “It's like you can read my mind or something,” Wynn said, watching him cross to the chair and sit down. The man was poetry in motion, no matter how cheesy the sentiment seemed.

  “I'm observant. That's all it takes.”

  “How do you know I'm not pretending?”

  “Because someone doesn't wear such raw emotion on their face when they're pretending. You're easier to read than you think.” He set his elbow on the arm of the chair and propped his hand near his mouth, regarding her with a dead on stare.

  Wynn narrowed her eyes. Might as well go for the throat. “So you know that I've already put a claim in on you then, right?”

  “Mhm.” He was as casual as could be with his hummed reply.

  Wynn's mouth fell open a little. “Seriously?”

  He laughed. “Seriously.”

  “And how did you know that? Don't tell me I wore my expression on my face, because when I was with you last, we were under siege, trying to escape. There wasn't anything there then but fear and nervousness.”

  “You flirted with me the first night you met me,” he countered. “And although you knew I was watching you walk the hall, you didn't bother to stop. You just let me keep looking.”

  Wynn blustered and stammered, waving a hand dismissively. “That's a crock.”

  “It's the truth.”

  “And?”

  “You've blushed like three times in my presence.”

  Wynn laughed, slapping a hand against her knee. “That's because you caught me going through files or whatever! And because I was a prisoner! Embarrassment does not equate to a real blush.”

  “You're blushing right now,” he pointed out.

  “I am not.” Wynn refused to put a hand against her cheek. She was blushing though, she could feel it.

  “And you hugged me.”

  “I was relieved to see you! Any woman would have done the same.”

  Leander arched a brow like he didn't believe her. “Really.”

  “Well, how many women have you rescued?”

  “That's classified information.”

  “What?”

  “I said, that's classified--”

  “I heard you!” Wynn laughed because she couldn't not laugh. “I bet they all hugged you with relief, though.”

  He shook his head, negating her guess.

  “It still doesn't mean anything. That couldn't have tipped you off.”

  “You might as well wear a neon sign across your forehead that says, I'm into Leander. Hands off.”

  Wynn's cheeks burned with fresh surge of heat. “You're so cocky. That is not true.”

  “Blushing,” he pointed out again, ticking it off his fingers. “And if you didn't like my company, you wouldn't be sitting here bantering back and forth with me.”

  “Maybe I need the distraction.”

  “And maybe you like me.” He flashed her a deviant grin.

  “You're full of yourself.” Wynn chuckled. He made it easy to forget about everything except him.

  “It's part of my charm.”

  “I prefer tall, dark and modest.”

  “But you can't strut for tall, dark and modest, and clearly, you enjoyed strutting for me.”

  Wynn clapped a hand over half her face, laughing. She should have never kept pacing the hall that night. “I was indignant, which is not the same thing. If you'd been a gentleman, you would have looked the other way.”

  “Then you would have been insulted because I didn't look. I know how a woman's mind works.”

  “I would not! I might have thought you were chivalrous, a trait sadly lacking in today's male population.” Wynn was enjoying herself far too much.

  “You wouldn't have thought anything, since you wouldn't have been looking. And since you were looking, that tells me you wanted me to watch. I'm just giving you what you want. Who's chivalrous now?”

  “That's not chivalrous, that's advantageous.”

  “One thing I will never claim to be is chaste. Since you're not either, then I know you appreciated me taking advantage of a golden opportunity. You liked it, I liked it, where's the harm?”

  “How do you know I'm not chaste? I might be a virgin,” Wynn retorted.

  “The only reason I'm not dissolvin
g into laughter right now is because I'm chivalrous. See how that works?” His body shook with mirth.

  “I see that you turn everything around to suit you. That's what. You talk in so many circles, a person can't even remember where the conversation started.” Wynn smiled despite herself.

  “It started with me asking you on a date and you saying yes. I can't believe you don't recall that poignant moment.”

  “You're impossible. Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. Happy?” This time, Wynn didn't bother trying to hide the flirty way she watched him.

  He sprawled deeper into the chair and looked mighty pleased with himself. “Absolutely.”

  . . .

  They took the tour in a helicopter, instead of a car. Sander wanted to cover more ground than they could achieve on the road. Chey peered out the window at the landscape of Latvala, pointing out trouble spots to Sander. Much to her surprise, he'd coordinated his military well and they were already breaking down encampments, making arrests, and diffusing the hard lines Paavo had attempted to make between 'regions'. It was technical, complicated and time consuming. Chey knew there was a long way to go, but she was heartened seeing the beginnings of progress.

  What would take even more time, and more effort, was the damage done to the psyche of the people. Initial reports and polls indicated a majority still backed Sander. A strong contingent remained, however, who intended to cling to the promises Paavo made. The disgruntled gathered in the larger cities, some traveling hours to reach their goal. They picketed with signs, chanted their demands, and generally let Sander know how upset they were with the upheaval.

  Because of the man Sander was, he ordered the pilot to set them down in one of the smaller towns. Against the advice of the security team, Sander exited the helicopter and, with only three guards in tow, went to talk directly to the people.

  Remaining in the aircraft for her own safety, Chey could only imagine what might be happening a few blocks away. It chafed that she needed to stay put, even if she knew it was the wisest choice. With so few guards, there was little protection if the crowd turned into a mob. She wasn't exactly in the fittest shape to be running any length of distance.