The Wrath of the King (Royals Book 5)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  Forty-minutes later, Sander returned. Climbing into the chopper, he put his headset and safety harness on, then glanced aside. “It went about as well as can be expected. They don't trust the leadership, which is something I'll have to work to overcome.”

  “No one got violent, did they?” Chey asked.

  “No. There were shouts and anger, but no violence. I can't expect people to flip-flop and switch allegiance, especially when they don't have all the facts. It'll come in time.” He made a motion to the pilot once the guards were inside and secure.

  Shortly, the helicopter lifted off, swinging away toward another destination. They spent three more hours touring before Chey begged either to stop in a small town, or return to his holding. Her bladder couldn't take anymore.

  Without complaint, Sander ordered the pilot to head for Pallan Island.

  Shocked, Chey reached over to squeeze Sander's hand. She missed the castle overlooking the sea, missed their suite and her things.

  Finally, she was going home.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A long week later, Chey marched through the gardens with Wynn and Krislin at her side. The day was sunny and bright, the temperature a tolerable seventy-eight degrees. Birds trilled in the trees, the wind rustled leaves, and the burble of a fountain added a calm ambiance to the rather brisk pace Chey set.

  Brow beaded with sweat, arms swinging, Chey came to the beginning of the path and set off for another turn.

  “Chey, really? I'm tired and I'm not even pregnant,” Wynn said, brushing a wrist across her brow to remove a vague sheen collecting above her eyebrows.

  “Oh come on. You walked five miles on the beach a few days ago, before Leander left,” Chey scoffed. “You just want to go upstairs and see if he left you an email. Quit pining.”

  Wynn and Krislin both laughed.

  “This must be thirty-five times around the garden, at least. My feet hurt and I'm sweating buckets. It has nothing to do with Leander or any emails.”

  “It's useless, Wynn,” Krislin said, easily keeping up with Chey. “We know better.”

  Feigning a fuss, Wynn fell into step and joined the girls for yet another trip around the pathway.

  “And if you want to talk about whose feet hurt--”

  “Okay, okay! You win, Chey,” Wynn said, laughing. “My feet don't really hurt--”

  “We know,” Chey and Krislin said at the same time.

  “But it's been three days. I have a lot to tell him,” Wynn said, defending her desire to dash upstairs and check her mail.

  “What, that you've daydreamed the hours away? No one can get your attention half the time,” Chey teased. With her due date a mere week away, Chey was doing all she could to help the process along. Even if it didn't help, it kept her mind off wondering when the baby might come. A round of betting had begun in the castle and across the land, along with wagers over names, the weight and other things, like hair and eye color. Chey thought it might be helping to bridge a few awkward gaps between otherwise divided families. Small steps, she reassured herself, were the best to healing the nation.

  “That's just not true. I played Scrabble with you for an hour last night, Wynn protested.

  “And how many times did we have to go, 'Wynn, Wynn, it's your turn!',” Krislin said, sending Wynn an amused glance.

  “Eight. Eight times,” Chey said, pulling a number off the top of her head. In reality, they had needed to get Wynn's head out of the cloud a time or two.

  “I don't want to hear it,” Wynn scoffed. “Chey, you do a lot of your own daydreaming, and if I didn't know better, Krislin and Gunnar are actually on honeymoon number two.”

  Chey chuckled and glanced at Krislin, who tucked her chin and blushed.

  “I think it's fantastic that they're so happy,” Chey said. When Krislin bit her lower lip, Chey stopped walking and put her hands on her hips. She narrowed her eyes.

  Krislin and Wynn both stopped walking as well. Krislin looked evasive suddenly, staring off at the trees and birds. The fountain. Her shoes.

  “Uh huh. Something's up. Spill it, Krislin,” Chey said. She knew the woman well enough by now to know that there was something Krislin wasn't saying.

  “Is there time for me to go check my email?” Wynn asked in a small voice, obviously teasing.

  The girls all laughed.

  “Actually, we were going to wait until dinner tonight, but...” Krislin hedged, then said, “I'm pregnant!”

  Chey bounced—as well as she could bounce at nine months pregnant—and snatched Krislin into a hug. Wynn circled them both, making it a trio of squeals and giggles.

  “You said you'd been trying in the hospital, but I didn't think you actually might be!” Chey said.

  “I didn't know, either. I wondered if I might be, then decided I wasn't, then forgot about everything when all this happened. But yes, we're due next spring.” Krislin, all smiles, released the girls with an excited sigh.

  “Our babies will be close in age, I love that,” Chey said. “I hope you have a boy, too, and then we can have a gaggle of girls.”

  “And I get to be Auntie Wynn to them all,” Wynn said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

  “Or, you could join the fun.” Chey gave Wynn a pointed look.

  “I could. But if you don't let me check my mail, then I can't write Leander back, and then he can't write me back, and then there will be no more long walks and no more dates, and then--”

  Laughing, Chey held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Go check your--” A sudden cramp in her stomach cut her words off mid-sentence. She pressed a hand over the spot, wincing.

  “What is it?”

  “Was that from walking, or was that labor pain?”

  “Do we need to get you inside?” Wynn and Krislin talked over themselves, jostling for position on either side of Chey.

  “No, no, it's fine. Those Braxton-Hicks or whatever. I've had them all morning.” Chey waved their concern away. “Really, it's not 'time'.”

  Wynn wilted, shoulders sagging. “Well, that was a let down. I'm almost not even excited to go check my email.”

  “Almost.” Chey knew Wynn well.

  Wynn cracked a smile. “Exactly. See you inside later?”

  “Yes, I'll meet up with you in a little bit. I'm going around a couple more times. You two go on and get cleaned up and all that.” Chey let the girls off the hook for the last few laps.

  After brief hugs, Krislin and Wynn departed.

  Chey watched them all the way through the garden until they were out of sight. Only then did she allow another wince to cross her brow. Pressing against her belly with a palm, she schooled her breathing and began walking the path again.

  She'd been in labor most of the morning, hiding the early symptoms with exercise. The first few hours, the cramps had come and gone intermittently, barely registering on Chey's pain scale. All her research told her that she might spend hours this way, building up to the big event. She chose to spend it outdoors and out of the limelight. Once everyone discovered her secret, she knew she wouldn't get a second to rest. Better to spend her time in the lovely garden, surrounded by sounds of birds and the sea.

  Ten minutes later, another, stronger cramp struck.

  Sitting on a bench with a stunning view of the fountain, Chey glanced at her watch. She expected another contraction in about the same amount of time: ten minutes. Seven minutes later, she groaned through another one.

  “Just breathe, Chey. It'll probably space back out. Labor takes a while, so you've got the whole afternoon.” She talked to herself to calm her nerves. Labor and delivery didn't scare her so much as awe her. Not only was she having her first child, he would, one day, become ruler of Latvala. A Prince first, and eventually a King. His name would be included in history books and his decisions would one day guide a nation. Her son. Sometimes, Chey couldn't wrap her mind around it.

  Struck with another cramp, she glanced at her watch.

  Six mi
nutes.

  The heir to the throne was on his way.

  . . .

  Life could be unpredictable sometimes. Like Chey getting tackled off a horse by a future King, watching the man you loved walk down the aisle with another woman, and having contractions move from six minutes apart to three in the blink of an eye.

  And these were no mamby-pamby contractions, either. They bent Chey in half when they came, causing her to stop walking toward the doors leading inside, focus and breathe.

  Impossible. Wasn't it? She thought she had hours left to go. Instinct insisted she get to the hospital right now.

  The worst of it was...she had to walk through the castle to find Sander. Someone—a guard, Wynn, Krislin—was bound to see her. And they would know right away she was in labor. Bells would sound, people would start shouting, and all hell would break loose. Her dreams of finding Sander and surprising him with the news alone were gone.

  Then you shouldn't have waited so long in the garden! she argued with herself. But really, who knew labor could advance that fast? Live and learn.

  Reaching into the pocket of her neon green walking shirt, Chey pulled out her cell phone. Why not make the ambulatory people come to her? Sander didn't look as if he'd swallowed a watermelon whole and last she knew, he wasn't in labor.

  She found his name at the top of her contact list and pressed Call. With any luck, a contraction wouldn't come right when she was calmly telling him to meet her in the garden.

  “Hey, babe. I was just about to come look for--”

  Chey loved hearing his voice, she absolutely did. But she didn't have time for lengthy conversations right now. “Can you meet me in the...garden?”

  On no. She held her breath, wincing as another swell came on.

  “...Chey?”

  Breathe, breathe, breathe. “Yep.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Can you just meet me?” Chey couldn't control the impatience in her voice.

  “Of course. You didn't fall, did you?”

  “I didn't fall.” Breathe in, breathe out. Chey relaxed as the spasm passed. She straightened, experiencing a strange sense of euphoria and adrenaline at the same time. She was halfway between the fountain and the doors, undecided whether to go back to the bench or just lean against the arbor to her right.

  “I'll be there in a minute,” he said, sounding wary.

  “All right!” Chey urged a more cheery tone into her reply than she felt. Severing the call, she dipped the phone into her pocket and stood next to the arbor, gripping it with one hand. Good thing it was sturdy and well made.

  This wasn't so bad.

  She concentrated on the soothing sound of trilling birds and the burble of the fountain. Engrossed as she was, she didn't realize Sander was on the path until he spoke.

  “You did fall,” he said, striding up to the arbor.

  Chey realized belatedly how it must look: she was leaning heavily against the side of the tall archway, drenched in sweat, with one foot cocked atop the other. Combined with the perpetual frown of concentration on her brow, he'd come to the wrong conclusion. Later, once she didn't feel like Thor was squeezing her guts out, she might find it funny.

  Straightening up, prepared to deliver the wonderful news that their baby would be born some time today, Chey got momentarily sidetracked by her husband. By how he looked. Sunlight glinted off shoulder length blonde hair and made his summer tan more golden. Whiskers peppered his jaw and chin, adding a rugged appeal Chey had always loved. A loose shirt of white, open at the throat, hung from shoulders that seemed broader than ever. Distressed jeans fit his thighs to perfection, the palomino boots reminding her of the day they first met.

  “I love you, Sander,” she said, struck by a fit of whimsy. Already she could feel her belly starting to tighten with another contraction.

  He narrowed his eyes and crouched in front of her, running strong hands over the fitted exercise pants until he came to her ankle. He lifted it with tender care. “I love you, too, but it's unfair to butter me up with love talk when you've taken a tumble. I told you to be careful--”

  “You know how you like to carry me everywhere?” Chey said through clenched teeth, pulling her foot from his hands with care. “Now would be a good time. And avoid all the main hallways, if you can.”

  He glanced up, frowning. “Why am I avoiding--”

  Chey watched his expression shift from creeping suspicion to full blown realization. His eyes popped wide open and he lurched to his feet.

  “Yes, it's that time.” Chey smiled, then winced, bending at the waist to breathe through another contraction. She forgot to glance at her watch to see how far apart they were, but she'd bet it was closer than three minutes now.

  Sander picked her right up off the ground, cradling her against his chest. “I should have known. But when I glanced out the window twenty minutes ago, you three were walking your tails off like it was just another day. How far apart are the contractions? Did your water break? We've got time, you know. The book said it could take a while with your first.”

  “You were keeping an eye on me?” Chey could barely get the words out. She found the sentiment sweet and it distracted her from all his other questions.

  He snorted. “I've been keeping an eye on you.”

  “Then it's a good thing I hid the fact that I've been in the beginning stages of labor since this morning.”

  Sander muttered a curse in his mother tongue.

  Chey laughed through another groan. She had something else to tell him, too. “I don't think we're going to make it to the hospital in Kalev.”

  “What?” He glanced at her face, startled. His eyes were hectic, the whites showing more than usual. Inside the castle, he walked faster, heading generally toward the foyer. He veered left at the corner, then took a right.

  “You need to take me right upstairs. The back stairs, too, so everyone doesn't--”

  “You can't have the baby here! We need doctors and nurses and everything else. Besides, didn't you hear what I said? The book indicated it could be an all day event. You didn't say how close your contractions were, either.” Sander turned down a hall. Then another.

  “Sander?”

  “What?”

  “You're going in circles.” No amount of pain or agony could stop the burst of laughter that hit Chey right then. Sander kept taking turns that would loop him back around where he'd started.

  He muttered under his breath.

  “Really. Upstairs, please. We're not going to make it.” Chey curled against Sander, breathing deep breaths to keep the groaning from echoing through the halls.

  Sander changed direction. Two guards at the base of the staircase snapped to attention.

  “One of you go downstairs and get Nelma from the kitchens. She's one of the elderly ladies. Send her to my suite immediately and tell her the baby's coming,” Sander said on the way by.

  The guard on the left departed almost before the last syllable left Sander's mouth.

  Upstairs, Sander barked out his brother's name. “Gunnar!”

  The Prince appeared at the temporary bedroom he and Krislin had claimed for their visit. “What is it—is she having the baby?”

  Sander shot Gunnar a direct look. “Yes. Put our plan in place, will you? Make sure no one, and I mean no one but immediate family and Nelma from the kitchens comes up here.”

  “I'm on it, brother. Hey, congratulations!”

  “Thank you, Gunnar.” Chey roused herself from another spasm, relieved that all Sander's siblings had decided to shack up at Kallaster castle for the time being. Right now, Chey wanted all the friendly, familiar faces around her she could get.

  Sander barged his way into their suite and took her to a chair, rather than the bed. He set her down, easing her into the cushions. “I know Nelma will want to prepare the bed and whatever else she's got to do. Can you hold out here for a minute?”

  “This feels pretty good. I'm all right,” Chey assured him. She toed
off her walking shoes and leaned back in the chair.

  Sander fished his phone out while he headed to the linen closets. “Get me the doctor. Tell him we're sending the helicopter right now. Yes, she's having the baby.”

  Chey battled through three more contractions while Sander stormed around the bedroom like a dervish, feverishly preparing for the arrival of their son.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was just her and the contractions and a tidal wave of pain that crested and waned, ceaseless and relentless. Sander, at her side, coaxed her through each one, a fount of strength and calm reassurances. Labor had progressed faster than anyone expected, forcing the woman serving as a midwife to rush through preparations even as Chey started groaning that she needed to push.

  Natalia, Wynn and Krislin all helped, gathering instruments, ferrying towels, and dampening a cloth for Chey's brow as needed. They switched off taking video, pictures and serving as go-betweens with information for people waiting anxiously downstairs.

  Sander shifted to sit behind Chey, providing a firmer surface for her to lean back against. An anchor to weather the storm.

  Four pushes later, Nelma put a weathered hand up in a stop motion.

  “Stop pushing for a moment, Chey,” she said.

  “Is everything all right?” Surfacing from her extreme state of concentration, Chey opened her eyes to bring Nelma into view.

  “Yes, everything is going beautifully. Now then, one more push should do it.” Nelma encouraged Natalia to arrange the sterilized scissors close by along with a few smaller cloths for cleaning the baby.

  Chey gripped Sander's hands, squeezed, and bore down. With a sudden squall, Elias Darrion Ahtissari entered the world.

  . . .

  “He's perfect!”

  “I think he's got Dare's nose.”

  “Chey, he looks just like you.”

  Exhausted but happy, Chey cradled her son against her chest and laughed at the bursts of excitement from the girls. The doctor had arrived seven minutes too late but, after an examination of both her and the baby, declared everyone safe and healthy. Elias had been weighed, measured, photographed, cleaned, diapered and swaddled into a blue blanket with just his wrinkled, red face peeking above the folds.