“Chey, we don't have time. Don't you think I know all that already? What do you think I've been doing since I left? Now come on.” He slid his hands down to hers and took a step back. There was vague desperation in his eyes, along with a sliver of hope.
She knew this was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Why was she even considering it all of a sudden? It would lead nowhere good. He was married. Married. Or was he trying to tell her that he'd set the whole thing up? And if so, did it still change the base fact that he was now spoken for? He'd said vows. He was even now wearing a ring. Valentina's ring. She took a step forward when their arms couldn't stretch any longer without breaking the clasp of their hands.
“Trust me. I'll explain everything on the plane,” he repeated, taking another step back. His hands, warm and strong, tugged hers.
With reluctance and warning bells going off in her head, she closed the distance by a foot. Then another.
“Good. Come on. Get your purse and let's go.” Sander laced his fingers with hers, turned, and gestured toward her bag on the way to the door.
Chey balked at first, digging her feet in. A thousand questions and worries plagued her mind. She snatched at her purse as they passed it, and followed him to the door.
This wasn't a good idea. Something awful was going to happen, like her head nailed to a spike outside the Ahtissari family seat when Aksel found out she was back.
The desperation she'd seen in Sander's eyes, however, worked magic on her. She found it, and him, hard to resist. Especially with him spouting all these things about trust. She did, didn't she? Trust him.
Yes.
Against her better judgment, she allowed him to hustle her out the door of the suite and down the hallway of the hotel.
Once she got on the plane, there would be no turning back.
. . .
Chey engaged in a staring contest with Sander as the plane leveled off and hit cruising altitude. He lounged in the luxurious seat across from her like a lion.
“Any time would be good, Sander,” she finally said, attempting to prompt him into some kind of explanation. She still felt mildly hostile and every mile that the plane put between her and Seattle only increased the sensation. To prompt him, she started with a point of curiosity. “What happened to the King?”
He made a sound between a scoff and a grunt, then raked a hand back through his hair. “He used what amounted to a sprained ankle to set his incredible plans into motion. None of us saw it coming.”
“So you're not King,” she said, stating the obvious.
“No. But what I've been doing the last week and a half or so will cement my right to take the throne once I overthrow him.”
“And that involved getting married to a woman you clearly seemed against marrying not so long ago?” She arched a brow and wished she had a stiff drink to help her through this conversation.
“Yes. You see, the King had been quite busy in the interim, behind all of our backs. Remember when Valentina said that our 'people' had made an agreement, one I distinctly said I had not agreed to?” He didn't wait for her to answer. “Not just an agreement, but plans, including dates and press releases that went out while I was gone. They released news of the wedding without my knowledge. Valentina had to have been aware. In fact, she was as complicit in all this as my father and mother.”
Chey frowned and decided not to interrupt with questions while he got rolling with details.
“Everyone but Mattias had been sucked into the ruse. The King called an official meeting, including all four brothers and Natalia along with the council and the highest legislators. During the night, unbeknownst to us, the King made a decree that unless I honored the strategic marriage set between Latvala and Weithan Isle, a marriage already announced in both countries, he would bequeath Kallaster Castle to Paavo. Paavo, of all people. Aksel went so far as to skip Mattias after me, which is beyond incredible.” Sander's expression took a dark turn.
“I'm not sure what that means,” she admitted, though she could tell by the look on Sander's face that it wasn't good news. Not for him, not for Mattias.
“Historically speaking, no heir has ever ascended the throne without Kallaster Castle being one of their holdings. Kallaster has been considered mine for the past four years. I've filled it with my belongings and staff, though I don't live there full time. So for him to strip me of what everyone has accepted as mine, my birthright, was shocking to say the least. See, ascension starts long before a King assumes the seat of power. There are a hundred small steps before the big one. Unofficially giving me Kallaster is one—doing it officially is another step altogether. What it all amounts to is the King flexing his muscle. Suggesting I might be overlooked for the throne didn't work. I ignored his threat. No one believed he would actually take action, least of all me.” Sander gestured with a hand; the stewardess arrived and he ordered vodka for him, a Tequila Sunrise for her.
Chey considered everything Sander said so far. Once the stewardess was gone, she said, “So this was his way of forcing you down the aisle. It's pretty blatant and ugly of him, I agree.” She leaned forward a few inches, holding his eyes. “It still doesn't change the fact that you're married.”
“What matters more to me—and the King is aware, because all Kings and Queens care about this—is public perception. He didn't just throw down an ace, he threatened to undermine the trust I've spent my whole life building with the people of our country. If I would have balked, or backed out, the King would have made it seem like I didn't have my countrymen's best interest at heart. Everyone is convinced this 'match' with Weithan Isle is necessary. There was no way I could have gracefully bowed out. Not with Valentina doing her part, playing as if this were already a done deal and that she knew I would follow through for the love of Latvala. I can't tell you how pissed off I was. Am,” he amended. He paused when the stewardess returned with their drinks.
Chey murmured her thanks and had a sip right away. Then another. “That's understandable. I saw the way the people responded to you in Vogeva. Without your security around and things.”
Sander, on the other hand, swigged half his tumbler down.
Between the hotel drinks and this one, it was the most Chey had ever seen Sander imbibe.
“Yes,” he said. “We—Mattias and I—had very little time to come up with a plan. A workable plan. Because I couldn't risk Kallaster falling into Paavo's hands, nor risk my reputation undergoing a thorough tarnishing thanks to the King, I agreed to the marriage while the council was still in session. I had to give them something. Anyway, once the meeting was over, I scrambled to set my plan in motion. Part of my condition was that I wanted to arrange the man who would marry us and our agenda after the ceremony. The council, the King and Valentina agreed. So I flew to London in the middle of the night and hired a stage actor I'm very good friends with. I knew I could trust him to keep his mouth shut about the act of treason he was about to perpetrate.”
Chey choked on her drink. “You hired an actor? That man wasn't really a Priest?”
“No.” He smiled, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. “While I was doing that, Mattias had a fake marriage certificate created. The scribe wrote it in a pretty but hard to read hand so that no one would be able to make out the words unless they sat down with it and scanned it personally. What Valentina signed was a confession of duplicity, not a marriage contract. Her people were so busy planning all the frivolous frippery regarding her trousseau—or whatever the hell it's called—no one bothered to read the fine print, as it were.”
Stunned to her core, Chey studied Sander's features in disbelief. “So wait, are you saying you're not actually married?”
“Not technically, no. I said vows, I went through the motions, but I was acting right along with the Priest. I meant none of it. But I covered my ass publicly, and I also obtained this.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a digital recorder. After a moment of pressing a button or two on the screen, Valentina's cultured voice
came through amidst faint laughter in the background.
“Well, Prince Dare didn't have a choice. Who knew that such a man could be manipulated with a few well placed decisions and limitations. I guess I know what to do when we're man and wife.”
A titter of feminine laughter followed, as if a group of women hid their amusement behind their hands.
“I am surprised to hear he's threatening to pass it to Paavo, though. Mattias is now one of the ten most eligible bachelors thanks to you finagling Dare off the market,” one woman said.
Valentina replied, “Paavo has the ambition. He's already engaged to a woman approved by the Crown. There won't be any bucking of the system. Dare should have known he couldn't get his way.”
Another woman asked, “Don't you feel the least bit guilty about going behind Dare's back with the King?”
“Would you, if it brought you the title of Queen?” Valentina replied. “I would have done a lot more than twist his arm to gain that. I'll never rule Weithan Isle—but ruling Latvala will be so much better.” Valentina muffled another laugh with the women. It sounded like they were at some sort of gathering.
Sander clicked the recorder off.
Chey glanced between the device and Sander's eyes.
“This is just a small part of the conversation. There's more. A lot more. She gloated about her success at a party I arranged and had infiltrated with people whose mission it was to get this very thing. I turned the tables on Valentina and the King both,” he said, sliding the recorder away.
“But how will you use it?” Chey asked, more than a little amazed at the intrigue and deception going on with both sides. Not that she blamed Sander after what almost happened.
“Blackmail, of course. Valentina will not like the idea of her name being tarnished in all the high circles, which is exactly how I'll work the whole thing back in my favor. She has a big secret to hide, which I will expose when the time is right.” Sander gestured to the stewardess for a refill. She came to claim his glass and stepped away.
“What secret is that?” Chey asked, settling back in her seat. The whole thing was much more complex than she would have ever imagined. Sander hadn't just gone home and forgotten her. He'd gone home and been under siege as he called it, fighting for his political—and personal—life.
Sander accepted the new drink, took a measured sip, then said, “She's pregnant.”
Chapter Eighteen
Chey felt like someone had kicked her in the gut. Pregnant? Her shock knew no bounds.
“It's not mine,” Sander said a moment later, when Chey failed to respond. “But it's someone's, which is why this whole thing got a rush job on it. Valentina undoubtedly put restrictions on time, because she knew she could only hide it for so long. The King and Queen obviously don't know, or they never would have agreed, since that would make a bastard the King or Queen of Latvala one day. Valentina's been playing us all.” He paused, then added, “But not for much longer.”
“Are you sure it's not yours?” Chey asked, blown away by the news. She couldn't recover from the sheer magnitude of what was happening.
“No. I've never slept with her. Not on our 'wedding night' or any day after. She's knocked up by some playboy who isn't titled, I'm sure, and this is her best shot at avoiding a scandal that will bring Weithan Royalty into unwanted limelight. It must have happened after Monte Carlo, since she'd been content to wait until Spring before then.”
Falling silent, Chey absorbed everything Sander told her. Many things now began to make much better sense. Finally, she said, “Were you afraid they were watching you, is that why you couldn't get word out sooner?”
“I didn't just suspect it, I knew they were monitoring me. It was tricky to just get the note out that I did. The King put a few of his security team on me, and they stuck like glue. I could hardly breathe for the way they suffocated my personal space. Anyway, we only have a small time frame to sneak you into the country, so that's why it was critical to go now.”
“Why such a small window?” she asked, remembering to take a drink from her glass.
“Because I have the current customs official in my pocket as well, but not the ones three shifts after. Nor the one before. I can only make so many trips stateside before someone gets suspicious, which makes slipping you in precarious to say the least.” He arched his brows and finished his fourth drink of the day.
“You should have just told me all this at the cemetery,” Chey said. “I wouldn't have given you such a hard time.”
“Would you have believed the very abbreviated version of this story?” he asked with a droll lilt to his accent.
Chey actually laughed. “Well...now that you mention it, probably not. I would have thought you were just saying anything to get me to go with you.”
“Right.” He nodded once, then tilted his head back against the chair, watching her through the slats of his lashes.
“Where will I be staying then, if not the family seat?” she asked, imagining some cabin in the woods far from prying Royal eyes. Then she recalled mention of another castle.
“Kallaster Castle. You won't need to fear the staff there will turn you in, or relay information that you're in the country. Still, everyone will need to be mildly vigilant for a while until I blow this whole thing wide open. Visitors rarely come without prior warning, considering it's on an island and passage can get dangerous in bad weather, but extra attention will have to be paid. I think you'll like it there,” he added, knees parting wide when he slouched down. Sander looked tired in that moment, as if the long hours and days of the past weeks were finally taking a toll.
“This feels risky,” she admitted, of her return to Latvala. “How long will we have to keep a lid on it? I mean—how long until I won't have to feel that my life is in danger?”
“It's less risky to me to have you where I can see you, so to speak, than to have you half way around the world. Honestly, I just don't trust that Valentina or the King and Queen won't try to finish you off. They won't be expecting me to do something so bold. In my mind, Kallaster Castle is the last place they'll think to find you.” He paused, reaching an arm up over his head to clasp the seat with his hand. “Like the rest of us, you'll always have to be a little cautious. But I plan to make sure the King and Queen are shut down with any plans to harm you again. Maybe...three weeks? Four? Mattias and I are still figuring when and where to expose this mess. We need to do it at the right time, get as much bang for our buck as we can.”
“That makes sense,” Chey said, following the line of his arm with her eyes. She trailed down to his chest, then his stomach, to the way the jeans fit over his muscular thighs. Turning her thoughts back to more serious things, she glanced at his face to find him watching her as if he knew exactly what she'd been thinking.
She quirked her lips at him.
He smiled, lazy and leonine.
“You're not completely off the hook, you know,” she said. “I'm still smarting over seeing you get married. Well, watching your fake marriage.”
His shoulders shook with a silent laugh. “What will it take to get me back in your good graces?”
Chey hated the way the velvet rasp of his voice brought shivers down her spine. “That's for me to know and you to find out.”
“Does it involve the bedroom in the back?”
“Sander!” Chey glanced over her shoulder; the stewardess was nowhere in sight.
“I'm only saying what you're thinking,” he drawled.
Chey glanced back. “You look about as capable for a romp as I look to go walking down a Milan runway.”
He exhaled, as if she would just never get it. Then he leaned forward, snatched her out of her chair, and hauled her back to the bedroom.
Sander shut the door with a decisive thud of his boot.
. . .
Chey hadn't lied when she said he wasn't completely off the hook. In the aftermath of lust that had left them both shattered and breathless, Chey stared up at the ceiling of the p
lane, one arm tucked behind her head, and wondered whether Sander would succeed in besting Valentina and the King. He seemed to have all the chess pieces necessary, and, at least from her vantage, was closing in on a check-mate.
One of the lessons she'd learned in life was that you could never count on anything going to plan. There was always some juggernaut waiting to throw a wrench into your well oiled machine. The wrench in this case could be that the King himself had a counter to Sander's blackmail. Maybe he had something powerful in his coffer Sander couldn't envision, hadn't foreseen.
You're such a paranoid skeptic, she chided herself.
Wynn hadn't been happy to hear of Chey's plans. On the way to the private airstrip, they'd found a payphone for Chey to make a quick call, and she'd informed Wynn what she needed her to do in less than thirty seconds.
Wynn's protests rang in Chey's mind. Have you totally lost all good sense? You really believe that nonsense he's probably selling you? What if he can't protect you like you think he can?
They'd talked over each other, until finally, Wynn had given up and agreed to do as Chey asked.
Of course Chey had doubts and fears. Sander's plan had worked so far—maybe he would see it successfully through to the end. The what ifs plagued Chey while she rolled onto her side to face Sander. He was out cold, on his stomach, one arm flung wide.
What if he couldn't protect her, and Aksel and Helina discovered she was in the country? Would they send her to jail—or plan something more sinister? Even if Sander orchestrated the blackmail to its highest advantage, would it really keep her safe?
She trailed her fingers over the warm skin of Sander's back, tracing muscle, tracing bone. He rumbled, but didn't waken.
On the other hand, reverse to her worries and fears, was the blossoming sensation of pride and affection that he'd taken the time to fit her into his plan. That he was concerned enough over her well being that he'd risked seeking her out in public at the cemetery, and taking her to the hotel. Once they were on the plane, he'd explained as he said he would—and what a tale it had been. It pleased her to know that Sander hadn't taken Valentina to bed on their fake wedding night.
King and Kingdom (Royals Book 2) Page 17