“Is this the catastrophe I was summoned back for?” Sander closed the door with a sharp click. He paused, met Natalia's eyes, and said, “Yes, you will attend the wedding, and you will pretend to be happy about it.”
Chey stood to the side, silent, hands clasped before her. A steadying mantra ran through her mind. Better get used to it. This will be your life until you die. Natalia won't ever like or trust you, so just ignore the venom and take care of business. Be the bigger person. She snorted at herself. An hour ago, she was the one suggesting Natalia be left out of the ceremony. Her pep talk had a healthy dose of hypocrisy involved.
Right before Chey's eyes, Sander's patience and tolerance disintegrated. His expression turned stony, blue gaze flinty and ice cold. She glanced from one sibling to another.
“It's more serious than it seems on the surface,” Mattias said. He inclined his head to Chey in greeting, then looked at Natalia.
Chey dipped a nod to Mattias. She added nothing to the conversation. Anything she said would only antagonize Natalia further.
“Really,” Sander said. It wasn't a question. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked between Mattias and Natalia. “What, then?”
“If you make me go? You'll regret it,” Natalia spat. “I will cause all kinds of problems, ones I don't think your little bride here would appreciate on her wedding day. What a pity it would be if I accidentally stepped on her train, or spilled wine all down the front of the dress. I'm sure she would love that on national television.”
“If I didn't know better, Nat, I would say you're still six years old in a snit over a doll fight. Are you serious?” Sander said. The quiet nature of his voice alluded to a slow burning fury that, unleashed, would rain hell down upon many heads.
Chey shuddered at the idea of Natalia fulfilling her promises. The media around the world would have a field day if the bride of the King suddenly face planted while attempting to be poised and demure.
Natalia didn't seem fearful in the slightest. She marched around the table toward Sander, chin in the air, eyes gleaming with indignation. “Don't you stand there and pass judgment on me! You're not my brother--”
“By half, and there's no getting around it,” Sander said, cutting her off. “Not only that, but I'm your King, and if you so much as raise a finger to defile this wedding, I will make your life miserable in ways you'd never expect. Grow up, Natalia. Aksel may have coddled you beyond good reason, but I will not.”
The tone in Sander's voice brought goose bumps to Chey's skin. He sounded deadly serious.
Natalia, face purple with rage, stopped five feet from Sander. “Your threats mean nothing to me. What are you going to do, ground me? Laughable. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but our cousins don't wish to be present in her wedding either. Are you going to threaten them as well?”
“I'll believe that when I see it. Our cousins will do the right thing. Also, Natalia, you should know by now that grounding would be the least of your worries. Don't push me on this, I'm warning you.” Sander stared at Natalia, blue eyes rife with disappointment.
Chey wished Sander would just put his foot down about this one thing. Maybe he knew the advisers would be relentless about having Natalia involved and persisted so they would stay off his back about it. This wasn't Sander pushing an agenda, it was the legislators and people who dealt with public perception pushing their agenda. Attempting to heal a nation beset by scandal and death.
Natalia arched a brow, haughty and undeterred. “Don't say I didn't tell you later, when the world is afire with the wreck of your wedding.”
Sander took a step forward and caught his sister under the chin with his fingers. Forcing her to maintain eye contact. “The world will be afire with your wrongdoings instead. You're so bitter you would bring shame to your own name? How can you think to perform all these atrocities and not be seen by the cameras? No man will want you then—not that any do now.”
Chey sucked in a quiet breath at the insult. It was true she'd never seen Natalia with the same man twice at any function.
Natalia's face reddened, eyes narrowing. She swatted at Sander's hand on her chin and met the cold steel of his resistance. He did not let go.
“I am much craftier than you give me credit for. The blame will fall to her, not me,” Natalia said. She wrenched her chin out of Sander's grasp then and stumbled two steps back.
“As I said, Natalia. Interfere at your own peril. I have zero tolerance for your antics right now,” Sander said, following Natalia's path across the room with his eyes.
Natalia paused at the door, pinning a hateful look on Chey first, then Sander. “Tell the advisers. Convince them to leave me and our cousins out. That's the last I'll say on it,” she said, before slamming the door in her wake.
. . .
“Trust us, Chey, we would rather leave her out of it at this point,” Mattias said several minutes after Natalia left. “But the advisers are concerned about the public, and what any more rifts in the family might do to the fabric that ties this country together.”
Chey, who had put her concerns about Natalia out there once more, paced alongside a line of chairs. She was too restless to sit down.
“I understand,” Chey said. “And what of their perception if she follows through with her threats? If I understand her right, she's going to be undermining me, not the rest of you. It doesn't set well.”
“My sister likes to run her mouth. She's more bark than bite—most of the time,” Sander said. He was still staring at the door as if he considered going after Natalia for a final word.
“She wasn't all bark when she threw her glass at me, or showed up at my hotel room with airplane tickets to leave the country. Never mind all the threats,” Chey said.
Sander switched his attention from the door to Chey. “She won't be doing anything like that.”
“I hope not.” That was all Chey decided to say about it. Sander needed to take care of it, and she put her faith in him to do so. One woman shouldn't be allowed to wreak such havoc.
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation.
Sander strode over to open it. On the other side stood Mister Urmas, the liaison between the King and the council members. Attired in a pristine navy suit, his white shirt cut through vertically by a red and blue striped tie, Urmas held a folder in his hands. He got right down to business.
“Excuse me, your Majesty. Princess Natalia informed me you were through with your meeting and I have some things to discuss with you and Miss Sinclair,” he said.
Sander looked briefly annoyed. “We weren't through, but come in anyway.”
With an uncertain glance at Mattias and Chey, Urmas stepped into the room. “Thank you. If you'll have a seat?”
Chey diverted to one of the chairs around the long table, whispering her gratitude to Mattias when he aided in seating her. Mattias headed for the door before Sander could close it.
“Sander, find me later. I'll have a talk with Natalia. Chey,” he said, and departed with a cordial nod.
After Mattias was gone, Sander circled the table and sat next to Chey. Leaning back in the chair, he sprawled his legs under the table and looked expectantly at Urmas.
Opening the folder after taking a seat of his own, Urmas got down to business. “I know I mentioned yesterday that time is running short, but the planners and coordinators are adamant that we have decisions about the final details by no later than tomorrow evening.”
“We're using the third church,” Sander said.
“Excellent.” Urmas took a pen out of his pocket and made notes on a page in the folder. “What of the floral arrangements and bridesmaid's dresses?”
“I'll have everything finalized by tonight,” Chey said to Urmas. “I needed to see which church we were using and get an idea for how many flowers. The swatches for the dresses, linens on the tables and other reception design are already attached to my notes.”
“Very good, Miss Sinclair. I'll have someone come col
lect your final notes tomorrow morning at Kallaster, is that sufficient?” he asked.
“Yes, it's fine.” Chey, edgy about working out the last minute details after viewing the church, wanted to get back to Kallaster to double check everything.
“The wedding dress?” he asked next.
“I'm wearing the one indicated by the advisers that best fits the ceremony,” she said. The devil on her shoulder wanted to blurt out that she was wearing the other one and to hell with the advisers.
“Perfect. I'll make sure you begin your fittings immediately to make alterations as needed. The bridesmaids as well.” Urmas made another few notes in his folder. “Then there is the matter of etiquette training.”
Chey glanced at Sander, brows arched. Etiquette training? He gave her a steady look and inclined his head, as if he expected something like this.
“What does that entail, exactly?” Chey asked, returning her attention to Mister Urmas.
“They will teach you what and what not to do in public. How to speak in front of a crowd, what reactions to have to news you may not be expecting. That kind of thing.” Urmas finished writing his notes and met Chey's eyes.
“All right,” Chey replied. What could she say? If it was expected of her, then she had no choice.
“Also, you'll need to attend classes on Latvala history and language. The sooner the better. Oh, and a new personal attendant, Hanna, will see to your hair, make up and advise you on appropriate clothing styles. She is now your direct liaison to everyone and everything else.”
Chey wondered what was wrong with doing her own hair and make up. No one had complained yet. Urmas arched a brow at her hesitation.
“Yes, okay,” Chey finally said. She clasped her hands in her lap, a more sedate gesture than she felt like making at the moment.
“One final thing. You need to move back to the castle here immediately,” Urmas said.
“No,” Sander replied.
“Your Majesty--”
“We're not moving back to the main castle.” Sander's voice took on a warning edge.
“The cost of flying you both back and forth at every whim will become prohibitive. Not only that, but flying others out to the castle for all these things,” Urmas gestured at the folder before him, “only adds to the bill. The council recommends that during this very busy time, you and Miss Sinclair return until the wedding is over. Already there are people questioning the expense--”
“Who?” Sander asked with narrowed eyes. “We have made far fewer trips than someone else might.”
Urmas shifted in his chair and glanced at the folder.
Chey noticed the liaison seemed hesitant, uncomfortable. Had someone really complained?
“Urmas,” Sander said, his tone edging impatience.
“Your brother, Prince Paavo, your Majesty. He submitted a Projection of Expenses to the council.” Urmas met Sander's gaze dead on.
Sander laughed. “Paavo, who probably spends more on his custom made clothing for he and his intended than a hundred helicopter trips combined? Please.”
Urmas cleared his throat and fiddled with the pen. “Regardless, this is not the kind of thing we want to get out right before the wedding, your Majesty. The council wishes public perception to remain enamored with the upcoming nuptials and this might throw cold water on their euphoric mood.”
Chey cautioned herself not to say a word. Coming from someone who had grown up outside the realm of the elite and royalty, most of what was being said in this room seemed outright ludicrous to her. It was shocking when she allowed herself to really consider the implications of what she was hearing. The level of control about what, and how, information reached the citizens knew no bounds.
“Is Paavo threatening to go public with it?” Sander's blunt question appeared to catch Urmas off guard.
“I really couldn't say, your Majesty--”
“Urmas, just call me Sander in here for crying out loud.” Sander's impatience spilled over. He waved away formalities with a slice of his hand.
Urmas opened his mouth like he might counter the King, then closed it again. “Of course.”
Chey tried not to be amused that Urmas refused to say Sander's name. None of it was at all funny. She didn't want to move back to the castle any more than Sander did.
“Is Paavo threatening to use the information against me? Other than taking it to the council,” Sander repeated.
“I honestly don't know,” Urmas said, sitting back in his chair. His posture remained stiff and upright. “But why take the chance of the information spilling into the wrong hands?”
“It wouldn't take that much,” Sander said. “All he would have to do is spread it around to certain people with the right connections. The next thing you know, it's gone viral over the internet, by word of mouth and through any paper willing to print an unconfirmed report.”
Urmas tilted his head in agreement.
Sander grew silent. Elbow propped on the table, he curled his fingers near his mouth, expression contemplative.
“There's more,” Urmas said.
“Of course there is,” Sander replied in a droll voice.
“Crown Prince Bashir of the Afshar Dynasty will be arriving in three days. His people expect the Prince to stay here at the family seat, not Pallan island. All his security has prepared for it. Changing destinations at the last second will be considered rude.”
“Isn't that a little early for the ceremony?” Sander asked, frowning.
“It appears this was their arrival date all along.” Urmas shrugged his eyebrows in a what can you do way.
“Huh.” Sounding perplexed, Sander exhaled and let his gaze drift to the ceiling, then to Chey. “Well, we certainly can't turn him away.”
“No,” Urmas agreed.
Chey regarded both men with a critical eye. She really didn't need lessons on how to act; all she had to do was watch the others and take her cues from them. When Sander glanced her way, Chey knew then that he'd made the decision to move back to the main castle. What else could he do? She understood he—and thus they—had no choice. She didn't allow her own expression to give anything away. See, Mister Urmas? I'm a quick learner. No classes needed.
“We'll return until the wedding. No need to send someone for Chey's details, we'll bring them with us,” Sander said, rising from his seat in clear indication he was through with the meeting.
Urmas gathered the folder and his pen and rose as well. He bowed his head to Sander and Chey. “Very well, your Majesty. Miss Sinclair.”
Chey nodded her goodbye.
Urmas turned on a polished shoe and left the room.
Chey met Sander's eyes. “It's going to be an interesting two weeks.”
. . .
Mattias cruised the halls of the castle with easy familiarity. Taking the stairs by two, he eventually arrived at the third floor. He knew where to find his errant sister without having to inquire of the guard which direction she went. At her bedroom door, he used a knuckle to knock three times.
“Go away,” came the petulant voice from inside. The clink of glass on glass followed.
Mattias twisted the knob in his hand, unsurprised to find the door unlocked. Natalia never locked anything—car doors, bedroom doors, hotel rooms—thanks to the levels of protection she'd come to depend on her whole life. Stepping inside, he was also unsurprised to find Natalia at the side bar, pouring a drink.
Closing the door with a quiet click, he waited for the abrasive rant about to take place.
“What part of go away don't you understand, Mattias? When you know I don't want to be disturbed, then stay the hell out of my room. I don't barge in on you when you need to be alone.” She glared across the decadently decorated space and lifted the glass to her mouth for a sip.
Strolling deeper into the formal sitting area with its richly textured sofas and heavy tables, he closed the distance by half, choosing to stop near an overstuffed chair with a floral motif. “Are you done? Or do you need another few
minutes?”
“Don't antagonize me. You can't pretend to think it's fine that I have to be a part of this ridiculous wedding.” Stepping away from the table, tumbler in hand, she headed to a couch where she settled with stiff indignation.
“Actually, I'm ashamed that you can't do what you need to for your brother,” he countered, staring at her with disapproval he didn't bother to hide.
“Brother.” She made a dismissive gesture reminiscent of Sander when he was impatient.
“If you're angry with anyone, be angry at the King and Queen for hiding the truth, not the boy who didn't know better growing up. He was just like you and the rest of us—oblivious to the secrets lurking in these halls.” Mattias chided her with his eyes and his voice. He knew she was blaming Sander for things that were out of their collective control simply because he was an easy target.
“I'll be angry at anyone I choose. How dare you come in here and--”
“Stop being nasty, Natalia. Why are you so defensive? Do you think Dare looks at you any different just because someone told him we're not full blooded siblings?”
On the back end of a longer drink that left a wince at the corner of her eye, she said, “Of course. Why wouldn't he? What I don't understand is how you can stick up for him when he stole the throne right out from beneath you.”
“I don't see it that way. Dare has earned the right to be where he is. The citizens love him, like he loves them. He also loves you, whether you choose to believe that or not.”
Natalia's gaze dove down into her glass. She gave the potent contents a swirl.
“Remember that before you do something you'll regret. Ruining his wedding would be the perfect opportunity to put a serious wedge between you that you may never recover from.” Mattias wondered if any of this was getting through. He supposed the fact she hadn't thrown her glass at him like she had Chey was progress.
The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) Page 2