Leander's hand landed on her arm and squeezed, as if he knew exactly what she was doing and wanted to offer comfort.
Chey smiled a small smile for the gesture. She knew he was also trying to tell her that they would find Sander alive and well.
We better, she thought.
Chapter Two
Vogeva was the quaintest town Chey had ever seen. On previous visits, she'd fallen in love with the coastal village and the clapboard, peak-roofed houses in various colors. Weathered buildings lined the main street, each and every one different from the next. The businesses ranged from a baker to a post office to a boat rental shop. There was a café, a regular restaurant and a clothier. Cobbles had been used for the street itself rather than asphalt, adding to the picturesque appeal. Chey always felt like she was stepping back in time whenever she came here.
After the helicopter landed in a nearby field, Chey trekked across the open landscape toward town with Leander at her side. It wasn't a far walk. The scent of coffee and food wafted on a salty ocean breeze, alluring and enticing.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Leander said, as if he was starting to have doubts they would find Sander anywhere near here.
“Not if you know his older habits,” Chey said. “To my knowledge, he hasn't done this in a long time.” Because it wasn't safe to any longer. Chey transitioned from wild grass to cobbles and finally to the wooden plank running the entire length of the front of the businesses.
“It's a sleepy little place, for sure. Is he fishing or something?” Leander asked, keeping an eye out around them.
Chey had faith that Leander could protect them from any unwanted advances or attacks. She knew he had a weapon or two somewhere on his body. Never mind that Leander was quite adept at hand to hand combat. She'd seen it firsthand.
“Probably not fishing, no.” Chey couldn't be sure exactly which business Sander might be inhabiting, but she had a good place to start. The café ahead, with its single wood and glass door, served some of the best pastries and coffee in the land. She grabbed the brass handle and entered ahead of Leander, letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer interior. Small tables sat near the front facing windows, while cozy booths lined two walls. A short bar sat straight ahead with round stools for customers. She dragged in a breath, stomach growling at the smells coming from a hidden kitchen.
“Hello, and welcome. What can I get you today?” a waitress asked. She wore sensible clothing—black pants and a simple button down of white—with a full apron over the front. A moment after the waitress asked the question, when she got a good look at Chey's face, she flashed a wide smile. “Last I heard, he'd gone to the docks.”
This was what Chey loved about this land and the people. Rather than bow and scrape and call attention to her position by using the honorific, the woman simply acted as if Chey was just another patron. She'd deduced that Chey had come searching for Sander and given up what information she had without hesitation.
Returning the smile with one of her own, Chey inclined her head. “Thank you. I'll check there next.”
“Coffee before you go?” the waitress asked, extending the question to Leander by virtue of a glance.
“I'm good for now, thanks,” Leander said.
“Maybe on the way out. Thank you again.” Chey led Leander out of the café and followed the boardwalk toward the end of the street. Somewhere, between a few of the buildings, she knew narrow alleyways would lead her where she wanted to go. Cutting between two businesses, she took a shortcut to the docks. Clouds had thickened across the early morning sky, blocking out the sun, casting a gray pall over the landscape.
A few fishermen nodded respectfully in passing as she and Leander emerged on the backside of the businesses. Docks ran the length of the waterfront here, set apart from the stores by a broad, cobbled street used for deliveries and to offload supplies from incoming boats. There were more people here, mostly men, bundled in thick sweatshirts or jackets, beanie type hats and gloves to combat the chill. A group down the way seemed to be readying to go out fishing, and another pair of men were rolling up a long net.
Her gaze landed on a docked boat and four men who offloaded sacks of grain or rice or some other non-perishable food. The distinct size of one of the men was a dead giveaway. Taller, broader and more muscular than his companions, the man wore an old pair of yellow slickers and heavy weather boots. The long sleeved white thermal hugged his broad back and followed the contours of his big arms. Blonde strands of hair inched out from beneath a navy skullcap, further assuring Chey she had the right man. Veering that direction, she led the way toward the quartet, her boots thudding on the docks. She shot Leander a quelling look when he rumbled a quiet laugh, having also spied the errant king doing common chores.
Leander cleared his throat but could not quite subdue all his humor.
As a sack landed atop the growing pile, Chey marched up behind Sander with the intent of tapping him sweetly on the shoulder to announce her presence. Instead, before her finger could poke his body, she suddenly found herself wrapped in a strong pair of arms and twisted around until she was helplessly trapped against Sander's chest, staring up at his scowling face.
“How did you know it was--” Her question got cut off by a question (or two) of Sander's own.
“What are you doing here? Where are your guards?”
Chey returned Sander's glare. He looked scruffy, his whiskers covering the better part of his jaw. “I could say the same thing about you, your Majesty. I don't see any security in sight at all.” After a moment, she added, “And you smell like fish.”
One of the other men unloading sacks of grain laughed. Otherwise, the men continued to offload, unaffected that the king and queen of Latvala were having a mild marital spat. Leander stepped past, clapped Sander amicably on the shoulder, and began hauling sacks to the docks in his place.
“You shouldn't worry about my welfare. I can take care of myself,” Sander said with a stern frown.
“So can I.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really. Haven't I proven it time and again?”
“You've proven to be a real handful, that's what you've proven.”
Chey almost ruined it and smiled. He never failed to catch her off guard when they were bantering or 'arguing'. She had a hard time resisting him when he got stern like this, and the longer she stared into his bluer than blue eyes, the more she melted inside. “You're one to talk,” she scoffed, drawing a ragged laugh out of him.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that's so.”
“And what do you think you're going to do about it? Hm? I've got the upper hand here,” he pointed out.
Chey could think of far worse positions to be in than trapped against Sander's chest, his arms securing her body to his. “You've put yourself in a bad position, is what you've done, because all I have to do is perform a sideways ninja move and you'll wind up in the bay.”
“Crushed between boats, too. I'll be a cardboard cutout of a man in your bed after that, and how fun would that be?”
Chey imagined Sander compressed into a cardboard cutout and laughed out loud. He took advantage and kissed her. Chey wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, lingering in the affection until Leander pointedly cleared his throat.
“I thought Sander was In Big Trouble,” Leander said. One could almost hear the capitals on the appropriate words.
Chey broke away from the kiss, amused at Leander's retort. “He is. Just because he got a kiss doesn't mean he isn't grounded.”
Three sailors and Leander all laughed at the same time. Sander snorted and tilted Chey into a straighter, upright position. He did not let her go. “You don't have the authority to ground me, Missus Ahtissari. I do what I want, when I want.”
“We'll see how arrogant and haughty you are when I suddenly have a headache for two weeks in a row.”
Sander looked taken aback. “You wouldn't dare.”
Chey let her brows float upwards as i
f to say, wouldn't I? In reality, she'd be hurting herself as much as she'd be hurting him. Chey enjoyed his affection as much as he enjoyed hers.
In the background, Leander muttered, “You're in it now, brother.”
A devilish grin cut across Sander's mouth when he heard Leander, but he never took his eyes off Chey. In a slightly raspy, sexy voice, he said, “I bet I could change your mind.”
Chey wasn't about to deny it. Not when he looked at her like that, and sounded like he wanted to nibble all her most sensitive places. She shuddered, then batted his shoulder. “Let me go. You don't play fair at all.”
Laughing a boisterous laugh, Sander kissed her once more then released her. “We're almost done here, then we can go.”
Chey stood aside as Sander rejoined the efforts to finish unloading the grain. Secretly, she loved how personable he was with his countrymen, how he didn't mind getting his hands dirty to do 'real work'. She remembered how he used to visit the small villages along Latvala's coastline before he was king, stopping to talk or have coffee with the natives. He'd won many citizen's loyalty over that, people who supported him still. Those days were supposed to be over, the days of taking leisurely strolls in the open, alone. Sander's advisors and Generals would have a fit if they knew he'd been here all along, working alongside the fishermen, unprotected from attack.
If she was honest with herself, she wasn't that happy either, not after he'd nearly died when his own brother had blown up a convoy he'd been riding in. Those had been frightening days Chey would never forget.
Losing Sander scared her more than anything.
Admiring the flex of muscle while he worked, Chey considered ways to make sure this didn't happen again. At the same time, she cringed inwardly at the thought of taking something he treasured away. This was a release for him, kept him intimately connected with his people. He enjoyed being among them, getting to know them, being one of them. She also didn't want to see him dead. He was entirely unprotected out here from a sniper, which he couldn't fend off from fifty yards away. One of the fishermen could be an undercover spy and dump him over the boat before anyone knew what happened. They weren't, and for that she was thankful.
Once the last sack hit the dock, Sander clasped hands with the men and bade them goodbye. Leander did the same. Circling his arm around her hips, Sander escorted Chey down the docks to the walkway.
“So, where to now? Don't suppose we have time to stop for breakfast before we make the trip back to Pallan Island?” he asked with a boyish grin.
“Sander--”
“I know, I know. That puts us both out in the open and at risk. I feel safe enough to eat with Leander at our side. What say you, brother? Up for a meal?” Sander slanted a look askance to Leander.
“I'm starving. Let's do it.” Leander clapped his hands together in anticipation.
Chey couldn't argue with their boisterous good mood. “If anything happens to you, Sander Darrion, I'll hurt you. Real bad.”
“That sounds enjoyable. You should up the stakes of your threats, love,” he retorted.
She laughed and batted him in the stomach. “Just take us to eat already.”
“Whatever you say.”
Chey couldn't help but keep a worried eye on the calm streets of the city as they made their way to Sander's favorite restaurant. The men might not be outwardly worried, but she worried enough for all three of them.
She'd learned by bitter experience that no one could predict when or where an attack might occur.
*
Seated next to Sander in a cozy booth, Chey forked up the last bite of her hash and potatoes. Covered with cooked egg, the meal was a favorite though one she didn't eat often. Used to a lighter type of breakfast, Chey nevertheless enjoyed the rich fare while the men devoured every single thing on their plates. Sander had a hearty appetite anyway, what with his constant training and exercise. Today was no different.
The fishermen and other dock workers that came and went from the mountain-themed restaurant all paid their respects to their king in the same casual manner as the rest. Chey was able to relax at least a little and appreciate the smooth polish on the natural wood table, the weathered walls and the large potbelly stove that took up a large portion of the middle of the room. When customers were chilled, all they had to do was add wood from a covered stack just behind the stove.
As the waitress poured another round of coffee, Leander cupped his hands around his mug and asked, “So, how are things in the hinterlands? Making progress?”
“Better than they were last year, and the year before that.” Sander grunted and quirked his lips.
“But still struggling?” Leander asked.
“A little. What's been surprising is how some people bought so deeply into Paavo's lies. They still think he might get free and come to implement the false changes he promised.” Sander turned his mug a half circle but didn't lift it for a sip.
Chey watched Sander aside, understanding a lot more about his reaction to Leander's question than he let on. Years ago, his brother Paavo had attempted a coup. Sander had wound up in the hospital and Chey had been accosted and taken to a distant castle in the kingdom. Paavo had nearly succeeded in his quest to become king. Many innocent people had perished during the mayhem, with Paavo pitting certain citizens against one another; those loyal to him, and those loyal to Sander. Regaining control of his country, Sander worked hard to mend the broken ties with the people. Things were not optimal, yet he had made incredible strides as far as Chey was concerned. He was only one man, and his tireless determination to get Latvala back on solid footing was slowly coming to fruition. Leander had a huge hand in helping right the wrongs, though he hadn't been to the hinterlands in some time.
“Speaking of Paavo—what are you going to do with him? Continue to leave him in the traitor's prison? I hear he doesn't suffer,” Leander said.
Sander scrubbed his fingers through his whiskers. “That's where he belongs. Some of the citizens don't agree with it. They think we should give him another try. But they weren't there to see the men dying of burn wounds and worse when Paavo ordered the strike on my convoy. Good soldiers were lost. Wives and children lost husbands and fathers. That was the lesser of his atrocities, so no, I won't be letting Paavo out of prison any time soon.”
“I agree with you. He forfeited his chance at redemption with the taking of so many lives.” Leander, matter-of-fact about Paavo's circumstance, had another drink of his coffee. “I'd heard a few bureaucrats recently demanded the issue be brought to the attention of the council and feared there might be a vote.”
“They can squawk all they want to. Paavo will remain behind bars.” Sander sipped the hot coffee.
“Sometimes, it seems the bureaucrats aren't really for Latvala's interests at all. It makes me wonder where their true allegiance lies,” Chey added. This was a hot topic between her and Sander of late. Several of the lobbyists had been demanding more trade between Latvala and other countries, or easier access to Latvala's assets. Chey added, “Often, I get the impression they want to sell off portions of the country to the highest bidder.”
Sander shot her a disgruntled but agreeable look. “It matters what I say in the end, and I'll die before allowing foreign interests to permanently take control of any of our land.”
“I hope so. I mean—not that I want you dead,” Leander hastened to say, grinning at the awkward way the wording came out. He grew serious a moment later. “But that you don't sell pieces of the country off for money. I can name countless other countries who have done the same and are now in deep trouble.”
“It won't happen here. You can be sure of it.” Sander set his mug down after another swallow and palmed the warm earthenware. His hands were so big they dwarfed the vessel.
“I'm glad to know you're sticking to your guns. Mattias was just grumbling the other day about the very same things. He is also not predisposed to giving the lobbyists what they want,” Leander said.
Sander smiled
knowingly. “My brother and I are of the same mind about our country. Gunnar as well.”
Chey reached a hand down to lay it atop Sander's thigh, a casual sort of intimacy in the otherwise serious discussion. Gunnar, Sander's youngest brother, was following in his and Mattias's footsteps. He was a prince worthy of the title.
“Thank God,” Leander retorted. “I'd have to find new kings and princes to offer my services to.”
Chey laughed at the same time as Sander. Leander was a trusted friend and confidant to them both. As well as the husband of Chey's best friend, Wynn. Chey couldn't imagine life without Leander and Wynn in it.
“If anyone would have you,” Sander added.
“It's the steep price I charge. Few princes can afford me.” Leander puffed his chest up, then exhaled a laugh.
Chey scoffed while Sander snorted. Chey said, “You no doubt have to charge exorbitant prices to appease Wynn's shopping sprees.”
Leander slapped a hand over his heart melodramatically. “Don't mention the shopping sprees, you cruel woman.”
Amused, Chey sipped the coffee then set down her cup. “I do try and curtail her spending habits when we go out.”
Sander barked a laugh and reached down to squeeze Chey's hand. “That is the biggest line of bull I've ever heard. Now let's go before you try and tell Leander that your sprees are for the good of the country or some nonsense.”
“It is good for the country! Wynn and I heartily support the talented tailors and shop owners in the cities.”
The men rolled their eyes in playful exaggeration and slid from the booth. Sander laid down a hefty tip for the waitress. Hand in hand, Chey allowed Sander to lead her to the exit. Leander stepped out first, on alert for anything unusual or suspicious. He signaled the all clear.
Disaster, at least for today, had been averted.
Arriving at the waiting helicopter fifteen minutes later, the pilot twisted in the seat to deliver a message to Sander once they'd embarked. “Your Highness, you're needed at the main castle. It's urgent.”
A Royal Legacy Page 2