“She's in recovery now, your Majesty. She's not awake, but you're welcome to sit with her.”
Sander inclined his head and said to Mattias, “Tell the others, will you? I'm going in.”
“I will. I'm very happy to hear she'll pull through.” Mattias's own relief was obvious and sincere. He pulled Sander into a brief but warm hug.
Sander embraced Mattias tightly, sharing a moment of emotion together, before he stepped away. He had a recovering wife to see.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beeps and clicks. Shuffles of clothing. A tingle on her arm. Whooshes and sighs. Chey heard the sounds from a distance. She didn't know what it meant, or why everything seemed to be on repeat.
Beeps and clicks. Whooshes and sighs. Shuffles of clothing.
She tried to open her eyes, slow to shrug off the sluggishness that plagued her. Everything beyond her lashes was a blur of gray and white, the shapes indistinguishable from one another.
Why couldn't she wake up?
A darker shadow blocked out the gray and white, looming above her head. She couldn't make out details. This time, a different sound combined with the rest; a rumbling groan that she realized, after a moment, came from herself.
Instantly, a pleasant baritone—a familiar baritone—obliterated all the other noises.
“Chey? Chey, can you hear me?”
Sander. Now she recognized the shape of his head, the beloved features as her vision started to clear. “Where am I?” She wasn't sure why he peered down at her like that, eyes suspiciously watery—or perhaps that was just her imagination.
“You're in the hospital. Recovering from surgery.”
Beeps and clicks. Shuffles of clothing. Tubes and wires. Whooshes and sighs.
“Oh,” she said, more breath than sound. She couldn't feel much below the neck, though she did feel Sander's warm hand around her own. Images rushed back as she studied his face, the concern in his eyes switching to affection and adoration. She whispered, “Paavo shot me.”
Sander licked his lips. Fury flickered in and out of his gaze. “He said he did, yes. But how are you feeling? Are you in pain? Should I get the doctor?”
“No doctor.” Chey didn't want anything to disturb her time with Sander. She needed to tell him how serious the situation was with Paavo. “He's got the prison. Sander, he means to come after you--”
“Shh, shh. I know. We've got him in custody and are rounding up his men. Don't worry, we've got it under control. You just concentrate on healing and getting better.” He stroked the back of his fingers gently across her cheek.
Chey realized that Sander was suffering greatly. She could feel the waves of angst and worry, could read the desperation in his features. There was relief, too. “I'll be okay. I don't feel too bad, really.” Probably because she couldn't feel most of her body. Drugs, she thought, and left over anesthesia from surgery. The pain would come, she knew, as the narcotics wore off.
“I don't imagine you do. You're slurring as bad as a drunk sailor,” he said.
Chey laughed, or thought she laughed. A sound burbled in her throat, a faint echo of her usual boisterous belly laughs.
Sander bent down to brush several kisses to her forehead. He whispered against her skin. “I love you more than anything. Thank you for staying.”
It was only then that she realized she must have had a closer call than she thought. Had she almost died? Chey remembered the gun going off, a blossom of pain, and falling. She remembered the shock of knowing she'd been shot—and then nothing.
“I love you, too,” she whispered back. “I'm sorry if I gave you a scare.” Chey recalled how frightened she'd been when Sander sank into a coma after an attack on his caravan.
He leaned back far enough to see her eyes. “It wasn't your fault. You didn't know he'd pull a gun on you.”
“But I shouldn't have ever gone to the prison. I should have stayed home--” Chey gasped, her whole body twitching when she thought of the kids. “Sander, where are the kids? You have to--”
“Don't worry, don't worry. They were on their way to Ahsan's but now they're flying home. They should be here in an hour or so. They're fine, they're all right,” he reassured her.
Pain lanced through her chest and shoulder and down into her right arm. The numbness from anesthesia was starting to wear off. That was the only reason she felt the tension ease in her limbs and torso. “You're sure they'll be safe? Maybe you should have let them go to Afshar.” Against her will, her lashes closed. She pried them open.
“I told them we'll all go for a short vacation. Ahsan will love the company. He and everyone else has sent you well wishes and lots of love, too. They're in the waiting room with about a thousand bouquets and tons of chocolate.” He smoothed a hand over her hair, a light but endearing touch.
“All right.” She suddenly didn't have the energy to say all the things she wanted to say. Her lashes drooped again. “Sander?”
“Yes? I'm here.” He gently squeezed her fingers.
“Please don't leave. Don't leave when I go to sleep.” She couldn't stay awake any longer. Darkness was dragging her down, down...
*
The next time Chey opened her eyes, she had less trouble focusing. It didn't take as long for her to bring all the smiling, crying faces into view. The clicks and beeps were ever present, along with the whoosh-sigh of the electric door. She saw Sander, who had apparently honored her wish to remain at her side, standing next to the bedside with one hand on her arm. He wore the same dark clothes and his whiskers looked a little more prominent. Wynn, her best friend, sobbed a hello and kissed Chey's temple.
“We were so worried. Thank God you're all right,” Wynn said.
Chey didn't have time to give specific thank-yous. More people moved in to the side of the bed opposite Sander, spending just a second on hellos and well wishes. Leander, Mattias, Mattias's girlfriend Alannah, Natalia, Krislin...Gunnar's wife, and several of Sander's cousins cycled through, touching her arm and her hand or leaving whispery kisses on her cheek. She murmured her thanks for their visit as the group filed out again. In their wake, the gray and white room had been transformed with hundreds of flowers. Vases sat on tables lining the wall, filled to the brim with every kind of flower known to man. It was an explosion of color that brought cheer to the room.
“How're you feeling?” Sander asked, squeezing her hand. His palm smoothed up and down her forearm, a light touch that didn't disturb the wires and tubes.
“Rough,” she admitted. “But all right. You look like you could use some sleep.”
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Bending down, he kissed her cheek. “I'll sleep later. Right now, there are a few other people who are desperate to see you.”
Sander glanced over his shoulder.
Chey released a little sound of excitement when Elias ran into the room. He looked more and more like Sander every day. She held out her other arm, inviting her oldest son—and the heir to the Latvala throne—into her embrace. Elias hugged himself to her side, blue eyes worried yet curious. Emily ran in next, shouting for her mother, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore an adorable white dress with pink piping along the hem and around the collar. Sander lifted the little girl to sit opposite Elias, cautioning her in a quiet voice to be gentle. Emily leaned in and laid her head on Chey's stomach, one tiny hand petting Chey's arm.
Overwhelmed to see the kids, Chey cooed and reassured them that she was fine. Mattias returned with Erick in tow. The youngest prince let out a squeal when he saw Chey, then silenced his excitement as he took in the medical equipment.
She accepted him into the curl of her arm and whispered against his forehead, asking if he'd been a good boy and if he'd enjoyed the plane ride. There was no better feeling than to have her children nestled close. She met Sander's eyes, noting the gleam there while he stroked his hand over Erick's head, hovering at the baby's side so he didn't fall off the bed. Ever protective.
Chey fielded t
he children's questions as best she could, leaving out any specific details. Elias, proving to be as astute as his father, queried whether she would be able to use her arm, the one in the sling, to play catch on the sand. Every weekend, their little family unit spent time at the shore, letting the kids play and build sandcastles. Elias didn't want anything to do with such mundane tasks; he liked to play catch with a football and engage Sander in mock sword fights. She said that yes, eventually, she would be right back out there with the rest of them, intercepting the ball as usual. Elias delighted in Chey's flare of mischief.
After fifteen minutes of company, Sander began the tedious task of separating the kids from Chey. Kisses were passed out and goodbyes echoed through the room. She watched the kids go with relief and longing. Relief that she was still alive to see them grow into maturity, and longing not to miss out on too much while she recovered. She was a prominent part of their every day lives, preferring to do the majority of the work involved in raising a family.
“I know you're going to have to go back to Pallan island sooner than later to deal with all this,” Chey said once the electric door whooshed closed.
Sander stood next to the side of the bed. He might have been tired, but he also looked determined.
“Mattias is taking care of some of it for me. He's doing press conferences and dealing with the advisors. I've been making a few calls while you were asleep, too. Tomorrow, there is a council meeting about my brother and the consequences of his actions. I should probably attend. Imatra has been thrown into chaos with the death of Konstantine, and I'm hearing Aleksi, the heir to the throne, has requested a meeting with me. I can probably fit that in after the council meeting.”
“I never did get to tell you all of Paavo's confessions. Some of it might have a bearing on your decisions in your meetings.” She smoothed her fingertips over the back of Sander's knuckles.
“Did he tell you his whole plan?”
“Mostly. The basics of it. I definitely don't understand where he's at in his head, but then, no one does. He said that part of the attack was payback, and part to distract Latvala and Somero while he made a play for Imatra. He wanted their army so he could attack you. Konstantine, he pointed out, had been slated to die all along. And I think the only reason he didn't get you was because I intercepted his calls to see you and went in your stead. He would have gotten the jump on you at the prison, since he'd done such a good job of throwing suspicion onto the Russians. I think he was angry that you let him stew in prison as long as you did. He hates it. And he's very vengeful. He wants you to pay, and pay big, for denying him either death or exile.” She paused, then added, “He threatened the kids. Told me that if I didn't tell him where you were, that he'd take them out one by one.”
A hard expression crossed Sander's face. Turning away from the bed, he put his hands on his hips and stared at the floor.
Chey knew he was fighting against the urge to go rearrange Paavo's face. Or worse. Sander was not a cold blooded killer, but he would find a way to make his bother pay for daring to involve children in his scheme.
“You know. Members of the council are calling for his execution. They know he'll be found guilty in court, and they want to end his life.” Sander spoke in a quiet voice. “I've always resisted, because...he is my brother, and I don't think I could watch him die. But he's unhinged and dangerous, and if I let him live, he'll try again. And again. He'll compromise guards, send notes through blackmailed officers, and wreak havoc on our lives. To think he might actually harm one of my children makes me livid. To know he tried to kill you, and nearly succeeded, tempts me to go against the moral code I've lived by all my life and strangle him in his cell. It tempts me, but ultimately, he wins if he brings me down that far. He wins, and I'll have to suffer the rest of my life with my bad decision. Paavo knows it, too, which is why I'm sure he's gloating at the position he's put me in. I've considered whether the court deciding to put him to death will shift the burden of guilt I know I'll feel, but I don't think it will. The best way to make Paavo suffer for what he's done is to put him right back where he doesn't want to be—in prison. Except things will have to change so he can't compromise any more men...or blackmail them. I'm willing to go to an extreme in that regard, since I can't kill him.”
Chey shifted in the hospital bed, one hand gripping the guard rail. She watched Sander's back as he talked, listened to the subtle changes in his voice when he spoke of death, of guilt, and of ultimate retribution. As upset and angry as she was over Paavo pulling the trigger on her, and threatening her children, she was still glad to know that Sander intended to take the high road instead of sinking into the skin of a murderer. He was a better man for controlling his baser urges. She also knew what a toll the entire situation was taking on him. Sander wasn't a man, or a king, who made decisions lightly. He took everything to heart; any missteps would haunt him for years.
“You're doing the right thing. Sending him back to prison—or some kind of confinement, is what he fears most. Even more than death. I agree that you should make changes in how you deal with anyone in charge of his care. Although is there anyone who can't be blackmailed, anyone who can't be bought for a price? I'm not sure.”
Sander's shoulders lifted and settled with his next deep breath. “I'll just have to take out anyone's ability to communicate with him.”
Chey's brow flickered with curiosity. She didn't see how that was possible. Someone had to give Paavo food every day, had to deliver toiletries and give the man access to a shower. Sander had something on his mind, however, and only time would tell what it was.
“Sander.”
He hesitated, then turned a brooding look over his shoulder.
Chey held his gaze. “We won't underestimate him again. No one could have foreseen that he would go to such lengths. That he had the means to blackmail guards and rally support from the people who stood behind him the first time. I know you'll make the best decision for everyone involved. You do what you have to.” Whatever kind of retribution he could live with.
He inclined his head. Backtracking to the bed, he bent down to kiss her on the mouth. Whispering against her lips, he said, “I don't know what I'd do without you, Chey Ahtissari.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
At two-minutes til noon the next day, Sander stepped into the meeting chamber at Kallaster castle where Paavo's fate would be decided. He already knew what he was going to say, no matter what the verdict would be. Attired in a sharp suit of black with a black vest and white shirt, he crossed to a chair separate from the rows of tiered seating housing the councilmen. There were at least fifty men present. Each stood with a show of respect and deference, inclined their heads, then reclaimed their seats. The chamber, with its ornate, carved wood walls and somber atmosphere, was a different venue than the usual room the men gathered in for their decisions about the welfare of Latvala. Here, with the spartan furnishings, plain stone floor, and minimal lighting, harder decisions were voted upon regarding intimate royal affairs.
A hush fell over the room as he sat. Sander felt every eye upon him. Stretching out his legs, he rested his arms on the sides of the chair and glanced at the councilmen. Some had served since his father's era, fewer were new additions. Urmas, a folder in his hands, paced between the rows of seating and Sander's chair but paused to add a bow of his head.
Sander didn't waste time. He opened at the heart of the matter. “As you all know, prince Paavo and several others are in custody for plotting to precipitate war between Imatra and Latvala, as well as murder, attempted murder and treason. I've decided to allow the council to decide the fate of the men involved in Paavo's scheme. I want investigations done to find out if the guards were supporters before, blackmailed recently, or something different. I want answers. As far as prince Paavo, I want a show of hands to see who votes for life in prison.”
Not one councilman raised his hand. The majority wanted death, which would make Sander's order that much harder for the bloodthirsty cou
ncil to accept.
“Execution?”
Hands went up across the board. Urmas made notes in the folder as the verdict came down.
“After much consideration, knowing what I know about my brother's intentions, desires and fears, I've decided to overrule the council. Paavo will be sent to Macor.”
A rush of whispers and gasps swept through the room.
“But your majesty--”
“That's hardly punishment--”
“Sending him to a castle, your Majesty?”
“Hear me out,” Sander said, cutting off the protests. He knew what they were going to say. “As you all know, Macor is an Ahtissari stronghold—a ruin—in the hinterlands. It's a smaller fortress once used by guards to watch for advances from our eastern border. There are two floors and five large rooms, plus a living area, kitchen area and several bathrooms. The fortress was stripped of all furniture and hardware decades ago. There is no basement or dungeon or other secretive passages in or out. Its location well away from populated areas serves my purpose well. Four outbuildings exist around the premises. I've decided to have Paavo live out his term at the fortress instead of the prison.”
Another flash of whispers and startled noises echoed through the chamber. Sander continued before any councilmen could voice their objections.
“The lower level windows will be sealed with iron bars, as well as the upper floor, providing no escape. A specific team of my own choosing will reside in the outer buildings in shifts, men whose loyalty I trust. They'll provide meals and other minor necessities—toilet paper, shampoo, soap—and keep watch over the fortress through remote security feeds that allow minimal interaction between the guards and my brother. Paavo will be stripped of all entertainment, access to humanity, and other stimulation. You may find this cruel—I find it fitting. And necessary.”
One councilman stood, cheeks ruddy with indignation. “Your Majesty, excuse my bluntness--”
“That's never stopped you before, Heinlam,” Sander pointed out. A few chuckles swept through the council.
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