Sander laughed. “I see that. You've all been busy.”
Chey met Sander with a chilly kiss, then proudly eyed her own creation. The snowman was perhaps four feet tall, somewhat cockeyed from the 'waist' up, with only one twig arm in place. Clearly, she was still working on her masterpiece.
“It looks drunk,” Sander said, grinning as he stepped aside before Chey could douse him with snow. He plucked Erick up off the ground. The navy blue coat, beanie hat and tiny gloves all but swallowed the toddler up. Covered in snow dust, Erick laughed and clapped his hands, sending a sprinkle of coldness over Sander's face and throat.
“...well, that backfired,” he said with a grunt.
Chey didn't just laugh, she belly laughed. Elias bustled busily around his snowman, packing more snow here, there and everywhere. He did pause to grin at his father, but went right back to the project.
Until the first snowball flew through the air.
Sander, smacked in the shoulder with the harmless missile, sent Chey a devious, promising look—except she still had the snow in her hands. And she was looking toward another spot in the bailey, where a sudden howl split the air and snowballs rained down.
Mattias, Leander and Gunnar scooped up more snowballs and sent them flying toward the king.
“What are you, five?” Sander shouted when he realized they were under an attack of the snowball kind. Laughing, he set Erick down and encourage his family to send some snowballs right back. “C'mon, Elias, Emily! Get 'em!”
The Great Snowball War was on.
*
Chey's favorite part of the Christmas season was the evening after the morning of frantic gift opening, when twinkle lights glowed on a tall tree in a dimly lit room and a fire roared in the fireplace. Decorations had transformed the living area into a festive sanctuary. Ribbon, wreaths, Santas, angels, lights, the huge tree, reindeer, poinsettias—it was all here. The gifts were gone now, the toys hauled off to each child's respective room. Sitting in a cushy chair adjacent to the fireplace, mug of hot cider in hand, Chey relaxed and languished in the ambiance. Although Christmas wasn't a traditional holiday of his country, Sander had embraced the ritual for her. He never complained when she packed the castle with lights and décor, often helping to set it all up because he knew she loved it when he did.
This holiday, Chey had been especially thankful for her family. Several times when the kids had opened their presents, she'd gotten teary-eyed and had been forced to dab the wetness away with tissues. The attack on Ahtissari castle had left lasting scars, even moreso than the shooting, and made her more aware than ever that life was short. She was thankful to have her life and the lives of her children spared when others had not been so lucky.
Sander too had been preoccupied since the attacks. She caught him staring out at the ocean often, or at the snowy landscape of the island, a deeply contemplative look on his face. She knew it had to do with the attacks, with the shooting, and with Paavo. Sander was not a man who made decisions, any decisions, lightly. He also took every loss personally, no matter how many times she or Mattias had put the blame elsewhere. It was just the kind of king Sander was.
Friends from far and wide had pledged any kind of aid Sander needed to help with the recovery, and their presence at Kallaster for days at a time had been a pleasant distraction from the endless task of bringing Latvala back to an even keel.
Drawn from her thoughts by motion near the archway, she glanced from the fireplace to the door. Sander stood there, tilted against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. She smiled. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough. You looked almost too peaceful to disturb.”
“You're never a disturbance.”
“I'm glad to hear it, because I planned to come in anyway.” Which he did, crossing the room to her chair a moment later. He bent to pluck a kiss from her lips.
“It's a good thing, because I totally forgot that there's one more gift to give.” She pointed to a gift tucked behind another chair, a one foot by one foot square covered in gold and ivy paper.
“For me?” he asked with a curious look, diverting to the chair to pull the gift from the back.
“Yes.” Chey watched Sander take the package to a closer seat. He wore a devilish look all of a sudden.
“This is a boudoir portrait of you, isn't it? That's why I couldn't open it with everyone else here.”
Chey laughed. “I hate that you guess all your presents before you open them!”
Sander cackled and eagerly opened the wrapping. A frame appeared, sure enough, with matting creating a square around a little white stick centered in the middle. Not a boudoir painting at all, but a pregnancy test.
A positive pregnancy test.
Chey watched Sander's expression morph from lewd anticipation to excited surprise.
He shot a startled look her way and, with a broad grin, said, “Again?”
Smitten with his excitement at the announcement that their fourth child was on the way, Chey smiled an adoring smile right back at him. “Again.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The weather took a brutal turn in January. Latvala, on pace to surpass all low temperature records, hovered in the single digits at the height of the day, only to sink well below zero when the sun went down. Citizens scrambled to keep warm as the temperature plunged to minus forty, the coldest winter since records began. Power outages occurred, which forced people to use alternate means of heating.
Kallaster relied on fireplaces to help heat the enormous castle, but a chill pervaded the empty rooms and long corridors. Constant shoveling of the bailey took place, so cars could get in and out of the gate.
Chey waited for Sander to finish with an important, urgent meeting, patiently watching the hallway for his presence. Wrapped in a warm wool shawl to keep the chill from her skin, she smoothed a hand over the gentle swell of her belly. It was still too early to tell the gender, but they both wanted to know as soon as possible. He thought it was a girl, she thought it was another boy. As long as the baby was healthy, Chey wouldn't mind either way. It was always fun to wage impossible bets with Sander however, and she secretly adored the way he gloated and preened when he won.
He appeared moments later, looking much more grim than when he'd left her earlier that morning. She noted that he hadn't changed out of the buckskin pants and ribbed pullover of white, much more informal attire than he wore when conducting the king's business with the council.
She straightened and frowned, palm falling away from her stomach. “What is it?”
“Paavo is dead.”
“What? How?” Chey touched Sander's arm, searching his eyes for answers. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his body tight with tension.
“The guard house lost power in the blizzard yesterday. The hinterlands took a huge hit, a lot worse than what we had here--”
“It was pretty bad here,” Chey said in a low voice.
“Yes. Anyway, they lost power and couldn't track Paavo's movements in the ruin. Several guards had to dig their way out of their own building, and two got lost in the whiteout, barely able to find the path back to safety. That meant they couldn't reach the ruin until this morning. When Paavo didn't answer their calls, the guards entered the fortress. Although they left plenty of wood inside for Paavo to make a fire in case the power went out, my brother chose to head to the highest floor and sleep in the corner of the tower, where it was coldest. According to the doctors, he died of hypothermia. Out of all the precautions I took so he couldn't hurt himself, I never imagined the weather would be the thing that he used to defy me. In the end, he got his way after all.”
Chey listened to the details, privately horrified as the story spun itself out. Paavo was dead by his own choosing. She knew Sander must be running through a gamut of emotions over the ordeal. Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Are you all right?”
He looked past her, fixating on a distant wall. It took him a moment to shape a reply. “I guess I feel g
uilty, even though I instructed the guards to make sure Paavo had food, water and a way to heat the main room of the fortress—just in case. He's wanted to be gone or exiled for years, and the weather worked to his advantage. I'm trying to tell myself it's better this way, though I suspect it'll take a while for the guilt to go away.”
“I'm very sorry it's come to this. Sorry for your guilt, for the conflicting emotions I know you've had since it happened. I know it hasn't been easy.” Chey took a step closer, pressing her body lightly against his. She had woken countless nights to find Sander pacing their suite or staring at the ceiling in bed, gaze a million miles away. It wasn't just Paavo in recent weeks but other citizens of Latvala who had succumbed to the bitter cold. The death toll was rising with every new storm that rolled in. Sander had made every provision he could, had gathered teams of volunteers to cut firewood for those in need, those who were at the highest risk if the power went out.
“In a way,” he said in a very quiet voice, “I'm glad it's over. Paavo wouldn't have ever recovered and it would have ended me if he'd gotten loose again or managed to use someone to hurt more people. Now we don't have to worry any longer.”
“It's still hurtful, I know. Will you bury him in the family plot?” she asked.
He brought his gaze back to her, a glimmer of anger surfacing in his eyes. “No. He doesn't deserve to be buried with any kind of honor. He'll get a spot in the middle of nowhere, even if my mother will have a fit and attempt to sway my decision.”
“We haven't heard a peep from Helina over all this,” Chey said. “Do you really think she'll come forward with demands?”
“She can talk to the liaisons all she wants. It won't happen. My decision is final and I won't be swayed to interring him in a crypt of his own. I don't intend to be there when they bury him, either, just so you know.”
That Sander refused to be there for Paavo's burial told Chey all she needed to know about Sander's state of mind. He might have fought to have Paavo remanded to Macor, thereby sparing Paavo's life, and she knew he often thought back to the time when they were children. But by no means had Sander forgiven Paavo for nearly taking the life of his family, nor the lives of the hundreds lost during the bombing. She suspected there was a lot more anger burning somewhere out of sight, contained only by Sander's strong moral code and his sense of honor.
Woe to Paavo if he had met his brother on the field of battle.
“I know we were supposed to have lunch, but why don't we take the kids to the playroom instead?” Chey had a feeling Sander's appetite had vanished, like her own. Perhaps being around his children would lighten his mood and get him back on even footing. Kids and their innocence had a way of making the darkest days brighter.
*
For the next nine weeks, Latvala battled bravely through the frigid winter. Sander, Mattias, Gunnar and Leander joined troops from the military on excursions to the mainland, where they used heavy duty vehicles to deliver food, water and wood to people whose power had been out for days. It was exhausting, tedious work, work that kept Sander's hands and mind busy. He liked nothing more than to be helping the citizens of his country survive the season.
One house in particular, a family of seven with another baby on the way, offered bowls of hot stew to Sander and his crew. Sander shucked his gloves and ate alongside his men, sharing stories with the family of the general state of the country during the weather crisis. Many families had been out of touch with others for days, sometimes weeks, and this particular family was grateful to have as much information as Sander cared to give. Sander ignored the slight tremble of the woman's hands when she refilled his glass or the fleeting stares of her husband. They'd never had royalty in their home before, but he didn't act like royalty; he acted like Sander. He might be the ruler of Latvala, but he was also a person, just like they were.
Sooner than later, boisterous laughter filled the walls of the modest, well kept home, the kids challenging Sander to pretend 'duels' with wooden swords. Those two hours of casual conversation and being with his people healed many parts of Sander that had been damaged since Paavo's attacks. He taught each boy one move to practice and perfect, and informed them that he would be back in the spring to see their progress.
The little girl, with her cherubic smile and blonde curls, shyly asked if she could thread her special ribbon through a braid in his hair. Sander sat in a chair while his men were fit to burst with laughter, and allowed the child to weave her blue ribbon through a skinny braid at his temple. It charmed the girl and, in turn, he was charmed as well.
Suffering the guffaws of his men on the trip home, Sander refused all offers to take the offending ribbon and braid out, preferring to wear it all the way home to show Emily. He felt lighter in the heart than he had in some time.
When he appeared in the master suite doorway, Chey glanced up from paper work spread out on the bed and...stared. She arched one brow, then the other.
Laughing, he nudged the door shut with his boot and shucked his coat, tossing it aside with a negligent flick of his wrist.
“I met the most interesting family today. There was this little girl...”
*
About the Author
Born and raised in Corona California, Danielle now resides in Texas with her husband and two sons. She has been writing for as long as she can remember, penning works in a number of genres. To date, she has published twenty-four novels. Her interests vary wildly: reading, traveling, photography, graphic art and baking, among others.
There is a black cat named Sheba involved who thinks Danielle's laptop is her personal grooming station.
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