Heir in Exile (9 page)

“Sander, why would he say such a thing?” Chey frowned, not understanding what was going on.

Sander looked at Chey, then met Mattias's eyes. “I too have secrets. When I was around thirteen years of age, I caught father in what I thought was a tryst with a maid. The back end of a tryst, I should say, because when I actually discovered them he had just murdered her.”

Mattias burst into their mother tongue, pacing away from the couch closer to Sander. He switched to English as if he realized Chey wouldn't be able to understand. “You actually
saw
him with a weapon? How can you be sure it was him and not someone else?”

Chey's stomach flipped over. She covered her lips with her fingertips, stunned into silence.

“There was no one else in the dungeon with them and he was still holding the bloody knife,” Sander said. He raked a hand back through his hair again, clearly unsettled. “Aksel said they weren't having a tryst, they were having an argument. She wanted permission to admit to me who she really was. Aksel disagreed.”

“Wait—that woman, the one he killed, was your mother?” Chey asked on the back of a gasp.

“Impossible,” Mattias said with an edge to his voice. “He's lying.”

“That's what he wants me to believe,” Sander said, meeting Chey's eyes before looking at Mattias. “I said the same thing. He's lying. The King insists it's as he says. I threatened to find her grave, except he says he
scattered
her around.”

Chey groaned at the implication.
Scattered her around.
Her body parts? It had to be. Or perhaps he dug her bones up and moved them all about later on. Sick at heart, disturbed in ways she couldn't believe, Chey curled her fingers near her mouth and fought to refocus on the conversation.

“What about the people who birthed you? There will be witnesses,” Mattias said.

“Dead,” Sander replied with a specific look at his brother.

Mattias looked disgusted. “So he's attempting to use this to force you into exile. Yet I would wager ten years of my life that he will not publicly announce this. He's going to try and twist your arm and make you do it yourself, using whatever excuse you come up with.”

“Exactly. He says I'll do it because otherwise, I'm a hypocrite for dumping Valentina for attempting to put a bastard on the throne—which is what he says I am.”

Mattias's expression took a grim turn. “Technically, the title would go to
their
firstborn—his and Helina's—instead of his child with another woman. Except they publicly accepted you as their own all this time, and to renege on that now will cast their trust into a shadow they might not be able to shed later.”

“I still think it's an excuse to get me to do what they want, without either of them suffering backlash for it,” Sander added.

Chey glanced between brothers as they hashed it out, tension making her shoulders tight. For herself, she didn't care if Sander took the throne. It would save her thoughts of becoming Queen—a title she did not feel suited for anyway—and allow them to have something of a more normal life together. Yet Sander being forced to exile himself against his will rubbed her the wrong way, and seeing him so agitated tugged at her compassion.

He was a good man, who cared about Latvala and its people. Invested mind, body and soul, no one would rule with as much passion as Sander. In Chey's eyes, he deserved to ascend the throne, even if Helina wasn't his mother. But she'd learned, if nothing else, that Royalty had their traditions and rules, and should they chose to exercise their right to enforce Sander's status as a bastard, they might keep him off the throne after all. Sander, she thought, would not find an easy answer here.

“I'm with you. I would need some other kind of proof. After all this, it
does
seem far too convenient as far as timing is concerned,” Mattias said.

“He says I'm to return tomorrow. That Helina, along with a confession, might have something that will convince me. No matter how I cajoled, he would not be swayed into showing or telling me today.” Sander slouched his elbows back onto the fireplace mantle, a recline that should have made him looked relaxed. He appeared restless instead.

“What could she possibly have that would sway you?” Chey asked. She scoured her mind for ideas over what it might be.

“I can't think of anything,” Sander admitted.

Mattias remained silent, gaze cast to the floor in thought.

“What I want to know more than that, even, is
why
Helina agreed to accept me as her own. If this is all true, I would have imagined her to simply shun the maid and the baby, turning them both away from castle life to live elsewhere. Why did she choose to raise me as her own?” Sander asked.

“That, brother, might be the million dollar question.” Mattias lifted his gaze and stared at Sander.

“I have to agree. She doesn't seem the type to graciously accept her husband's child from another woman unless she was forced to,” Chey said.

“Aksel specifically stated that Helina 'had no choice',” Sander added. “Under what circumstances would that be, I wonder?”

“Unless it's all the lie we believe it to be, and she wasn't forced to do anything. She really is your mother, and all they want is an easy fix for your exile. He's pulling out all the stops,” Mattias said.

“He's also stalling. I can't figure out why. He tried to refuse to see me when I arrived, claiming illness. He was not ill,” Sander said with a snort.

“Now he wants you to come back tomorrow,” Mattias said in agreement. “Yes, he's stalling. It bothers me.”

“Yeah, it bothers me, too. He's up to something.” Sander shoved off the mantle and went to pour himself a drink. The crystal decanter clinked against a tumbler as amber liquor sloshed inside.

“All we can do is wait until tomorrow. I will endeavor to be there for this little meeting, playing up my part if I can,” Mattias said. He stepped toward the door. “For now, I will return to the castle and sleep there. Perhaps he will summon me tonight if he drinks enough or decides he wants to speak with me about my 'interception' of his plans in Dubai.”

“Good. If you find anything of immediate importance, make sure you get word here,” Sander said. He lifted his glass to Mattias in silent salute.

“Be careful, Mattias,” Chey said, mind spinning with implications and conjecture. Already she felt a headache coming on.

“You two as well. I believe you're safe enough here, but keep an eye and ear open, just in case.” Mattias bade them goodbye and let himself out through the front door.

Chey followed behind and snapped the bolt into place. Turning her spine to the wood, she leaned against it and regarded Sander across the room.

He finished off a first glass, watching her eyes, then poured a second. After a moment, he said, “If Helina
does
produce irrefutable proof, what then? Do I become the hypocrite he suggests if I fight for the throne, or do I bow out and let Mattias take over?”

“I don't know, Sander. I just don't know.”

. . .

The complications of the situation seemed insurmountable to Chey. Every twist became more gut wrenching than the last. She crossed the room after Sander downed his third drink, took him by the hand, and led him through the home to one of the bedrooms. She paused to douse the only burning light and to bring the gun along with them.

Sander put up no resistance or argument. He paced at her flank, silent, and allowed her to begin stripping his suit and shirt from his shoulders.

Chey let her gentle touches and the whisper of her fingertips do the talking right now. Too paranoid to strip him totally naked, she only removed the clothes on his torso, leaving the pants intact. If they needed to move fast, she wanted them both to be at least half dressed.

Leading him to the bed in the dim room, she guided him to lay on his stomach. He did so with a grunt, sinking his considerable bulk into the mattress. Chey set the gun on the nightstand and straddled his hips. She could see the knots of tension across his shoulders, along with angry red lines running parallel under his skin.

He stretched his arms above his head, giving her unimpeded access to his entire back. Chey set her palms right on either side of his spine and began massaging languid circles over the muscles, attempting to ease some of his discomfort. She could tell he was tight and taut, unable to really relax. Even after three drinks. Allowing the silence to stretch, she worked each section until she felt a little give in the sinew. Up near his nape, she leaned down to press several kisses at his hairline. Rewarded with a shiver from him for her effort, she repeated the gesture then sat up once more and continued kneading.

She didn't kid herself for a second into thinking he would get any decent rest tonight. Chey wouldn't be getting any either. Not even with the possibility of an unwanted visitor so distant.

But they could rest, and gather strength for tomorrow.

She sucked in a surprised gasp when, without warning, he twisted just enough to reach back and snag her off his body. He brought her down to the bed with him. She landed on her back at his side, hair whipping out across the pillows.

“Thank you,” he said, words muffled.

“I thought it was the least I could do. Besides, I haven't seen you naked yet today, and I have a quota, sir, that must be met.” She tried for a little levity to combat the dark situation they found themselves in.

“I knew it was all about the body,” he rumbled.

“Exactly.”

“When do I get to see
you
naked? I think it's only fair.”

Chey could hear the disturbance in his voice. Despite the easy banter, Sander was not comforted or distracted by it. Dropping the subject, she said instead, “I'm sorry you're dealing with all this. Just know that no matter what happens, I'll be right here at your side.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” he said, obviously pleased at the topic change.

Chey skimmed her fingers over the arm he laid across her ribs. “Your title, or lack of one, doesn't change a thing about what I feel for you.”

“Good. For some women, it would make all the difference.”

“I'm not most women, but then you knew that when you met me. I suspect it's why we're still together.” She reached over to brush a few strands of hair away from his face.

“One of many reasons,” he assured her. One vivid blue eye came into view. He stared at her, lids low. “There could be a lot of scandal involved with this by the time it's over.”

“You make that sound like a warning.”

“It is, to an extent. I just don't want you burned so bad by it all that you decide it's not worth it.”

“You'll always be worth it,” she whispered. “Sometimes it takes me a little while to adjust to something new or shocking, but I
do
adjust. We'll get through whatever comes our way. I have faith we're strong enough together to deal with the fallout.”

He grunted. Finally, after ten minutes of comfortable silence, he said, “You should get some sleep. I'll stay awake, keep watch of things.”

“I think I'll be able to rest if we take turns. I won't do it unless you let me return the favor later. You need to recuperate so you're on top of your game tomorrow,” she said.

“We can trade off keeping watch,” he agreed.

“All right. Are you feeling okay though? I've never seen you so openly distressed,” she mentioned, wanting to give him the opportunity to speak about the things that troubled him.

“I'll get through. I'm very disturbed however by the thought that the throne is not mine by birthright. Even the idea, the slightest chance, really puts a burden on whatever choice I make from here.” His gaze went distant.

“It's probably exactly what he wants. To make you doubt and to make you suffer,” she said.

“I don't like the idea of becoming a hypocrite. Yet the desire to fight for the title of Heir is strong. It's what I've grown up my entire life believing. That it was mine by right.”

Chey smoothed her fingers over the skin of his shoulder. She could hear the conflict in his voice, see it on his expression. It made her furious at Aksel for placing doubt in Sander's mind. The King was getting his way again, using nefarious means, and it galled her that Aksel might get through all this unscathed.

“We'll concentrate on believing that he's lying and deal with the consequences only after irrefutable proof has been found to back his claim. Okay? I know that doesn't ease your concern or make you think about it any less, but the likelihood that he's being untruthful is strong.” Chey, like Mattias and Sander, thought the King was using the situation to his advantage.

“Yeah. You go ahead, take first shift for sleep.” He met her eyes, indicating that he was ready for a stretch of quiet to think about the shift his life might take on a more private level.

“Wake me in a few hours,” Chey said, resting her hand on his back. She closed her eyes and tried to blank her mind. She wouldn't get any sleep at all if she allowed herself to fret and worry about things she could not change. Tomorrow was soon enough to begin the process again.