The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (5 page)

“You're late,” he said without glancing over his shoulder, proving his senses were as honed and sharp as ever. He sounded vaguely amused.

“My half hour of etiquette training turned into two and a half despite my best intentions. Then I had to cram lunch down my throat or wind up heaving over the toilet because I was starving to death.” Chey rested her cheek between his shoulder blades, enjoying the play of muscle under her skin.

“How is that coming? And what happened with the fitting? Did my sister show up?” He finally turned his head enough to glance behind him.

Chey didn't lift her head to meet his eyes. “The language part is interesting.
Pleased to meet you
has somehow turned into
I hate your shoes
. I'm not sure where I keep messing up.” His body shook under her cheek with laughter. “The fitting was as you'd expect. Natalia showed up, much to my surprise. She still doesn't want to be in the wedding, but I think she's tolerating it because of Mattias. I can't be sure. He showed up for a minute, watching from the doorway. Once he was gone, the snarking started and then she left without saying goodbye. I don't care though. As long as she doesn't make a scene at the wedding.”

“Mattias mentioned he spoke with her. He didn't go into too many details, other than Natalia is as defensive as she's ever been. She's difficult on the best days.” One hand swept back to grip Chey's hip and squeeze.

Encouraged to, she stepped around his body to the front, lifting her chin so she could see his eyes. He was ridiculously tall. “Your cousin Esta was nice. Katrin ignored me the whole time.”

“Katrin has always been one of Natalia's buddies. She'll do what's expected of her, even if she's not pleasant about it.” He met her eyes, held them.

“I don't know why she has to be in the wedding. Why not just Wynn, Krislin and Esta? That's more than enough.” Chey slid her hands up the outsides of his thighs, drawing one of those rumbles from his throat that she loved. She let the touch be the precursor to the promises she'd made earlier in the bedroom.

“Natalia's my sister. It'll look strange, I think, for Esta to be there if Nat isn't.” He slid his hands around to the small of her back, massaging under the coat.

“Maybe.” Distracted by his mouth, Chey forgot whatever else she'd meant to say.

“So, about that making up,” he said, a thread of anticipation in his voice.

Right then, his cell phone beeped and blipped.

“Ignore it,” she said, encouraging him to be distracted with her. “In fact, turn it off.”

He laughed. “I can't turn it off. Hold on.” Dragging the phone from his pocket, he put it to his ear. “Yes?”

Chey bit him on the chest in protest. He pinched her on the neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to make her swat at his hand.

Sander's enigmatic, amused expression changed to one of bemusement. “When? All right, we'll be there shortly.”

“Where will we be shortly?” she asked, knowing the 'we' in his statement referred to her.

“The Crown Prince has arrived and is asking for a brief meeting. We need to get going. Raincheck on the dirty deeds floating around your brain?” He cut her an amused grin, pocketed the phone, and kissed her straight on the mouth.

Momentarily sidetracked, she kissed him back, nibbling on his lip before retreating.

“Of course. I always pay my debts. Do we need to change?” Chey thought Sander's suit was more than fitting to receive royalty. Glancing down at her own pant suit of dark gray, the peach shirt beneath buttoned halfway to her throat, she wondered if something more formal was in order.

“No, we're fine. You look great in that.” Sander slid his hand down to catch her own and lead her back through the Garden, and then the castle, en route to meet the Crown Prince.

Chey got her first glimpse of the swarthy skinned Crown Prince as they entered the formal sitting room on the main floor. A neatly trimmed mustache and goatee offset a round face with ink black eyes that stared out from under a heavy brow. Attired in a fine suit of white accented by diamond cuff links and tie clasp, Bashir stood perhaps five-nine and looked to be somewhere in his middle thirties. Several men in attendance with him filled two couches and two plush chairs, speaking low in their own language. They wore white cloths over their heads bound by black bands as did the Crown Prince.

“Your Excellency.” Sander offered up a quick greeting. The men on the couches stood as the Crown Prince smiled and came around to clasp Sander's hand.

“Your Majesty. I am sorry to hear of your recent loss,” Bashir said. “But also congratulate you on your ascension.”

Sander shook and released Bashir's hand. “Thank you. This is my bride-to-be, Miss Chey Sinclair. Chey, his Excellency, Prince Bashir.”

Thanks to Urmas and his foresight, Chey was able to greet the Prince in his own tongue. A tentative welcome that she hoped she didn't fumble into an insult.

Bashir's gaze landed on her with the sharpness of a scalpel. A glint of pleasure at the use of his language crossed his distinct features. He inclined his head but did not reach out to touch her or shake her hand. “Miss Sinclair. Congratulations are in order as well for your upcoming wedding.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said.

“Did you have plans to see Latvala while you're here?” Sander asked, gesturing to several empty chairs. He acknowledged Bashir's attendants with a spare nod, held a chair for Chey, and sank down into one adjacent to the Prince.

Settling into the plush chair, Bashir stretched his legs and cocked his head curiously at Sander, as if he was confused by the question. “Well...yes. I would like to see more of your country. The last time I was here, half the city was covered in snow.”

“Yes, I remember your visit. I was away on official business on the other side of the world at the time.”

“Indeed. Also, I think it prudent to have a dinner this evening to kick things off between myself and your brothers.” Bashir studied Sander's face with inquisitive eyes.

“Certainly. I had planned to do that the evening of your arrival,” Sander said with easy agreement.

“Excellent.” Bashir propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers against his chin. An expectant look lurked in the gaze he continued to pin on Sander.

Chey wondered if they were missing something. Had they breached protocol? She examined everything she'd done and said since entering—which hadn't been much—and couldn't find anything offensive. A glance at Sander proved he too was curious over the glances Bashir was giving him, though he didn't make it obvious to his guest.

“Your father is well?” Sander inquired.

“Very well. He sends his regards and condolences,” Bashir said.

“Please deliver my gratitude when you return. I haven't seen him in quite a few years.”

“He has cut down his travel abroad considerably in the last decade. I believe one of his last trips was here to speak with your father.” Once more, an expectant look flickered across Bashir's features.

“I recall,” Sander said, inclining his head. “Another situation when I was away on business.”

“It appears you and I are both doing a lot of that lately. The travel.” Bashir made a gesture with his fingers indicating the world at large.

“Part of the job,” Sander said.

“Among other things.” Bashir nodded in agreement with himself. The sense that Bashir expected Sander to say something else returned.

Just then, Urmas strode into the room and over to Sander's chair. He leaned down to whisper, straightening when he was through. Urmas gave Bashir and his men a cordial bow of his head, then departed.

“Unfortunately, an urgent piece of business calls me away. I'm sure you and your companions would like to settle into your rooms anyway,” Sander said, rising from the seat. He extended his hand to Bashir when the Crown Prince also rose.

Clasping hands, Bashir inclined his head. “As a man of your nature, I understand urgent business. I look forward to this evening.”

“As I do.” Sander set a hand on the small of Chey's back once she was on her feet and escorted her from the sitting room after a round of goodbyes.

Chey waited until they were in the hallway to say, “Was it just me, or did we miss something in there?”

“You felt it, too?” Sander asked. “I don't know. I kept thinking he expected me to say something.”

“Does he normally act like that?”

“I've only met him once, but it was at a gala in another country and very brief. I wasn't in Latvala when his entourage made a state visit.” Sander paused with her outside the door to a conference room. “I don't know how long this will take, but I'll be up shortly before dinner to shower and change.”

“I'll be waiting. See you then.” Chey squeezed his arm, then headed for the stairs. She needed time to figure out what to wear.

On the upper floor, she came across Mattias exiting his bedroom. One hand on the door knob, the other on the button of his suit, he looked dapper and dashing.

“Mattias,” she said to get his attention.

Glancing over, Mattias smiled and stepped her way. “How did the meeting go?”

“It was a little strange. I'm still getting used to these kinds of things though, so maybe it was just me.” Chey didn't think so. Sander had also thought something was off. Putting it from her mind, she said, “I wanted to ask you if you had a word with Natalia.”

“You're a natural. You'll get used to it before you know it.” He hesitated, then said, “Yes, I did.”

“Is that why she showed up today? Even though she didn't want to be there?”

“I expect so. I'd like to think she thought about her actions and attended because she is seeing the error of her ways...” Mattias let it trail.

“But probably not,” Chey finished for him.

Mattias inclined his head. He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “That she showed up at all is perhaps a step in the right direction.”

“Perhaps. Either way, thank you for taking the time to run interference.” Chey studied Mattias's expression, the kindness she saw in his eyes alongside a more cunning gleam.

“I'd like to see the wedding go without a hitch. Anything I can do to help that along is worthwhile. Besides that, I'm hoping Natalia will work through some of her bad habits,” he admitted.

“What's this, consorting with the enemy?” Natalia said from down the hall.

She must have come from one of the private sitting rooms or a library, since there hadn't been the opening or closing of a door to announce her. Chey, who couldn't see Natalia from her position with Mattias in the way, glanced at the woman when the Prince turned around.

Scowling, Natalia marched their direction with Katrin at her side.

“She's hardly the enemy, Natalia. Don't snap at her because the truth stings,” Mattias said.

Drawing even with the pair, Natalia, who had lost her glasses since the fitting, glared first at Chey, then at her brother. “I'm disappointed to find you standing right here in the open, discussing such private things. How's that for maturity, Mattias? Are you impressed now that I've 'stepped up to your level'? Did I handle that with enough aplomb?”

“With your attitude, you should feel grateful that we discuss you at all,” Mattias said.

Chey hid her surprise at Mattias's calmly delivered insult. She looked at Natalia in time to see the woman's face go pale, then redden with fury.

Katrin in tow, Natalia marched past, disappearing around the far corner of the hall.

Chey released a pent up breath. “That was my fault, Mattias. I'm sorry. I should have known better than to talk about her where anyone might overhear.”

For long seconds, Mattias stared at the spot his sister disappeared. “Don't apologize. She's the one with a chip on her shoulder. If she doesn't want to hear people talking about her childish displays, then maybe she'll cease making them.”

“Maybe so,” Chey said. Whatever progress had been made at the fitting just got wiped clean. “Anyway, I need to go find something to wear. See you tonight?”

“You will.” Mattias withdrew a hand to touch her lightly on the back of the shoulder as he passed.

Chey headed the opposite direction, following the corridor around two corners until she came to the master suite. With much on her mind, she let herself in and locked the doors behind her.

Journal,

I have a couple hours until my first formal dinner in the presence of Royal guests. This is what all the etiquette training has been for, though I know that the advisers were probably hoping I would get a few more sessions in before my skills were put to the test. Being the date of a Prince at some foreign gala is completely different than standing next to a King who will shortly become your husband. All I hope is that I do Sander justice and don't make a critical mistake.

We met the Crown Prince earlier, a man who seems very sure of himself. Of course he would—he will one day also become King. He was bred and raised for the role, like Sander. There was something strange about the meeting however that I can't put my finger on. Sander felt it, too, so I know I'm not imagining things. Who can say? Maybe the Crown Prince was waiting for a display of entertainment or otherwise.

Natalia showed up to my fitting, after a discussion with Mattias, and though she tried on the dress, she hated every second of it. She also hated the dress. Why am I not surprised? The upside was that for a change, she was sober. Then, later on my way back to the suite, I ran into Mattias and asked him if he'd had a talk with his sister. Natalia came upon us unexpectedly, hearing every word, and whatever progress we might have made vanished when she referred to me as the enemy.

The only thing I care about at this point is that the wedding goes smoothly. I prefer Natalia and that one cousin, Katrin, not be present, but this isn't my wedding exactly, it's a wedding for the nation and there are certain protocols I need to abide by.

Too bad Natalia won't do the same.

I can't wait for Wynn to arrive. She should be here at the beginning of next week.

Signing off for now,

Chey