The Wrath of the King (11 page)

“Yes, I know. He challenged you over who you're more loyal to, him or me.” Chey ground her teeth together until her jaw ached. Paavo was on her last nerve.

“It's better if I just lay low, I think. Maybe the guard won't say anything.”

“You don't sound convinced of that,” Chey pointed out.

“I'm not. But I'm really worried that if I try to leave, the guards will stop me. You have to make plans to use the helicopter, which will alert pretty much everyone of my intentions.”

“So don't fly. Drive.”

“Are you saying I should steal a car?”

“It's...borrowing. And I'm the one asking you to come, so. They can't say anything.” Chey met Krislin's concerned glance and lifted a shoulder helplessly.

“They can say you're not the Queen anymore and charge me with theft.”

“I still think you should leave. That's my recommendation, but if you're too afraid to go, then at least have a backup plan if they try to put you in jail.” Chey couldn't believe she was having this conversation.

“Evading the police should go over well,” Wynn said with a sarcastic lilt.

Chey smiled despite herself. “It's not like you haven't done worse before.”

“Chey! You're not supposed to say things like that.”

“Borrowing a car shouldn't be a hardship, though they might not let you through the gates.” Chey had to remind herself that Paavo had probably stepped up security. Where Wynn would have been able to squeeze through by saying she was on a visit to the Queen, the same excuse now might raise red flags.

“I think you're right. Besides that, it really feels like things are shifting here.”

“Shifting how?”

“It's hard to explain. I'm pretty sure Paavo has replaced most of the other guards with his own. Those loyal to his cause. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, I think so. Be careful, okay? Don't take any more unnecessary risks.” Chey walked back toward the bed and checked on Sander. No flicker of eyelids, no change in breathing.

“I won't. I'll call you tomorrow. If I don't...”

“I know, I know. Something might have happened.”

“Yes. Say hi to Krislin for me.”

Chey ended the call and pushed the phone into her cardigan pocket. “Wynn got caught listening to Paavo's messages. She's worried the guard will tell the others and she'll be detained.”

“Oh no,” Krislin said, cringing.

“And I can't do anything about it. I refuse to leave Sander for any reason, for any length of time, and as she pointed out, I'm not sure any of the guards at the castle will listen to anything I have to say.” Frustrated, Chey traced her fingertips up and down Sander's forearm. His skin was warm, the muscles relaxed.

“Do you want me to go?” Krislin asked.

Chey considered it. “No. I don't want to put you in danger if Wynn really has gotten herself into trouble. Let's just hope the guard doesn't say anything.”

“If you change your mind, let me know. I've made some inroads with a few of the guards and might be able to help.”

“Thanks, Krislin.” Chey sank into the chair at Sander's bedside.

The situation felt balanced on a precarious edge. It would only take a minor push to send the whole thing crashing down.

. . .

Wynn held the phone in her hands, staring down at the dark screen. A gentle breeze shifted through the small courtyard, bringing the scent of flowers and greenery to her nose. It also brought another scent, a masculine cologne she would recognize anywhere. Sucking in a breath, she turned around.

Paavo stood just outside the doorway, hands in the pockets of his dark slacks. Lacking a suit coat, the crisp white shirt looked even whiter with the sun shining down upon him. The wind ruffled his usually groomed hair until a lock fell across his forehead.

There weren't many times in her life that Wynn felt faint, but this was one of them. It had nothing to do with how arresting Paavo looked with the castle as a backdrop and everything to do with whether or not he'd overheard her conversation with Chey. Better yet,
how much
he'd heard. She experienced a flush of heat followed by an ice cold chill at the thought he'd listened to it all. To make matters worse, he didn't say a word; Paavo cocked his head a fraction and arched a brow, putting her on the spot to say something.

For the life of her, everything that came to mind sounded trite or sarcastic or downright impudent. She wouldn't admit to fear, even if it rioted around her body, making her fingers tremble.

Still, he said nothing.

“Chey,” Wynn said with a gesture of the phone.

“So it seems,” Paavo replied.

Wynn couldn't tell anything by his tone or his expression. Damn the man. “I wanted to see how she's feeling.”

“And how
is
she feeling?”

“Oh, you know. Tired, a little cranky. Desperately worried. But good.”

Paavo regarded her without a reply that time.

Wynn wondered if he was waiting for her to admit that he might have overheard. To bring up the rest of the conversation. She wouldn't, not until he threatened her or made it clear he knew.

“Did you need something?” she asked in a brisk, business-like tone.

“Actually, yes. I need you--” Paavo paused when his own phone chirped. He fished it out and put it to his ear. “Yes?”

Wynn stuffed her cell away, hoping against hope for a crisis that wouldn't wait. She didn't want to be stuck in an office with him, transcribing or typing or anything else right now.

After a brief back and forth, speaking too quietly to hear, Paavo ended the call and said, “It'll have to wait. I'll find you later tonight.”

“All right.” Wynn would have bartered her soul to the devil just to get Paavo gone. She needed time to think about what to do, and whether Chey might be right. Perhaps she should depart the family seat for the hospital by any means necessary.

Paavo pivoted on a heel and disappeared inside the castle.

Exhaling a relieved breath, Wynn waited a full five minutes before following, taking all the short cuts she'd learned to her room.

That had been too close for comfort.

. . .

Walking the long corridor between sections of the castle, Paavo took the least crowded way for another call he made en route to his suite. He wasted no time giving orders once someone picked up on the other end.

“I've heard from one of the nurses at the hospital. Yes, she said there is very mild improvement. We can't wait any longer. You know what to do.” Hearing confirmation, Paavo severed the call and sent a text to someone else.

Move into phase three immediately.

Chapter Eleven

A loud bang startled Chey into awareness. At some point after Wynn's phone call, she'd dozed in the chair, feet up on the ottoman. Now she sat forward with a grunt, glancing across the bed at Sander. There seemed to be no change. His breathing, even and deep, was the same as it had been that morning. A quick check of the machines assured her all was well. Next she sought Krislin, who wasn't anywhere to be found. The open bathroom door indicated Krislin wasn't in there, either.

Getting up out of the chair, Chey hadn't gone more than three steps when Krislin burst into the room, closing the door with force.

“Krislin, what's wrong?” The hair stood up on the back of Chey's neck seeing Krislin throw the bolt and drag one of the dressers in front of the door.

“They're coming. Is there
any
other way out of here?” Krislin asked.

To see the normally passive, calm woman in such a state alarmed Chey more than anything else.

“I don't think so. I'm sure there's not, since that would potentially put royalty at risk if the news got out. Who is coming?” Chey glanced around the walls anyway, searching for anything that remotely resembled a hidden access panel. Instinct warned her that whatever was happening, it wouldn't bode well for her or her child.

“Guards. They're fighting at the end of the hallw--” Krislin's explanation got cut off by the retort of a gun.

Chey swerved to stand between Sander and the door, as protective over him as she was their baby. Krislin gave the heavy dresser another push, attempting to wedge the edge under the knob. Too tall for that, she settled for leaving it as a makeshift doorstop.

While Chey watched Krislin attempt to provide a roadblock, she also started searching her mind for bargaining chips. Things that men on a mission might be swayed by. Bribery first, and threats second. She had little to use in the way of bargains except her position and her promises.

Another gunshot rang out, followed by sounds of fierce fighting. Shouts peppered the hallway, muffled by sturdy walls and thick windows.

This was it. They were coming for Sander. All her and Gunnar's fears were being realized right before her eyes. They should have taken more precautions, should have packed the halls with guards loyal to the King. The
real
King. Chey refused to lament what she couldn't change. And she wouldn't give up without a fight.

“Are there any other things we can use as weapons in here?” Chey asked. The chair, if someone could heft it, might knock a man unconscious. It wasn't useful unless they could take the guards by surprise. “What about chemicals from the bathroom? Any sort of cleaning supplies? Something flammable we can aim at their face?”

Krislin made a quick survey of the entire room followed by the bathroom.

Out in the hallway, the fighting grew more violent.

“Nothing. No chemicals left in here. They take everything in and out on a cart,” Krislin said when she emerged. “No medical equipment, either, except bandages and the machines Sander is hooked up to.”

“Okay. When they come in, you acquiesce to whatever they want. Don't fight, don't put yourself in harm's way. All right? We have nothing good to defend ourselves with, so we'll try something else.” Chey gave up on the idea of fighting the men off. They wouldn't stand a chance against guns, especially without weapons of their own.

“I'm not going to just stand by and watch them hurt you or Sander,” Krislin said, voice filled with angst.

Chey glanced at Sander. He looked so peaceful, face slack, body relaxed. Worry turned to anger that he might die without even having the chance to fight back. It wasn't fair.

“Krislin, it's better this way. There isn't anything you can do, and if they just take me or Sander, we'll need you to alert Gunnar. He'll know who to call or what to do.”

Krislin whimpered as the knob turned. A shoulder hit the door, coupled with shouts in the mother tongue to open it.

Or else.

Fighting off panic of her own, Chey prayed for a calm mind.

With several more shoves, the guards got the door open enough to admit four armed men. Men in military uniforms with stern expressions and a no nonsense attitude.

Krislin stood tall, blocking them from Chey and indirectly, Sander. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

Chey, for the moment, allowed Krislin to speak.

“Stand aside, Princess Krislin,” one of the guards said.

“I will not. This is a pregnant woman you're terrorizing, the
Queen
of Latvala at that, and no quarter will be given any man who lays a finger on her.” Krislin lifted her chin when the guards stepped forward. With surprisingly gentle yet firm hands, one guard physically moved Krislin to the other side of the room.

It left Chey face to face with the remaining three guards. She made eye contact with each one. “My husband
will
awaken, and when he does, he will have the names of every one of you acting against the crown. Have a care what you do in the next thirty seconds.”

From the doorway, another man stepped in. Brusque, with cropped white-blond hair, this soldier stood apart from his brethren by more than the impressive ranking badge attached to his uniform. He exuded a commanding air above and beyond the others, with a slicing white scar over his chin that added something more feral to his appearance.

“You will come with us peacefully, your Highness, or be
escorted
. The decision is yours, and rests wholly on your shoulders,” the scarred man said.

“How convenient that you attempt to exempt yourself and your men from blame. I'd like to know what you plan to do with the King.” Chey schooled her features, smoothed her voice over a tremor that wanted to invade her words.

The scarred man, a General Chey thought, halted before her.

“Worry yourself not over his welfare. He'll be fine.”

“Forgive my reticence in trusting the word of men with openly ill intent,” Chey retorted. She didn't want to leave Sander behind, didn't want to let any one of these men get their hands on him. The desire to physically fight them off was strong. At the same time, she was aware that she might hurt the baby, possibly push herself into labor. A bad position to be in either way.

“There is no ill intent here, I assure you. We are securing you and his Majesty until the logistics of the regions have worked themselves out. Now then,” the scarred man said, gesturing to the door.

Chey was not appeased. Standing her ground, she studied his expression, searching for lies or deception. Detecting nothing she could identify, Chey decided she wasn't moving. Just as when the council members came in, wanting time alone with Sander, Chey had the same sense that she needed to protect Sander any way she could. The General quirked his mouth when he realized she had no intention of obeying. He took one step closer and lowered his voice.

“Do not make this any worse for either of you, or for the Princess, eh? I am offering you safe passage, as well as a guarantee that the King will not be harmed. All you need to do is come with me.”

Chey wavered. His tone invited her to believe that she, nor Sander, would be harmed if she went quietly. It went against Chey's grain, rubbed her the wrong way to give in. Did she have a choice? Physically, she couldn't fight anyone off. Not really. They were armed, she was not, they were in excellent shape, she was mere weeks from giving birth. Any ideas of using bargaining chips or threats faded. This man,
these
men, wouldn't be cowed or coerced or bribed.