The Wrath of the King (7 page)

“He's getting it out there awfully fast. I agree, I think he's setting the stage for something bigger. Do you think Gunnar knows?” Chey thought not. She was close enough with Gunnar and Krislin to believe they would have come to her immediately with the information.

“I doubt it. He was too adamant that this stay with me only, though with the wording in the statement, it seems he needed to talk to the council about it. So they should know already. Maybe that was part of his meeting today. Still, he knew before then that his plans would go through,” Wynn said.

“I agree. Because he gave you that to transcribe before his meeting, right?”

“Yes. Something stinks about the whole thing. I also tried to call Mattias several times and still can't get through.”

“Keep trying. I need to think about all this,” Chey said, pulling fingers through her hair.

“Just remember. No one is supposed to know yet.”

“I know, Wynn. I know. Someone has to stop this from going through, though.” Chey had no idea how to make that happen at the moment. She needed time to plot and plan and strategize.

“It's a lot, especially with Sander like he is. I know it's hard, Chey. Paavo might have been moving pieces around his chessboard before this, so the whole idea could be much farther along than we realize. Be careful, okay? We don't know what all Paavo has done.” Wynn started to say something, then paused.

“What?” Chey knew when there was more to the story. Wynn hadn't told her everything yet.

“It's just...he told me to show up for dinner tonight. Said he had more things to go over. Maybe I'll find out more about what's going on.”

“
You
be careful. What's all this with the dinners and everything?” Chey didn't like that part, either. Paavo didn't need to have dinner with Wynn to tell her things. Her question was met with another distinct hesitation. “Wynn?”

“I—don't know. But I'll call you when I can. Bye.” The line went dead.

Chey pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen. She frowned, unable to put a name on the fresh bout of unease slithering through her system. As if Sander's condition wasn't stressful enough, now there was
this
to contend with.

Moving to the Contacts section, she found Mattias's number and dialed it.

His phone rang, and rang...and rang.

No answer.

. . .

“Hey, psst. Gunnar.”

Hailed by a voice lurking in a shadowy niche in a long hallway, Gunnar stopped and took one step back. A body shifted into the light, proving to be none other than councilman Belmar. Gunnar, originally on his way through the castle to meet with this man via a note delivered just before dinner, took stock of the details: Belmar's shifty eyes, his black pants and white shirt usually reserved for staff, the hunkered way he held his body.

“Belma--”

“Sshh. For God's sake, man. I mean, your Highness. My apologies,” Belmar said. He gestured down the hallway, making a point to look both ways once he was free of the niche. Belmar set a quick pace for the doorway of a nearby, rarely used office.

“I've known you my whole life and I've never seen you like this. Are those waitstaff clothes?” Gunnar followed Belmar's lead. He turned into the office and pushed the door almost closed at Belmar's insistence. Leaving it cracked so a thin sliver of light from the hallway spilled over the floor, Gunnar snapped on a lamp by feel and memory, only to turn it right back off when Belmar went into a mild fit.

“Off, your Highness, turn the light off!” Belmar hissed.

“Are you drunk?” Gunnar inquired, certain the man was either hopped up on drugs or had finished off a bottle of Scotch. Gunnar got another look at the councilman with the available illumination. Belmar, a short man with a heavy paunch and bald head, sweated profusely across his forehead and under his arm pits. The damp circles on the white shirt stood out like a sore thumb.

“No, no. I'm sorry for the clandestine manner in which we needed to meet, but it's imperative our conversation remain private.” Belmar, shorter than Gunnar by a half foot, glanced warily at the cracked door and back to Gunnar again. “No one can overhear.”

“Overhear what?” Gunnar propped his hands on his hips and waited Belmar out. The man's eyes, a light hazel in color, widened with the telling.

“Prince Paavo, the new sitting King, has filed a decree to split Latvala into regions. As he wanted to do once before. Not only that, he somehow convinced the majority of the council to vote
for
it earlier today and the decree was signed into law before lunch.”

Taken aback at the news, Gunnar wasn't sure what to say. More correctly, he didn't know what to ask first. “A decree has already been signed into law?”

“Yes, your Highness. There was a great upset at the meeting. Council members argued long after the document had been signed, but those of us who voted against it got no answers from the ones who voted yea.”

“So are you saying you believe Paavo tampered with some of the councilmen, coercing them into passing the decree?” Gunnar wanted to believe his brother wouldn't do such a thing. Memories of Paavo's enthusiasm months before at his own holding surfaced, the way Paavo's eyes lit at the idea of sectioning the country into separate territories. The desire was there, but would Paavo go this far?

“
Something
happened. I know for a fact that four members who voted yea were vehemently against dividing Latvala up. Yet today they sat there, stone faced, and did the exactly the opposite I expected them to. It wasn't right or normal, your Highness.” Belmar twisted his hands, stretching the skin taut across his knuckles.

“Did anyone say
when
this is to take place?” Gunnar asked.

“I don't know. We weren't given a lot of information. He only told us specifically not to say anything. I
had
to tell you, your Highness. I fear the Prince's actions after today.”

“No, you did the right thing. I need to confer with Mattias. Let me see if I can raise him before anything else happens. Come to me the second you have more information. Do so in whatever way you deem safe,” Gunnar said.

“I will. Please, your Highness, do not let on it was me who told you.” Belmar looked anxious and nervous while he pleaded for secrecy.

“Have no fear, I will say nothi--”

“Sshh. Did you hear that?” Belmar clasped his hands on Gunnar's arms and cocked his head toward the crack in the door. Sweat glistened on his brow, face a mask of concentration.

“Hear what?” Gunnar pulled his arms free of the hold and boldly opened the door. He stepped out into the hallway, glancing left and right along the corridor. No one was in sight.

“A scuffle. I heard a scuffle,” Belmar said. He did not follow Gunnar into the light.

“There is no one here. Just in case, I'll take my leave. Wait ten minutes before you do the same.” Gunnar stalked away from the office, heading for the main hallways that would take him to the stairs.

On the way to the upper, private floors, he found his phone and sent Mattias a text message.

It read:
We have a situation. Your presence is needed immediately. Come at once.

Unless Mattias showed up or Sander woke from the coma, there wasn't much Gunnar could do to stop Paavo's plans for Latvala.

Chapter Seven

Twisting his chin left and right, Paavo tightened the knot of his tie against his throat. Smoothing his hand down the front, he examined the immaculate suit of black and crisp, pale green shirt beneath. It did interesting things to his eyes, the color of the button down, or so he liked to think.

Freshly showered and groomed, he departed his bedroom suite and made his way to the second floor, veering down another hall until he came to the parlor he'd chosen for dinner with Wynn. As instructed, the waitstaff had set up a new table near two tall windows and draped it with clean, cream linens and pristine china with a delicate pattern. He examined the layout with a critical eye. Satisfied his demands had been met, he turned to the vase of flowers flanking the table, set aside rather than in the middle where they might make an awkward obstacle during the meal. White lilies poked up from lush green fronds and an array of other colorful flora filled in the remaining space.

Noise from the doorway brought Paavo's attention around. Expecting to see Wynn, a young, thin man stood there instead. Large brown eyes peered out of an angular face, his nondescript clothing making him blend in with the background.

As was intended.

The young man bowed his head in respect. “Your Majesty.”

“Davin, come in. Have you news?” Paavo watched the boy come closer.

“I do, yes.”

“Tell me, then.” Paavo tapped his own ear to indicate he wanted the young man to whisper there.

Davin did as instructed, laying the words out in concise sentences that went straight to the point rather than danced around it.

Paavo straightened. “Very good. You'll find your payment where I said you would. Keep me updated if you find anything else.”

The young man bowed his head once more and exited with all due haste.

Staring across the room at nothing in particular, Paavo resisted the urge to backhand the vase of flowers. Busted ceramic and lilies all over the floor wouldn't help the image he wanted to portray for his dinner companion. Taking out his phone, he shot off three text messages.

“I hope I'm not late. My nightstand clock was a few minutes off.”

Paavo schooled his features and glanced at the door. There stood Wynn, looking a little nervous. He eyed her conservative outfit of black—pants and sleeveless button down vest—trimmed with white piping. She was a tiny thing, with frail shoulders and an expressive face framed by a bob of sleek, dark hair. It took effort for him not to show his annoyance in the open.

“No, right on time. Come, sit down. Dinner should be here shortly.” Paavo gestured to one of the chairs at the table as another text message came in. He tilted the phone up to read.

As Wynn made her way over, Paavo sent off one last text.

That should take care of at least one problem.

. . .

The heavy chime of a grandfather clock struck the midnight hour. Wynn matched her steps to the metronome, pacing the long hallway on the second floor with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't care that she was dressed in pajamas or that her feet were bare. The lounge pants in hunter green with a long sleeved top were modest at any rate, more than adequate to wander the castle.

She couldn't get her mind off dinner. Off Paavo. His demeanor during the meal had been intense to say the least, with lingering eye contact and an accidental brush of his shoe against her calf that had put her on edge. The harder she tried to forget the resonance of his voice, his accent, the more it haunted her mind. And it
shouldn't.
Time and again she chided herself for the distraction, for
allowing
him to get under her skin. None of this could come to any good. Most of their conversation revolved around his plans for her and her job. Note taking, transcription, filing, preparing agendas for travel. None of it was unexpected.

Except she never meant to keep the job for longer than a few days.

At the end of the hallway, where it met the juncture of another, Wynn paused. She didn't want to go down to the lowest level and couldn't go up to the royal floor. A guard standing against the wall right at the corner caught her eye. She gave him a tight, cordial smile. Standing at least six feet, he filled out his uniform as well as any guard could. Wynn remembered seeing him several times earlier in the day at other posts around the castle, but hadn't been close enough to discern the gray of his eyes or the casual handsomeness of his features. He wore his light brown hair straight, the length hitting the edge of his whiskered jaw.

She filed away the details in a flash, one of those stolen moments that didn't detract from the mental deluge over Paavo. Not even the quirk of a return smile from the guard pulled Wynn from her reverie. Pacing back the way she'd come, she argued with herself that Paavo's draw was nothing more than natural charisma and an occasional sparkle of dry wit. He was unknown, untested, and she told herself that the man and the situation were challenges, a puzzle to be worked out and put away once she was done. Wynn, a lover of mysteries, only wanted to see this one through to the end.

Then why was she out here, pacing the hallway? Why couldn't she sleep? He shouldn't be so prominent in her thoughts that it kept her awake at night.

Making another circuit of the hall, she pivoted at the end, traded another shallow smile with the same guard, and began again.

Walking, pacing, wondering.

On her fourth pass, Wynn realized the guard changed positions. He wasn't leaning against the outer hallway, out of sight until she performed her pivot. He now stood near the opposite wall with a full view of the entire corridor. It meant she made eye contact with him for the last fifteen feet before she turned on a heel to start the other direction.

He probably thought she was crazy.

“Isn't that convenient,” she muttered to herself over his new 'view'. Her backside, to be exact.

“It's very convenient,” the guard replied.

Shocked that he heard, Wynn halted and turned around. Fighting off a blush, honing in on another detail, she said, “Wait. You don't have an accent. Do you?”

“How observant. No, I do not have an accent.” He maintained eye contact, slouching against the wall instead of standing erect.

“American,” Wynn said.

He flashed an unabashed smile, exposing a straight row of white teeth.

Wynn wondered what an American was doing standing guard, in guard's clothing no less, in a Latvala castle. Mysteries and puzzles abounded this evening.

He doffed a nonexistent hat when she continued to stare. “Leander, at your service.”

“Wynn.”

“I know.”

She scoffed. Rather than pelt him with question after question, Wynn returned to pacing. Knowing he was probably watching her disrupted the process. Gone was the ability to walk and think. Now she felt conspicuous and under observation.