Heir Untamed (3 page)

“Excuse us. We'll need to make sure you're not carrying anything, Madam,” one said.

Chey, taken by surprise at the abrupt way they entered her personal space, had no time to protest. One man simply began patting her down while the other picked the phone Urmas had given her up off the table.

For the first time since her arrival, Chey wanted to scowl and slap at hands. The security guard never touched her inappropriately, yet he also did not miss any pertinent places she might be hiding camera phones, microphones or weapons. He was exceedingly thorough and seemingly indifferent to basically feeling her up.

It was over before she really got steamed, the phone returned to the table while the men retreated to stand at different points in the room.

Was this how it always was for Royalty, even in their private residence?

Or was it her presence among them that upped the security level?

Chey returned to her camera and equipment to double check that none of the security guards had accidentally messed with the settings. Everything was in place, exactly as she'd left it.

A flurry of movement outside the doors preceded the prowling entrance of a man with dark hair combed away from his face. Unlike the guards, this man wore a regal mantle like some men wore cologne, effortlessly and with devastating effect. He commanded attention by the sheer force of his magnetism, which filled the room to overflowing.

It was impossible, Chey thought,
not
to follow him with her eyes.

Allar appeared at her shoulder, head bent to murmur near her ear. “I know it's difficult, but try not to stare to the point of his discomfort, hm?”

Before Chey could think to shape an answer, the unnamed man pinned a look directly on her. He had eyes the color of coffee grounds, so dark she couldn't tell where the brown ended and the black of his pupil began. The way he assessed her felt like a shredding; her character, her morals, her soul. He cocked his chin a fraction and arched a brow.

“
Miss
Sinclair,” Allar said, this time with more urgency.

Chey looked away from the dark haired man and fumbled with her camera. But she felt the lingering stare from across the room. He had to be Royalty.

Two women strode in next, both blonde, one natural and one born of a bottle. They were of a similar height and wore upscale, demure clothing that complimented their coloring. Neither so much as glanced Chey's way. The taller of the two paced her way toward the dark haired, dark eyed man like she owned him.

Indeed, perhaps she did. When she arrived at his side, she slithered a long fingered hand through the crook of his elbow and tilted a sleek hip against his. Whatever endearment rolled off her tongue was in a language Chey didn't understand.

The man smirked and looked out the window instead of at the blonde, replying in a voice too low to make out his words. The sound nevertheless resonated, a pleasant burr on the skin.

A third woman stalked in, heels clacking on the floor. Right off the bat, she had a petulant demand. “How long is this going to take?”

Beautiful by anyone's standards, the brown haired, blue eyed woman flounced herself into a lean against the side of a chair, exhaling in a very obvious display of being put upon. She caught sight of Chey and looked her up and down in a way that might have stripped other women to their core. Then, just as fast, she dismissed her.

“Only as long as it takes for everyone to arrive. I shouldn't imagine the actual picture taking will be an extended affair,” Urmas replied as he entered from the hall.

On his heels, another man strode in, hair black as pitch, green eyes sweeping the room before landing on the natural blonde. He went straight to her and murmured in her ear.

Chey decided the dark haired men were the brothers Urmas mentioned, the women their wives or intended. The pairings made sense and the men weren't security, which left Royals.

The petulant woman must be the sister.

“Those two there by the window are Mattias and the woman he dates, Viia. Mattias is second in line to the throne behind his eldest brother, Dare,” Allar murmured.

Chey now had a name to go with the man who exuded so much primal magnetism: Mattias. It suited him.

“The other male, with the green eyes, is Paavo. Third in line to the throne. His fiance there is Aurora. And the little beauty who is impatient to start is Natalia. All we await now are the King and Queen, then we may begin.” Allar straightened after he completed filling Chey in on who was who.

“Thank you,” Chey said under her breath.

Mollified to know she'd at least guessed the status, if not the rank, Chey fixed her attention on the equipment. Although it was already set and ready, she went over it again. Just to keep her fingers and mind occupied. She wondered if this was the way it would be for every shoot, with the security heavy and the Royals staggering in at intervals.

“Oh, and because you're American, you're not expected to curtsy to Royalty, but it would be a mark in your favor if you learned and displayed your lesser rank at some point,” Allar added.

Chey noted the men in the room had all at least bowed their heads in deference. She wasn't sure how she felt about curtsying to anyone, especially people who were not of her home country. Curtsying wasn't a custom anyway in America—why should she do it here?

When in Rome, do as the Romans do,
she reminded herself. It sat ill with her, as well, hearing of her
lesser rank.
Mildly irked, she hid it behind a professional veneer.

“I'll take that into consideration.” Chey kept her voice low, like she worried she might disturb the waiting Royals.

“Excellent.” Clearly, Allar approved.

A disturbance in the hallway alerted Chey to the arrival of the King and Queen. They entered with a surprising air of normalcy. The King, a tall man with salt and pepper hair and a neat mustache-goatee combination, held himself with importance but also nonchalance. Dressed in a sharp suit of navy pinstripes, he wore a draping mantle of fur around his shoulders, denoting his status and title. His wife appeared almost bored, but not rudely so, dark hair swept up into an intricate coif held with tiny pearl pins. Her eyes were the exact same color as Mattias's. She wore a dress in gray so light it was almost white. The beaded lapels matched the three inch cuffs.

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to either bow or curtsy.

Chey felt out of place and diverted her attention back to her camera. She didn't want to stare and be reprimanded nor did she feel comfortable attempting an awkward curtsy. She had trouble getting past the notion that these people ruled an entire country, had ruled it for generations. It was incomprehensible that someone had so much power and influence, even though the rational part of her mind understood that this was the way it had been in many countries for centuries.

The moment passed as quickly as it had arrived, much to her relief. She watched the pomp and circumstance, all the people coming and going that had some sort of duty to the Royals, with no small amount of subdued awe. One staff member approached the Queen carrying a pillow with a gilded staff nestled on top. The Queen picked it up with care and tucked it regally into the crook of her arm like a mother with a newborn baby.

“And
that,
of course, is King Aksel and Queen Helina. You will be doing several sittings with just them in the coming days,” Allar explained in a low voice at her ear.

“I imagine so, considering their status,” Chey whispered. After all, she was here to capture their likeness for the history books and future generations.

“How would you like your first pose?” Allar asked.

Chey didn't need to stop and contemplate. She pointed to chairs and sofas and added names to go along with them. Women in the front, Queen in the center, the men standing behind.

Allar stepped away and approached Urmas, relaying the information. Urmas, in turn, began gently suggesting seating, brisk and businesslike.

Chey stepped behind the camera to size up the scene. Maids hurried in to arrange the clothing just so, brush off shoulders and fix pieces of hair at the last second.

Queen Helina suddenly glanced to her left when Viia left Mattias's side and strode out into the hallway.

“What is she doing?” Helina inquired.

“Mother, she is not family--” Mattias began to explain, but Helina cut him off.

“She will be shortly. Bring her back in,”
she insisted.

“Nothing is set in stone. You should have asked me before you invited her,” Mattias said, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

“Aurora is not technically family and she's in the photo,” Paavo said. “Or is this your subtle way of saying she should go, too?”

“Try not to tax your brain too much, little brother. I care not if your
fiance
is in this picture. A woman I'm
dating
is much different.” Mattias exchanged a dark look with Paavo.

After a glance between the Queen and the King, Aksel lifted a hand to gesture. “Bring Viia back in.”

Mattias hissed and stared forward.

Viia re-entered the room with a haughty set to her shoulders. She acted as if this was her due, something she had already rightfully earned.

Chey paused, using the view finder of the camera to stare at the Royals in a way she could not otherwise. The tension in the room rose by leaps instead of fractions. She re-issued instructions to Urmas to fix the seating arrangements and prepared to get the session under way.

Soon, the Royals were situated, spines stiff, shoulders square. Chey wanted to tell them to relax a little, to smile. They wanted to come off as more human, unless she missed her guess, and this wasn't exactly fitting the bill.

Taking the remote shutter in one hand, she straightened to view the group with the naked eye over the top of the camera. Right away her gaze locked onto Mattias's. Ensnared, Chey traded a look with him that left her a little light headed. Tearing her eyes from his face, she got back to business.

“Ready?” she asked the group. There was no way she was going to try and coordinate this part through third parties. The Royals would just have to deal with her personally. “On three, two, one...”

She squeezed the bulb in her palm. Not one of the Royals smiled. They wore stern expressions, thin mouths and an overall tense mantle that would carry over into the photo.

“Once more, please.” Chey repeated the countdown, studiously refusing to meet Mattias's eyes again. She could feel him staring. Was he unhappy with her for putting Viia next to the Queen?

Settling into a routine, Chey organized—via Allar and Urmas—to take singles of
the King and Queen, of the King with his two sons, and the Queen with her daughter.

The entire time she avoided making eye contact with Mattias, though she felt the weight of his attention often.

When she'd taken upwards of thirty photos, she knew the Royals were at the limit of their patience and she was thoroughly done with organizing poses through Allar and Urmas.

She took down her equipment as the Royals filed out of the room, busying herself with her task. The security detail followed them out, leaving just a handful of liaisons and staff in their wake.

Relieved to have session one out of the way, Chey carried one bag while Allar carried the rest with Urmas in the lead for her private suite.

She couldn't wait to change, relax and investigate more of the castle on her own.

Chapter Two

Chey stood in the middle of her suite, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. Left alone at last, she turned a slow circle, eyes raking over the pristine walls in a color she could only describe as powder blue. Pale, subtle, offset by ivory colored crown molding. Gold accents—baroque shapes, tassels on pillows, a faint leaf design—added a regal flair to the décor.

This was the living area, separate than that of the bedroom. A collection of divans and wingback chairs, all keeping in the color scheme, bracketed a coffee table that looked direct from the renaissance age. Masterpiece paintings of foxhunts and beautiful landscapes covered the walls. More antique pieces of furniture sat in corners and stunning Persian rugs covered large swathes of floor.

She felt like she shouldn't touch anything. As if this was a space in a museum not made for actual living, just viewing.

Entering an archway, she found herself in the bedroom. The blue, white and gold theme existed here as well. The bed, a monstrosity that took up a good portion of one wall, sported a column at each corner with gauzy netting looping through gold painted iron scrollwork overhead. Whimsical bedding fit for a King looked plush, expensive and comfortable.

The bathroom, as large as her apartment back in Seattle, was a private affair with a huge walk in closet, shoe shelves and built in drawers that pulled out of the wall. A tub that looked more like a jacuzzi dominated the center, with a tall walk in shower, extensive cabinets and double sinks in marble adding to the appeal.

She wondered what in the world the King and Queen's bedrooms must look like if the guest suites were this lavish. Living here for the next four months would be no hardship.

Drawn to double french doors in the main room, she stepped out onto a private balcony overlooking the back bailey, another gate and the acreage beyond. It stretched as far as the eye could see.

More buildings and what had to be the stable sat off to the right past the bailey gate. Horses meandered in fenced pastures, though Chey saw no one riding. Just the stable hands grooming, walking and training.

Anxious to explore, she unpacked all her luggage and changed from the pink skirt suit into jeans, a thin sweater of turquoise with sleeves pushed to the elbow, and hiking style boots. Grabbing a smaller camera from her bag, she departed her room.

Urmas had been explicit in his instructions about where in the castle she was, and was not, allowed. The entire third floor was off limits. Home to the Royal family, only they, their staff and the guards had availability. Two different rooms on the main floor had been barred, as well as a walled garden and a specific dining room.