The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (18 page)

“Your Majesty, welcome back,” Mister Urmas said as he closed in on the group.

Chey knew what that meant.

“Thank you. Yes?” Sander said, as if he too knew that Urmas was about to commandeer his time.

Urmas glanced at Chey briefly, then leveled a longer look on Sander. “You're needed in conference room two. You as well, Prince Mattias.”

A cold stab of fear sliced straight through Chey's excitement at showing Wynn the castle. She opened her mouth, intending to ask Sander if he could put off whatever they needed him for. It could be a hundred different things, but it could also be the interview. Sander touched her shoulder and spoke before she could.

“I'll meet up with you later, maybe for lunch?” he said.

“Actually, can I have a few moments of his Majesty's time before his meeting?” Chey said, deciding to speak up anyway.

“I won't keep him long, Miss Sinclair. The council is waiting,” Urmas said.

“I'll text you the second I'm done,” Sander said. He squeezed her shoulder and headed away with Mattias toward the conference room.

All she could hope for at this point was that some other emergency had come up that Sander needed to deal with.

“Everything okay?” Wynn whispered.

“Sure, yes. Ready for a tour? I think you'll like the room I picked out for you to stay in,” Chey said. She saw Hanna coming at a quick clip down the hallway and waylaid her. “Hanna, Wynn's here early. Can you have someone get her room ready if it's not already?”

“Welcome back, Miss Sinclair!” Hanna said. She smiled a broad smile at Wynn and exchanged good humored greetings. The request to get Wynn's room ready made Hanna shuffle her feet, a sign Chey was coming to recognize as a nervous tic on the assistant's part.

“I'll go see about the room,” Hanna said after a glance at Wynn.

Chey eyed her best friend, catching a subtle wink from one woman to another. “Okay, what's going on?”

“What?” Wynn said, all immediate innocence and big eyes.

Hanna departed with such speed that her feet might have been on fire.

Chey narrowed her eyes at Wynn. “Something's going on.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Now come on, time's wasting! I want to see
every room.
” Wynn grabbed Chey by the arm and tugged her toward the great hall.

Suspicious but willing to go along, she accompanied Wynn and began the grand tour. If she was a little distracted at times about the content of Sander's meeting, no one seemed to notice.

. . .

“It must have been
really
important,” Wynn said, “to keep Sander and Mattias through dinner, too.”

“I'm thinking so,” Chey said. Eight hours had passed. She hadn't heard anything from Sander other than a text before lunch and another at dinner, stating 'he couldn't make it'. She tried not to read too much into the abrupt message—after all, it was a text message, not voicemail—and had spent her time in Wynn's delightful company. A thorough tour of the castle had ensued, followed by lunch on a terrace and eventually, dinner alone in Wynn's room.

Hanna had caught up to them at one point, discreetly letting Chey know that she hadn't learned anything about Charlene and the crew. There didn't seem to be any reporting going on to anyone else in the castle, at least that Hanna could see.

“You're distracted today. Wedding ideas?” Wynn asked.

Settled on a sofa with a mug of hot cocoa in hand, Chey considered the question and shook her head. “Not really. I mean, a little. Mostly it's about something that happened yesterday. Sander doesn't know yet, at least I don't think he knows, and I'm afraid it'll get out before I have a chance to tell him myself.”

Wynn sat forward, legs folded beneath her lotus style, an expectant look on her face.

Chey eyed Wynn's posture, knew she wouldn't get out of the woman's room without a confession. The brief bit of mirth she felt faded a moment later to something more serious and sober. “I had to do an interview. It went fine at first, then the lady asked me if it was true that I supported splitting Latvala into regions. I was so caught off guard, you have no idea. Someone set me up for that and I suspect they mean to use the tape against me, or Sander, or maybe for blackmail. Something to that effect.”

“Wait, what? Regions?” Wynn's brow furrowed in confusion.

In as much detail as she could, without taking hours of their time, Chey explained Paavo's desire to cut the country up into pieces.

“Oh. And I'm guessing that's a bad thing?” Wynn said. The woman wasn't any more savvy about those kinds of politics than Chey.

“Yes. According to Sander, it'll just about be the death of Latvala.” Chey sipped her cocoa.

“I'm sure someone told him. Right? How could something like that go under the radar?” Wynn asked.

“It could if no one in that room told anyone else. I kept meaning to mention it, but everything in the world came up. Then we had that accident last night. Hanna is the only one who heard and saw the 'interview'. Never mind—if Sander found out,
I
would know by now, because I'm pretty sure he'd corner me with questions.” Chey turned the mug in her hands.

“I think you're right. You should tell him as soon as possible,” Wynn said.

“I intend to. Tonight, as a matter of fact, the second he's done with those infernal meetings. Sometimes they're just never ending.” Chey finished what she wanted of the cocoa and set the cup on an end table. “Speaking of that, I'm going to head back to the suite and wait for him.”

“Sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow we have my fitting, right?” Wynn propelled herself forward, untucking her skinny legs like a newborn foal learning to stand for the first time.

“Yes. I'm excited to show you the dresses.” Chey hugged Wynn and planted a sisterly kiss on her cheek.

“Perfect!” Wynn returned the affection and followed Chey to the door.

“Maybe, if all goes well, we can steal away to the island for a few hours so I can show you Kallaster.” Chey opened Wynn's door and stepped into the hall.

“I'm looking forward to it. If Sander's stuck in meetings all night, and you can't sleep, you know what to do. We'll have one of our all nighter, old movie marathons with popcorn and everything.”

“We haven't done that in years.” Chey smiled over her shoulder at Wynn. “If I don't call tonight, I'll see you first thing in the morning.”

“Okay. Goodnight!” Wynn lounged in the doorway as if she'd been a guest at the castle for a hundred years instead of one day.

Leaving Wynn behind, Chey traversed the second floor corridor, her mind on other things. Lights attached to the walls in sconces threw an ambient glow across the floor, creating shadows at the base of antique tables, potted plants and statuettes.

Glancing up from the floor, anticipating making the turn at the far end of the corner, Chey caught sight of Paavo and Bashir speaking near the entrance to one of the sitting rooms. Thirty feet from her, they didn't see her until she saw them.

Steps faltering, Chey recovered and inclined her head to acknowledge their presence. Bashir mimicked the gesture. Paavo followed her with his gaze, expression waning from intense and serious to something displeased and discontent.

Chey wanted to tell them that she had no interest in their business. Well—that wasn't
quite
true. She
did
wonder what topic could make them both as tense as they seemed.

Passing by, she made the corner and turned toward the staircase leading up to the third floor. The men didn't begin murmuring until they thought she was out of earshot. True enough, she couldn't pinpoint exact words, only the baritone drone that faded the farther she got up the stairs.

Interesting.

Perhaps it was business. Import and export, trade or resources. Maybe, even, Paavo had taken up in Sander's stead, attempting to smooth over the rocky sentiments about the contract. They should have been in a conference room, though, not the middle of the hallway.

And where were all the guards? She didn't see any until she came to the stairs to the royal floor; four guards—an increase considering the guests in the castle—stood sentry at the base.

With her mind busy over the accidental glimpse of Paavo with Bashir, Chey almost didn't hear the soft sound of anguish until it was too late. Almost. Halting just past the informal sitting room on the royal floor, she frowned and listened more closely.

Sure enough, quiet sobs disrupted the silence. A woman's sobs.

Backtracking to the door, which someone left cracked instead of closed, she peered into the room. The angle afforded Chey a glimpse of none other than Natalia curled in front of a couch, hands over her face, a white handkerchief dangling between her fingers.

Retreating, Chey made it exactly three steps before she stopped. Those weren't the tears of a petulant, spoiled woman who hadn't gotten her way. These noises came from a forlorn, tormented soul. Chey had cried like this when her parents passed away. When she'd watched Sander marry another. Desolate, heart-breaking emotion that had left her an empty shell in the aftermath.

She didn't think it was a good idea to walk in on the woman in this state, but leaving Natalia to suffer such a break down alone also didn't sit well. Although Chey wished she could be indifferent and smug that Natalia was in pain, she discovered she didn't have that much hate in her despite the things Natalia had done.

Cursing under her breath, she went back to the door. Pushed it open another few inches. The sobs tore at Chey's compassion and nurturing side. It hurt to hear and see someone so broken.

Sliding through the crack, she closed the door as quietly as she could. That was how she crossed the room to the couch as well. Instead of alerting Natalia of her presence, she let the woman detect it on her own. She thought Natalia's initial reaction would tell Chey whether Natalia was annoyed or too upset to care.

A shift of Natalia's head clued Chey in to the exact moment Natalia became aware. Continuing to approach, Chey eased onto the edge of the couch cushion right next to Natalia and threaded her fingers through the loose layers of tawny hair.

The sobs didn't cease, didn't even pause. Natalia didn't push Chey away and didn't recoil from the touch. For fifteen minutes, they sat just that way, one woman crying and the other soothing with subtle touches.

Finally, Chey said, “It might not seem like it now, but this gets better. Time is all you need.”

Natalia hitched and hiccuped. Cheeks wet with tears, she dabbed the streaks away only to have more roll down in their place. For long minutes, every time Natalia tried to speak, only stutters and gasps came out.

It was horrible to hear. Chey made more soothing noises, pulling pieces of hair gently away from Natalia's temple. “Sander won't let Bashir take you away, if that's what's scaring you.”

“Why did he do it? Why did he pawn me off like a piece of used furniture past its prime?” Natalia said, trembling and stuttering.

Chey didn't at first know who Natalia meant. Sander hadn't pawned Nat off anywhere—he'd been trying to spare her. Then it hit her. Aksel. Rather than antagonize the woman with guesses and attempts to make her feel better, Chey came at the situation head on. She chose truth no matter how hard it might be for Natalia to hear.

“I don't know. A more callous, cold proposition I've never seen,” Chey said.

“He didn't even ask me. Didn't pause to think whether
I
would approve or
want
it.”

“Are you surprised by that?” Chey asked. Natalia took several seconds to reply.

“I suppose I'm not. At least not now, after it happened.” Natalia sniffed and dabbed at her cheeks with the handkerchief. Flames from the fireplace reflected off the panes of her eyes, subduing the blue shade.

“Did he do anything like it when you were younger?” Chey asked.

Natalia stared at the flickering shadows. “I really don't know. He pushed me off on nannies and anyone else he could. 'Too busy'. He bought me things instead, like that made up for the distance, the indifference.”

Chey pieced together a picture. A spoiled little girl desperate for the one thing Aksel wouldn't give her: time. Acting out, becoming demanding and petulant might have been the ways Natalia forced his attention her way. She wondered if Natalia had harbored hope that Aksel would one day shine pride on her accomplishments and activities. Instead, she became a 'thing' to barter for money, alliances and a life away from everything Natalia had ever known.

A handy way to get the woman out from under his skin, Chey thought, while attempting to disguise it as an act of kindness.

“And nothing can ever take his actions back,” Chey said, guessing that was part of Natalia's angst. The contract was forever, whether it was acted upon or not.

“No. He gave me no answers while he was alive, and I'll get none now that he's dead,” Natalia said. She sniffed once more, then dropped her hands to her lap.

“I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through, or what you'll go through until you come to a reckoning, but I'm sorry nevertheless. I know it means little, and that it's probably trite or shallow.” Chey didn't have the words to heal Natalia or steal way the pain. Sympathy and a shoulder were all she could offer.

“Thanks,” Natalia said, voice barely above a murmur.

Chey collected another strand and skimmed it back from Natalia's temple. She wasn't fool enough to believe this would change their relationship or fix the things that were wrong, but she was glad to be here when it mattered. Perhaps this awakening, the hollow ache, would get through where no one else, and nothing else, could.

“If you need someone, I'll be here,” Chey said after a time. She threaded one last strand back over Natalia's shoulder, pleased to note that the innocuous strokes had calmed the woman somewhat. Natalia wasn't openly crying any longer, didn't suffer the hitch-gasp breathing when Chey first found her.

Natalia inclined her head, looking down at the handkerchief in her fingers.

Chey eased to a stand and rounded the couch. At the doorway she glanced back to find Natalia watching after her. With a faint smile, Chey let herself out.