The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (20 page)

Taking two hard rights on the private royal floor, he entered the informal sitting room and used the heel of a polished shoe to kick the door shut.

Paavo, standing before the fireplace, twisted at the waist and met Sander's eyes.

“We're going to make this short and painless,” Sander said by way of greeting. He stalled out behind a couch across from his brother, assessing Paavo's mood by the set of the man's chin and the gleam in his green eyes. Paavo had always been poor at hiding his emotions, at least from him. He noted defensiveness, irritation and something less easily defined.

“Have you called me here to belittle me for my beliefs? For taking an aggressive stance on the running of the country?” Paavo asked. He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks and fiddled with coins and other paraphernalia that jingled when he rustled it around.

“I called you here to ask you point blank whether you had anything to do with the interview Charlene gave Chey,” Sander said.

Paavo pushed a sigh from his lungs. “No. I already told her the same thing. Really—what's the point of that?”

“I don't know. You tell me. Blackmail, to make Chey look bad, to bring my rule into question? It could be many things. You've already gone to the media once with that stunt over the map.”

“That was a worthy cause. Trying to trip your fiance up means little to me, Dare. No, I didn't have anything to do with it, but I find it interesting that someone else feels like questions should be raised about the regions.” Paavo arched his brows.

“No thanks to you. I suppose it's possible that a producer went rogue after thinking to jack the tension up about the division of the country and what juicy news that might bring to their business.” Sander stepped around the edge of the couch, approaching Paavo with slow steps. For all intents and purposes, it appeared Paavo was telling the truth about his involvement with the interview. Still, he blamed Paavo in part for putting the idea into the media's head to begin with. It was a bone they wouldn't easily bury.

Paavo removed his hands from his pockets and flashed his palms in a traditional sign of surrender. “I don't control what they do.”

“So tell me, Paavo. Have you dropped the idea of partitioning the country into pieces? Have you recalled your signature gatherers? Or do I need to take this whole thing a step further? Because I will.” He cut off any viable route of exit, keeping himself between Paavo and the door.

“Your announcement to the public pretty well squelched my plans. It was smart to have Mattias and Gunnar appear with you, Dare. They have a lot of pull with the people as well.” Paavo bowed his head with a mocking smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“I don't know whether to believe you or not. Right now, I don't have time to deal with any remnants your power play, so I'll tell you now—take care of it. Squelching isn't good enough. Snuff the idea until it's dead and buried in the minds of the few you tried to sway.” Sander closed the distance by another four feet. He didn't stop until Paavo began to show signs of restlessness.

“I told you already. I'm not pressing forward with the plans. I still think you're mistaken, though, and I'll tell you at every turn.” Paavo shifted weight on his feet, watching Sander with wary eyes.

“I'm sure you will. Just like I'll always know that you believe I shouldn't sit on the throne and that you begrudge me the right to be there.”

“It is what it is, Dare. If Mattias had a spine, he would begrudge you, too. But he doesn't, so it's a moot point.”

Sander laughed. Harsh, derisive. “You don't know your own brother very well if you think Mattias has no spine. He'll make a hell of a King if anything happens to me.” A beat of silence stretched between comments. “As tempted as I am to 'detain' you and tell the public you're off on some official business, I've decided instead to cut your stipends in half. That should hinder your ability to bribe, blackmail or otherwise collect more names for your list.”

“You can't do that!” Paavo shouted. A vein stood out in his forehead.

“I can, and I did. For the next three years.” Sander's tone brooked no argument.

“Three years—you're joking. I'll go to the council--”

Sander interrupted. “The council backs my decision. I
did
tell you I would treat it as an act of treason, did I not?”

Paavo clenched his fists and glared at Sander.

Untroubled by Paavo's growing fury, Sander asked, “What were you doing talking to Bashir?”

Seething, Paavo didn't immediately answer. He stared at a point on the ground, clearly fighting for control. It took long minutes before he calmed himself enough to say, “I should have known Chey would run to you and tattle.”

Sander waited Paavo out. He waited until his brother turned his attention back to follow his question up with a look that demanded answers.

“You know, you're a pompous ass sometimes, Dare. Did it ever occur to
you
to tell me about the contract? I was the last to hear, the last to know Bashir was pressuring for Natalia's hand. I was talking to him about
her
,” Paavo said, looking Sander up and down with the same derision Sander displayed moments before.

“You would have known with the rest of us if you hadn't been down at your holding, collecting signatures behind my back. You need to readjust the blame you're trying to lay at someone else's feet.” Sander refused to let Paavo off the hook for his own actions.

“Sure, sure. Right. It's no one's responsibility to let me know because I'm her brother, too. I can't always be up here, no matter what I was doing
in my own home at the time.
Someone should have called me.” Paavo frowned. “So that's what it was. I dissuaded him from the notion Natalia would be going anywhere with him.”

Sander stared Paavo down. The man sounded truthful and serious, but he'd learned the hard way to be wary, especially with Paavo's actions the last few days. “Make sure it stays that way. I don't want any more trouble the rest of this week until the wedding.”

“Oh, there won't be any trouble, but there
is
one more thing,” Paavo said, an edge to his voice.

“What's that, Paavo?” Sander paused before he turned away.

“Aurora's gone.”

“...what?” Sander frowned. “What do you mean she's gone?”

“We're split up. For good. Thanks, though, for asking after
my
affairs.” Paavo stared another three seconds. He broke away for the door, giving Sander a wide berth.

“What happened?” he asked. This was the first he'd heard of any problems between the two. Aurora's withdrawal and absences from several events had been noticed but not commented upon more than a cursory explanation.

Paavo paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame. “She wasn't on board with the direction my life is taking.”

“And which direction is it taking, Paavo?” Sander maintained eye contact with his brother, ready to read between the lines should Paavo give him any hint to what he was really feeling.

“Let's just say the royal life was getting to her. It happens though, right? People grow apart. It's been going on for a while. Not that you've paid any attention.” Paavo tapped his fingers on the door frame before disappearing into the hall.

Sander had half a mind to go after Paavo and remind him just who had distanced himself from the family. Deciding it wasn't worth a larger confrontation, possibly a fight, he vacated the sitting room and made his way to the stairs.

He had some place he needed to be.

Chey stared at Wynn's reflection, fingers smoothing a spot on the woman's waist where the material of the maid-of-honor's dress crimped unnaturally. She thought the style was stunning on Wynn, who wore it with relish.

“I
love
it,” Wynn said. “It doesn't look like someone puked on it.”

Chey laughed, recalling their long conversation the evening before where Chey confessed what happened at the fitting session with Natalia and the cousins.

“I don't think so either. I'm glad you like it.” Chey stepped back to eye the dress from a bit of a distance.

“Will it bother you to have just three bridesmaid's up there? I know that's a silly question because it's
you,
and you never wanted a big wedding. Still, this is different, what with the royalty and all.” Wynn sought Chey's eyes in the mirror.

“No, it won't bother me. It's driving the advisers crazy though. They have a certain idea in their heads about how the King's ceremony should go, and doing it differently creates friction.” Chey stepped off the dais and took a peek through the fold of the garment bag that covered the dress she
really
wanted to wear. It looked as though the alterations had been made, thanks to Hanna's insistence. Ambivalent over wearing this opposed to the 'approved' dress, she touched the material and wondered how much of an uproar it would cause if she changed her mind.

“I'm sure. It's all about perception—hey, what's that?” Wynn pinched material between her fingers and stepped off the dais after Chey.

“It's the dress I wanted to wear, but can't. The advisers didn't approve at all.” Chey let the flap of the cover fall closed.

“I want to see it! Why won't they let you wear it?” Wynn asked, stopping next to Chey.

“Because it's not traditionally white. It's a pink-champagne color with rosettes draped along the edge of the swags. I thought a few of the advisers were going to have heart attacks,” Chey said, laughing. She unzipped the garment bag the rest of the way so Wynn could get a glimpse of the gown.

“Oh, but it's so pretty!” Wynn pulled part of the skirt out, running her fingers over the material. “It's not like it's neon pink or something. I think you should wear it.”

“Stop playing devil's advocate,” Chey chided, amused. She tucked the dress back into the bag and zipped it up. “This is the one I'm wearing, and it's just as pretty.”

Stepping a few feet over, Chey unzipped another white bag, exposing half of a very traditional wedding dress as white as white could be. Layers of tulle and satin fell from a snug fitted waist, with the sleeves sporting buttons up the underside of the forearm.

“This is great, too. But if you like the other one—wear it. What does Sander say?” Wynn examined the white dress thoroughly.

“He told me to wear what I wanted to wear, but he isn't the one who will have to hear it from the advisers if I buck the system and go against their wishes.” Chey liked the white dress—she just liked the other one better.

“That's all I would care about. What Sander thought. The Chey I grew up with would wear the dress
anyway.
It's your day, not theirs.” Wynn flashed a deviant smile at Chey.

“You're such a bad influence. Come on. Let's get that dress off you before we're set upon again by the seamstresses.”

Wynn hooted a laugh and made her way behind the mirrors to change. “I would go through a hundred fittings for you, Chey.”

“That could become a reality around here if we're not careful,” Chey said, teasing. She waited near the dais for Wynn. Catching a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the mirrors, she turned to the side to see if her waistline had expanded to the point her dress might need a last minute adjustment. She didn't think so. But she could definitely feel the thickening in ways she hadn't before. Good thing they weren't waiting another two weeks.

“Okay. So what's the itinerary again?” Wynn emerged a few minutes later in a pair of houndstooth pants, a black sweater and matching scarf looped several times around her neck.

“A lot of stuff. We have to visit the church and make sure it's all like it's supposed to be, and the reception hall, then later tonight we have that party with the guests.” Chey didn't tell Wynn of the plans to stop over at Kallaster castle. That was a surprise. Leading Wynn to the door, she stepped out into the hall and glanced back at the garment bag with
the
dress in it.

The Chey I grew up with would wear the dress anyway.
Where did she draw the line between want and pleasing people she would be working with for the rest of her life?

“I could get used to these parties!” Wynn announced. “Too bad you don't get married once a year.”

Distracted, Chey almost didn't hear Wynn. However, the horror of getting married once a year pulled her out of the reverie. With a last glance at the white bag, she closed the door and bumped Wynn with her shoulder.

“Bite your tongue, woman.
You
get married to a royal and then tell me you'd do it once a year.” Chey snorted. Once was stressful enough.

As Wynn bantered back, animated and using hand gestures to make her points, Chey's mind drifted to the dress. To the ceremony.

To the look in Sander's eyes when she finally, finally, walked down the aisle.

. . .

Wynn provided a fresh perspective on the wedding details. Chey absorbed the woman's reactions as they visited the reception hall and the church, which Wynn fell immediately in love with. She loved the stone, the spires, the old gothic feel and the fact she could hear waves crashing not far on the shoreline. Her favorite parts were the soaring ceiling and stained glass. Wynn declared it the best church
ever
to get married in.

After making a few last second adjustments, Chey texted Hanna with the updates and climbed into the helicopter with the still exclaiming Wynn. It meant something to Chey to share this with someone special, someone who had been a part of her life
before
the royals. With her parents gone and an aunt that probably didn't know whether she was dead or alive, it helped keep some of the nerves at bay.

Their first sight of Kallaster Castle charmed Wynn to no end. Right away, the chatter switched from wedding talk to shock that this was where Chey would live out her life.

“You are
the
luckiest girl, I swear,” Wynn said as they headed away from the helicopter, buffeted by the wind. “This is a hundred times better than the other castle.”

Chey climbed into the waiting limousine, laughing. “You haven't even seen the inside of Kallaster yet!”