The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (8 page)

Forty minutes later, when they exited the King's garden and started back toward the dining room for lunch, Chey thought the air might start crackling from Natalia's ill concealed hostility. And yet Bashir remained steadfast, escorting her as if the woman wasn't wound tight as a drum. He smiled, laughed once or twice, and murmured to Natalia as if they were already lovers.

Chey thought she knew why Bashir was so tolerant. Natalia, despite her sour disposition, was a beautiful woman. Her features were narrow and symmetrical, her eyes almond shaped and framed by thick, black lashes. Built slim but shapely, she didn't lack the assets to turn men's heads. Perhaps he was already imagining the children he might spawn with her. Maybe the challenge of breaking her tantalized him.

Taking their seats around the table, Chey whispered her thanks to Sander for getting her chair and glanced across to see Natalia shake off Bashir's touch before sitting. For the first time, Bashir's features skewed into a look of irritation.

As Mattias situated himself next to her, and Bashir's attendants took up places down the table on his side, Chey allowed herself to consider the future. A future of meetings and situations like these, where her ability to remain neutral would be tested like no other time in her life. She began to understand the advisers insistence that she attend etiquette classes, especially for someone not born to royalty. It went beyond culture shock to levels she wouldn't have guessed or imagined. In the position of Queen, she would be expected to react in ways that could not come back to haunt her later. Once or twice, the rebel that lived inside her had wanted to chide Natalia for being a child and at the same time, dress Bashir down for forcing the exchange.

None of those things would go over well. At all. Not only would she give people something to whisper about, she thought Sander might look at her with disapproval, a thing she wasn't sure she could tolerate. He trusted and believed in her. Believed she could handle any event that came up.

Lost in thought, Chey became aware that Bashir had said something to offend Natalia. Glancing up, she tried to discern what it was that got under Natalia's skin.

“I'll choose my own food, thank you,” Natalia said.

“I thought to--”

“Well maybe you
shouldn't
think,” Natalia replied, cutting Bashir off.

Several of Bashir's attendants frowned.

Bashir, watching Natalia beside him, wore an expression of disbelief and offense.

“Why don't we have the platters brought out and we can choose what we want from there,” Sander said, tone neutral. Calm.

“I don't want to pick at food from a platter. You know I like it served on my own plate,” Natalia said.

“Natalia.” Sander's reply carried a clear warning.

Chey, without being obvious about it, glanced at Bashir to see if she could tell what he really thought of Natalia's truculent nature. She was beautiful, yes, but far from easy to live with. Perhaps Bashir had hit his limit of tolerance and would write the whole thing off. Chey couldn't tell what he was thinking beyond the scowl and affront he displayed. Whether he'd decided to ditch the idea of marriage to Natalia wasn't apparent.

Natalia exhaled and pushed to stand. “I'm tired of pretending. Your Excellency, I'm aware of why I'm here, and why you're here. It's just not going to work. My apologies, but I don't want to marry you.”

“Unfortunately, your father promised your hand. Signed a binding contract. And I've decided you would make a perfect third wife,” Bashir said, rising to his feet to meet Natalia's gaze head on. He lifted his chin, imperious, as if his word was law. The charm and tolerance he'd displayed so far melted like ice under a hot summer sun.

“Contracts, like rules, were made to be broken,” Natalia said, staring Bashir down.

Chey hadn't ever known Natalia to back down from a confrontation. Why should this be any different. She glanced at Sander, gauging his reaction. The King of Latvala regarded the interaction with a sharp gaze, remaining seated for now. Mattias as well observed without interrupting.

“Not this one,” Bashir said, using a softer tone. As if marriage to him was inescapable.

Giving Bashir a belligerent look, Natalia stepped around him and marched out of the dining hall. Chey decided it could have gone worse, considering Natalia's state of inebriation.

Bashir followed Natalia with narrowed eyes, cheek twitching. Several of the Crown Prince's advisers murmured low in their own language. Bashir answered and looked at Sander next, one brow arched expectantly.

“She doesn't want to marry you.” Sander stated the obvious in a bland voice. Reclining in his high backed chair, he had the air of a lounging lion.

“That is not the correct answer,” Bashir said. “The correct answer is:
I'll get her to come around, your Excellency.
I've decided she
will
become my third wife, and that you
will
honor your father's contract.”

Sander allowed an entire thirty seconds to creep by. Silence descended on the dining hall. Waiters stood by at the entrances, hands full with trays of drinks and appetizers. None dared to intrude on the standoff.

Finally, Sander said, “You might think you can order her around. Control her. But don't think for a second you can control me. Have your lawyers contact mine and we'll see who comes out on top, hm?”

Bashir gave Sander a mocking tilt of his head and exited the room with brisk steps. His attendants and advisers followed like ducks in a row, refusing to meet Sander's eyes or even say goodbye.

Rising from his chair, graceful and smooth, Sander brushed a hand down the front of his suit and glanced between Chey and Mattias. “Let's retire to the upstairs sitting room for lunch and concentrate on the upcoming meeting with Paavo. The council can deal with his
Excellency.
”

More than happy to retire to a more private setting, Chey abandoned her chair for the security of Sander's arm. With Mattias flanking, they headed to the 'royal' floor of the castle where they were sure not to be overheard or interrupted by visiting guests.

Glad for the reprieve, Chey put the Crown Prince from her mind and looked ahead to dinner with her soon to be brother-in-law.

Paavo's holding sat on a low hill overlooking a broad valley that seemed to stretch for miles. The castle itself, an older structure that had withstood the test of time, boasted four turrets at each corner, a high surrounding wall and an iron coat of arms on the wooden entry gate. This particular holding had a secondary wall and gate system they passed through after navigating the winding road leading up the hill. The limousine Paavo sent to the small helipad adjacent to the castle ferried the group to the front doors, where members of Sander's personal guard waited. A handful had arrived by car an hour before.

Ushered inside, Chey discovered a broad foyer, arching ceilings, stone walls and tall windows. Like Kallaster, Paavo's castle was more medieval in the making. Coats of arms decorated the walls between giant oil paintings depicting scenes of battle or portraits of ancestors. High beams criss-crossed over the ceiling and enormous rugs covered portions of the floor.

Shown to an upstairs chamber after splitting off from the others, Chey found it to be a suite of rooms with an attached bathroom and large closet. Sander paid little attention to his surroundings, as if he'd seen it all too many times before. Every castle was a new adventure for Chey, who was endlessly charmed and fascinated by the intricacies and mystery of the structures.

After unpacking a few items and checking her dark pantsuit in the mirror—a more formal outfit than the one she'd worn to the disastrous luncheon—she exited the chamber with her fingers hooked under Sander's elbow. They ran into Mattias coming out of a suite not far from their own, and finished their descent in his company. He, like Sander, wore a sharp suit of black with a crisp button down beneath. Each man wore a complimentary tie and polished shoes.

Once, when Chey glanced over, she caught Mattias giving Sander a specific look. She wasn't sure what it meant, only that the men were communicating on sub-levels, reading each other's expressions and eyes with old familiarity.

A long wooden table capable of seating more than twenty guests was the center feature of the dining hall. Candles threw flickering light across glittering china and crystal waiting before each chair. Vases of flowers decorated side tables against the walls, adding a touch of whimsy to an otherwise barbaric setting.

Paavo, also in a suit, stood at the head of the table with a glass of red wine in hand. Carefully groomed, as was his wont, he toasted the others as they arrived. Built more like Mattias than Sander, Paavo cut a lean yet athletic figure, dark hair combed away from his angular face.

Gunnar and Krislin entered last, also having changed into more formal attire, and took the seats indicated by placards with names.

Chey whispered her thanks to Sander after he saw to her chair, and noticed that Paavo had put himself in the end seat. She supposed it was tradition for the man of the house to take that position. For some reason, she expected Paavo to forgo that honor and instead give it to the King. Sander sat next to her a moment later, appearing unaffected that he'd been placed on Chey's other side. He reclined in the chair in that way he had, one elbow propped on the arm, blue eyes assessing the gathered before landing on his brother.

Gunnar and Krislin sat across the table next to Mattias, with Paavo's intended, Aurora, to Chey's right. The chess pieces were in place.

What a cynical thought.

As at the fitting, Aurora remained withdrawn, quiet. She didn't meet anyone's eyes, didn't give out more than a nod of greeting. There was something somber about her posture, the set of her lush mouth.

No one gave any explanations for the tension, and Chey didn't ask.

Paavo remained standing. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. As you might guess, there's a reason I've requested a private audience with you. But first, let's eat.”

Paavo toasted the group a final time, sipped from his glass, and sat down.

Several courses of succulent food were brought by the staff, one after the other, advancing through the meal with steady progress.

Chey took note of the silence among siblings while she ate. She had the distinct sensation that Sander was merely biding his time, going through the motions so they could get to the point of the visit. Even Aurora and Krislin had little to say to each other. Everyone appeared preoccupied with one thing or another, thoughts far from whatever Paavo had planned. Refusing cherry cheesecake dessert, Chey took another sip of water and relaxed into her chair, trying to focus on current events and not get caught up in the drama of the Crown Prince and Natalia.

When Sander set a hand on her thigh under the table, she covered his knuckles with her palm and squeezed, enjoying the texture and heat of his skin.

Finally, once the dishes were gone and wine glasses had been refilled, Paavo sat back in his chair and surveyed the group. His gaze landed and stayed with Sander, blatant and assessing. Sander returned the direct look, waiting Paavo out.

Chey glanced between brothers, then at Mattias. She read a smile in the squint at the corners of his eyes as well as a growing intensity he didn't bother to hide. It was her first indication that this evening's 'event' might be more serious than she first anticipated. What did Paavo have up his sleeve?

“Are you going to sit there and gloat all night, brother, or are you going to get to the point?” Sander sounded unimpressed by Paavo's tactics.

Paavo took a long drink, set his glass down, and rose from his seat. Half turning to the archway, he raised his voice. “Bring it in, please.”

Several minutes later, staff members carried in a large easel with a giant painting, picture, or some other drawing covered with a white sheet. The men set the easel within easy viewing distance of the guests and retreated, leaving the sheet in place.

Chey wondered what was going on. Had Paavo ordered a painting done? If so, of who? She glanced at Sander. He wore a bored expression that was likely a ruse for something more keen.

“This will come as a surprise to everyone, but I'd like you to keep an open mind,” Paavo said. “I'd like you to stop for several minutes and simply consider the implications, the idea, of what I'm about to present.”

The more Paavo prepared them for what was to come, the more uncomfortable it made Chey. Whatever was under the sheet, she decided, would be something of monumental importance.

“For crying out loud, show us already,” Gunnar said with clear irritation.

Paavo caught the edge of the sheet in his fingers and flipped it up and over what turned out to be an elaborate drawing.

At first, Chey didn't know what she was looking at. A map, certainly. Of Latvala, since the name was printed clearly at the top. Red lines marked what she thought were counties or territories. It didn't explain, however, why a sudden furor erupted around the table.

“Have you lost your mind?” Sander said with an iron edge to his voice.

“No. Absolutely not, Paavo. What are you thinking?” Mattias's question overlapped Sander's.

“It cannot be allowed.” Gunnar, along with the other brothers, stood from his seat. He flattened his hands on the table, leaning forward while he glanced from the map to Paavo.

“Just
think
about it for a moment. You're acting on instinct instead of seeing the bigger picture here,” Paavo said. He stood next to the drawing, proud of his accomplishment.

Bemused, Chey looked from the map to Sander. On his feet, he towered above everyone else at the table. In one sentence, he cut through Chey's confusion.

“We are
not
dividing Latvala into different regions, with different leaders, to satisfy your need to rule.”

. . .

Not dividing Latvala into different regions.
Chey stared at the map as the implications became clear. The red lines separating Latvala into five distinct parts must be the 'new' territories Paavo envisioned breaking the country into. A name had been scripted into each section.
Barkava. Galena. Kaimera. Magari. Solvandi.