Heir in Exile (10 page)

Chapter Eight

They took turns sleeping and standing watch through the night. By dawn, they had showered, eaten a quick breakfast of bagels and cream cheese, and were ready to say their goodbyes. Sander, dressed in a new suit provided in one of the bedroom closets, hadn't bothered to tie his hair back or shave. The rasp of his whiskers reddened Chey's skin when he caught her face between his hands and planted a kiss square on her mouth.

“I'll be back whenever we're through and I have time to make sure I lose any tail he might put on me,” Sander said. He kissed her once more and released.

Chey stared up into his eyes, fingers smoothing the lapels of the steel gray suit coat. “I'll be waiting.”

He released her, walked to the kitchen, and opened one of the cupboards. “Mattias left some emergency rations here. Make sure you pack a few things in your duffel after I leave, along with a few bottles of water, all right? That way, just in case, you won't be caught outdoors with nothing.” He grabbed a box of trail and protein bars from the shelf and set it on the kitchen counter.

“I saw those last night. I'll make sure I stock up,” she promised. That particular task had already gone on her To Do List for this morning. Chey, in the same jeans as yesterday with a new, plain hoodie of beige, snagged her duffel off the floor and set it on the kitchen table.

“Good. If,
if
Mattias calls and tells you to vacate, that phone he gave you has a GPS system in it, so at least you'll know whether you're going North, South, East or West. If you go South, you'll eventually hit the shore, which means you'll run into civilization faster.” Sander took out a few bottles of water from the cupboard as well and set those next to the trail bars.

Any other time, Chey might have smiled over his mother hen tendencies where she was concerned. She knew he had a load of things on his mind, yet there he was, making sure she had what she needed in case of an emergency. Leaving nothing to chance.

“I'll remember. I looked at the phone last night while I was waiting and got familiar with everything it can do,” she admitted.

“Did you check the weather, too?” he asked, coming around the counter. His features were unusually stoic and grim. “It looks like a storm might move in this morning. Make sure you have a coat with you at all times. That hoodie won't protect you against fifteen degree temperatures.”

“It's right by the door,” she said. “Mattias left several coats in the closets here as well. I have my choice.”

He glanced at the rack by the wall, then down into her eyes. “Excellent. It's about time for me to go. I need a couple hours to wind my way from here back to the castle, come in at a deceiving angle.”

“I know. Good luck with your meeting today. I hope it turns out like we think it will,” Chey said. The best outcome would be that Sander and Mattias caught the King in a lie.

“Mm.” Sander hummed a pensive note while he drew on a heavier overcoat. His fingers made quick work of the buttons. He watched her the whole time, expression sober and serious. Finally, he stepped closer. Instead of touch her, he maintained eye contact for several long minutes.

Chey, refusing to break the tether of their gaze, fought down goosebumps and a stray shudder. Without putting a finger on her, Sander had the ability to affect her on the deepest levels.

He pivoted away and stalked to the door. After a quick glance back, he unlatched the bolts and stepped out into the day. The sun hadn't quite risen above the horizon yet, leaving many pewter shadows clinging around the cabin and the trees.

Chey followed, closing the door in his wake. She engaged the bolt and the regular lock. Moving to the window, she watched him walk across the snowy clearing toward the path that cut through the forest. He must have parked somewhere between the house and the nearest road. She watched until the foliage swallowed him whole.

Stepping away from the window, Chey moved back through the room to the table, checked the gun, then began packing a few trail bars and water bottles into the duffel bag. There were small, single serving packets of beef and turkey jerky, also, as well as a few packs of carob, chocolate, peanut butter and almond mixes. She didn't overload the bag to the point it was too heavy to carry, or would slow her down too much if she had to depart the house. She didn't expect that to happen at all. Mattias or Sander would come for her, even if the King handed Sander news he didn't want to hear. They would see her safely to some other safe haven while the brothers sorted out what plans came next.

In the middle of nibbling on a pack of carob mix, her stomach somersaulted and protested the food. Nausea hit hard, sending her into the bathroom for fear she would puke all over the floor. Surprised at the sudden bout, she hung her head over the rim, scraping her hair back into a ponytail to keep it away from her face.

Fantastic. She wondered if she had caught the flu.

Now just wasn't the time.

Although it was a close call, she didn't end up vomiting. Relieved when the spasm passed, she exited the bathroom and put the rest of the mix away.

Perhaps hot tea would settle things down. She made a cup, glancing at the crack in the window curtains as dawn gave over to a new day. Yet the sky didn't lighten in the way it should have if the sun had access to the landscape.

The storm must be moving in, ready to dump another several inches of snow on Latvala. After packing her duffel and zipping it closed, Chey took her tea to the living room, sat on a sofa, and sipped the hot brew.

Waiting. Wondering. Hoping for the best.

. . .

Sander went twenty miles out of his way after leaving the house, snaking through backwoods terrain, narrow paths that barely cut through the foliage, and overland where there were no roads at all. The SUV handled the rough passage well, bouncing over snow slick rock, frozen mini-streams and hard packed dirt lanes that had not been plowed.

Once he hit a main artery, he picked up speed, glancing at the overcast sky. The snow would start any time. It mattered not at this point if anyone picked up his tail. They couldn't trace him back to his origin of departure, and that was all that mattered.

Still bothered about the obvious stalling tactic of the King, he drove toward the family seat with too many things on his mind.

First and foremost, the question of his birth. He would never admit to anyone just how sick it made him to think he might be stripped of his title. Years upon years he'd been groomed for this role, a role he accepted, embraced and looked forward to.

What would he do if Aksel proved he
was
the son of a maid? The idea of pressing forward, hiding his true heritage, lying to the people of Latvala was not a route he wanted to take. Aksel had hit the nail right on the head suggesting Sander would be a hypocrite to go forward and take the throne after dismissing Valentina for thinking to seat a bastard there.

That's what Sander would be. A King's illegitimate get.

His hands tightened on the wheel.

Did he owe it to the people to fight for the throne, or to back down and pass it off to the rightful heir? Mattias would be a good ruler. Sander had no doubt of his brother's ability. They thought a lot alike, would lead the country almost identically no matter which man ascended the seat of power.

Paavo would not. Paavo, despite his good intentions, had already shown a propensity to be cowed by foreign pressure. He did not have the experience nor the backbone of Mattias or Sander. Paavo was also loyal to the King rather than his brothers's cause, in constant disagreement when matters of the state came up. He could not be allowed to take the throne regardless of the outcome.

Approaching the main gate, Sander passed through the check point and drove more slowly up the drive toward the broad steps at the entrance. Leaving the SUV behind for the attendants, he stalked through the doors and into the castle proper.

His boots thudded over the floor on his way up three flights of stairs toward the private parlor where the meeting was
supposed
to take place yesterday. Sander pressed his lips together as he strode past guards who inclined their heads in respect and welcome. Turning into the parlor, expecting to see a guard in the King's place with some excuse for a delay or another on his lips, he discovered instead that both his mother, father and Mattias were waiting for him.

Helina sat in her throne-like seat with a medium sized white envelope on her lap, a mug of steaming liquid in one hand. Dressed regally in elegant slacks of dove gray and a loose fitted shirt with an empire waist the color of peacock feathers, the Queen regarded Sander with slightly glassy eyes and a pensive expression.

She did not look especially happy to see him.

The King paced behind his throne chair, hands clasped at his back, a cape of red with a dalmation spotted mantle on his shoulders worn over a navy colored suit.

Sander might have snorted any other time at the blatant display of Aksel's title and power. The cape, he knew, was one more angle of psychological warfare.

Mattias, also in a suit, gave Sander a condescending smirk when he saw him. Playing his role to the hilt, he stood near the King's throne with his hands casually inserted into his pockets.

The King glanced from Sander to Mattias and back again.

Sander made sure to frown vaguely at his brother, as if disappointed to see him siding with the King. Appearances were everything, and Sander understood the importance of playing his part equally as well as Mattias. They needed to sell their discord with one another to pull this off.

“Right on time, I see,” the King said. He gestured to a chair opposite his throne. “Have a seat. Helina? Would you mind informing Sander of his true heritage?”

Instead of taking a seat, Sander stood next to the chair, using his height advantage to look down at his mother.

Helina, not to be hurried, sipped from her cup before setting it down on a small table at her side. She folded her hands over the envelope on her lap.

“I am
not
your biological mother,” she said straightaway. “I took you in as my own right after your birth and have not looked back since.”

Sander stared at her, watching her eyes for clues of deception or lies. “You'll forgive me if I don't believe you, not after what you two have pulled recently to get me to hand over my title.”

“Do you really think we would go to this extreme?” Helina asked. “I can assure you, neither Aksel nor I would do so. But since you seem to need more proof, I think I can provide it. Brace yourself, Sander.”

“Yes, actually I do think you would go to this extreme. I think you would even go further,” he replied.

Helina tisked and opened the envelope. She withdrew a photograph, glanced down at it, then up at Sander. Finally, she offered it over with a knowing look on her face.

Sander didn't immediately move to take it. This was a big step. Whatever he did or did not see in the photograph might change everything as he knew it. Reaching out, he took the photo from Helina and turned it around to view the image. What he saw there made his breath catch in his throat.

A petite blonde woman stared off into the distance with the castle as a backdrop. She was on the front steps, near the entrance, dressed in pants and a pale shirt that differed from the uniforms of today. Not by much, and he couldn't tell precisely what colors since the image was in black and white.

There was no escaping the similar shape of the cheeks and angle of the eyes. Sander looked so much like her that some sort of relation was simply undeniable. This woman, Siona, was a feminine version of him, built sturdy but fragile, with a sweet expression and a sharpness to her gaze that suggested not much got past her.

Sander's jaw tightened.

“See?” Aksel said. “I told you. Even you cannot dismiss the resemblance.”

Sander said nothing. He stared at the photo as the implications washed over him like an incoming tsunami. The throne was not his to fight for. Not according to the laws in Latvala. Not according to the laws in many countries, for that matter, existing under a Monarchy. Bastards did not step up to rule before natural born, legitimate children, of which Aksel and Helina had three.

Of all the secrets he knew his father and Helina to keep, this was the most staggering on a personal level. Disappointment at never knowing—
really
knowing—his mother put a temporary ache in his gut.

“Well. Hasn't this just gotten even more interesting,” Mattias said. He sounded smug, confident and all but gloated at the turn of events.

Sander snarled at him.

Aksel's mouth trembled with a smile he managed to curtail. “I did try to tell you yesterday, Sander. Now...what
will
you do? Save face in front of millions and retreat in exile, as I have commanded? Or expose your true heritage to the world in a vain attempt to keep what the council and legislators will not allow you to keep?”

Try as he might, Sander could not come up with a reasonable argument at the moment. He handed the photo back. Helina accepted it and slid it into the envelope. Instead of keeping it, she laid it on the chair Sander stood next to. Indicating it was his to have. He was sure this wasn't the only copy.