Heir in Exile (6 page)

Was this really what it was like to be a part of Royalty? Did these extremes go on all the time? She recalled reading about this chase or that kidnapping or other horrors regarding the elite of the world. Stories that had seemed so far removed from her reality in Seattle, Washington. Chey understood things happened, and that there were people who would see harm come to leaders and the ruling class. This happened to be the
King,
however, acting against his firstborn son. Was it normal? Were the children of Royalty really forced to bend to the will of their superiors and elders?

It was mind boggling.

Sooner than later, the SUV pulled into an underground parking garage not unlike the one she'd left not long ago. It tested her nerves, put her patience on edge again.

Parking near an elevator bank, the suited men disembarked and came around to help her to the ground. Barefoot, the concrete cold on her skin, she padded to the elevator with Mattias hovering at her back.

They rode up in silence.

She wasn't sure what hotel they were at, or where they were in the city. The chase and chaos had totally obliterated her sense of direction.

The light chimed above floor number
20.
Opening onto what appeared to be a regular floor of a well appointed hotel, Chey allowed Mattias to guide her to a set of double doors with a gold plaque on the wall listing the suite as number
204.
She noted there were few other doors on this floor as well; perhaps it was one of the private floors reserved for celebrities or the like.

One of the guards opened the door with a pass card, stepping back to allow Mattias in first.

Chey followed on Mattias's heels, immediately searching for Sander. The suite was not as elaborate as the penthouse of the
Royal Regency,
but it was nevertheless a five star appointment. Rich mahogany paired with tapestry covered furniture and leather to create an almost Victorian feel.

Sander paced through the room, agitation clear in the line of his shoulders. Once he saw Mattias and Chey, he cut across the space and gathered her into his arms.

Chey slid her arms around his neck, relief making her knees weak. Thank God.

Mattias hadn't lied. Sander was in one piece, albeit banged up from the confrontation with the armed assailants.

“You look a bit of a wreck. Are you all right?” Sander asked near her ear.

“I'm fine. Just a few bruises.” Her cheek sported a good one from the backhand, easy to ignore for now. Later there would be time for ice, maybe a hot bath to ease the ache starting to collect in her muscles from the crash. “What about you?”

Sander leaned back and cupped her face in his palms. “Fine, fine. Come sit down.” He led her to a plush sofa and helped her down into the cushions.

“I'd really like to know what's going on,” she said once she was settled. What she wanted was a change of clothes and something hot to drink. Maybe even something spiked.

Sander perched on the arm of the sofa at her side and looked across at Mattias.

“You know,” Sander said. “If I hadn't known for sure you were on my side, I would have sworn you'd been baited to work for the King.”

Mattias poured himself a drink from a sidebar. “As I told Chey in the car, it had to be real. The men had to believe I was on his side, not yours. It's still very important to keep that charade up for now.”

“What the hell is going on, Mattias? What's this about exile? He has to know I'll never agree to that.”

Mattias kicked back a healthy swallow before speaking. “I overheard him talking about these plans in his private parlor. He didn't realize I was there. He's furious, ready to denounce you and remove you entirely from the line of successors. Exile is a good way to prevent you from ever being able to ascend in his wake. If you do it on your own merit, it allows him to save face in front of our people, you see.”

“I have a hard time believing he would go to this extreme just because of who I choose to date.”

“It's not just that it isn't their choosing—which is a lot of it, you know how they are—but that she's American. A foreigner with no standing, no family, no political advantage. And you seriously pissed him off with the threat of removing him from the throne. He's on a tear, ready to do whatever it takes,” Mattias replied.

Chey cringed inside at how cavalier it sounded. She might not have all those things any longer, but she was still
human
for crying out loud, still compassionate and caring and good-hearted over all. Didn't that account for anything? She squeezed Sander's hand when he reached down to grasp hers. As if he knew, rightly so, that it might be hard for her to hear.

“Why didn't you just confront him in the parlor?” Sander asked. “Wouldn't it have been easier to try and change his mind?”

“There is no changing his mind. Not only that, he made a peculiar statement that has sat ill with me ever since. He said,
Sander will go into exile—one way or another.
It was his tone, the absolute certainty he could make it happen. I started to think he has some other ace up his sleeve and decided on the spot that I would intercept the carrier and insert myself into the plans. They undoubtedly reported back to the King that I did so, that I'm here under my own power, with the intent to see his plot through for my own gain. The throne will be mine, technically, if you go into exile. What I'm trying to do is buy us time. I want Aksel to believe I'm pushing for the same agenda he is.” Mattias leaned against the side of a couch and glanced between Sander and Chey.

Sander stroked a thumb across Chey's knuckles while he listened. He said, “What else could he have though, that would force me into exile? I can't think of anything.”

“I can't either, but that doesn't mean there isn't some secret he's been keeping. He and mother have a wealth of them, you know that.”

Sander grunted. “Yes.”

“So what does this mean, then? What is your plan from here?” Chey asked.

“It means we will allow the others to think you have been handed off—which reminds me. Byron, use that phone and send a text to the others saying Chey has been secured for the night. In the morning at seven, send another text that she has been handed over to a man named Saul.” Mattias glanced over his shoulder to one of two suited men still in the suite. Men obviously working for Mattias and Sander, or at least loyal to their cause.

Byron inclined his head and fished out the phone to send his text.

Mattias picked up where he left off. “Anyway, we want them to think you are on your way to some sordid trafficking center while Sander goes back to Latvala. What I think should happen is that you have a meeting with the King, brother, and try to force him to expose whatever other ace he's got up his sleeve so we can deal with it.”

Sander rubbed his fingers over the ridge of his jaw. “That's really all I can do at this point. If I don't show up, he'll try and track Chey's whereabouts down to make double sure she's not with me, and our cover will be blown.”

“Exactly. I will be there as well, with any luck, by invitation of the King. I expect he'll want to enforce the idea that I'm working with him and that I am ready to accept the official position as Heir. It keeps me close to him, in case he decides to confide in me. We'll work him from both angles,” Mattias said.

“This seems impossible,” Chey said. “Has it really come to this? He's your father. I have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact he can be so callous as to throw his own son out of his life. Out of the country, for that matter.”

Sander and Mattias turned their attention on Chey.

“Remember, I mentioned that the tension goes back beyond this. Further than you. I think it's a culmination of things. Never mind he's pissed that I threatened to throw him off the throne and take his place
now,
before his time as ruler has passed. That alone might have made him take more aggressive action,” Sander said.

“True, very true,” Mattias agreed. “He is possessive of his title. Most monarchs are. Few will give it up until they're absolutely forced to.”

Chey recalled that the Queen of England, quite late on in her years, had yet to hand her title down to her son. She wondered if the Queen would continue to rule until her death, or until she became mentally incapable. Perhaps there were laws in place preventing her from handing power down before then. Chey couldn't be sure.

“You would be surprised at what goes on behind the scenes, Chey,” Sander said. He lowered his voice, watching her face as he spoke. “Some are far worse than my father, who thinks he is in the right to press his hand. Maybe he is, but it's not in my nature to bow to that kind of pressure. They groomed me to be King—and that's what I will become.”

Chey regarded Sander's determined expression. He was a different man now than the one who had sat so stone faced in the hotel room. Yet she detected gears turning underneath his calmer exterior, working out ideas and plans in the back of his mind. She believed him, too, when he said he would one day become King.

“I guess I
would
be surprised, though I shouldn't after Elise's failed attempt to kill me and your father's order banning me from the country,” she said.

“All of this will make you stronger should your relationship with Sander progress,” Mattias said. “One thing you
must
remember, however, is that my loyalty, without question, is to Sander. No matter what I say or do, no matter what you see, there will always be a reason for it. Sander knew this evening before he ever left the hotel room that I was fronting and covering.”

Chey wondered what Mattias would think if he knew that Sander had already proposed. “I had a hard time believing you would do those things,” she admitted to Mattias. “It just didn't seem like the man I'd come to know. After the Viia thing, though, and the Queen—one just never can tell. I'll remember.”

“Good. Because it means my loyalty is also to you while you're with him,” Mattias added.

“Which will be for a very long time. I've already proposed, and she said yes,” Sander said, putting the news into the open.

Mattias arched his brows and reached into the breast pocket of his coat. From it, he withdrew a little velvet box.

Her ring box.

“That explains my surprise when I found this in the safe in your suite. I thought you meant to propose on the trip. Congratulations, then,” Mattias said.

Sander inclined his head. “Thanks for thinking to sweep the room and check the safe. I would have rampaged if that fell into the hands of those hooligans.”

Chey, relieved beyond reason, stood up off the couch and approached Mattias. He handed the box over to her with a smile.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the ring out. She hated taking it off for any reason. It went back onto her ring finger for now.

“You're welcome, future Queen of Latvala.”

Chapter Five

I should not be writing any of this down. It isn't even on a page in my real journal, which is locked away at a castle I do not currently have access to. This is a scrap of paper I salvaged from one advertisement or another. Right now I'm sitting in a hotel in Dubai and it's 3:47 in the morning. I haven't slept yet, for good reason.

Earlier, Sander and I were accosted in the elevator by a group of men with guns. Just as I had let my guard down a little, just when I thought any danger like that was past. I should know better by now. It turns out Mattias infiltrated the group and he managed to waylay the more sinister plans they had for Sander and me. The King is the ultimate culprit—and I'm definitely not surprised about that.

He wants to send Sander into exile, strip him of his titles and his right to the throne. After all, Sander threatened the King with the same. It was a brazen move on Sander's part, but I honestly think Sander is doing it for the good of the country and not because he has empowerment issues.

This has become a tedious mess, the whole of it. My nerves are shot after a hair raising car chase (and resulting crash) through the city. Some of these bruises are going to be here a while.

To make matters worse, I'm sick to my stomach again. Who can blame me? Any time there are eight or nine guns pointed straight at my head, I think I'm entitled to a little nausea. As well, the idea of being carted off to become a whore in a human trafficking ring does not exactly sit well.

Aksel is a ruthless man. More ruthless than I realized. Death is nothing to him. Life means little unless he gets what he wants out of the deal. I don't know how Sander and Mattias are going to come out on top of this one, and while I have faith, and I think they are clever, wily men, the unstable actions of the King leave me worried.

Tomorrow we leave for Latvala with a plan in place, though the more I think about it the more upset my stomach becomes. Everything hinges on too many delicate details. Mattias and Sander have arranged to hide me in Latvala, not far from the main castle so that they have easy access to me in case things go south with Sander and Aksel's meeting. I am okay with that. Staying close to Sander at this point is important to me.