The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (13 page)

Just that fast, they came to a door. Natalia put pressure on Chey's hand and stepped in front of her to avoid a collision.

“We have to hurry,” Natalia said. The sound of buttons being pushed vied with the grunt of one of the men as he took a tumble in the passage behind them.

A door swished open. Natalia urged Chey forward, into more darkness. Pulling the door shut, Natalia braced something against the heavy portal that clattered and scraped, a wood-on-wood noise. Then she felt for Chey's hand once more, taking the lead.

“Where are we?” Chey asked. She knew they were in some 'safe' passage in the castle, though the exact whereabouts evaded her. The darkness made it difficult for Chey to track direction.

“Careful, stairs,” Natalia said. “We're in the North passage. Go slow. They can't get through the door. Do you have a phone?”

“I left it upstairs. Dammit,” Chey whispered. Her free hand came into contact with a section of railing, which she gripped as they descended.

“It probably wouldn't get a signal down here anyway,” Natalia said.

A loud bang echoed through the tunnel, startling Chey. She glanced back even though she knew she wouldn't be able to see. “Are you sure they can't get through?”

“Not unless they find something to batter it down. Come on.” Natalia guided Chey down the last few stairs and through a series of turns in a new tunnel, never hesitating when they came to a fork or a juncture.

By then, Chey was well and truly lost. Dependent on Natalia to get them to safety, Chey prayed that the woman wouldn't let go and leave her down here to rot. With the tension between them, the loathing Natalia had for her, she wouldn't be all that surprised if Natalia 'accidentally' released her.

It would take days to find her way out. If she lasted that long.

“How do you know where you're going?” Chey asked as they ascended a set of stairs, and then another.

“I grew up here. As children, we ran these mazes over and over and over. I used to pretend pirates had invaded and were chasing me through the labyrinth,” she replied.

“Were those pirates your brothers?” Instinct told Chey they were.

“Yes. They were as entranced with all the tunnels as I was.” Natalia came to a second door, entered numbers on a keypad by feel rather than sight, and led Chey through when it opened.

Dim light greeted them on the other side. Once more, Natalia closed the door and braced a length of wood through sections of iron.

Moving quickly through the corridor, glad to be able to see at least a little, Chey eyed other doors or passageways as they passed, wondering where they led. It really
was
a maze down here. At least she didn't hear sounds of men in pursuit any longer, suggesting the doors and braces held them off.

Taking a left turn, Natalia guided her into a narrower, darker tunnel. They had to go single file here, following curves, sharp turns and even a shallow set of steps Natalia warned her of before they got there. Dust disturbed by their passage made Chey sneeze three times.

A strong band of arms caught Chey from behind, wrapping her tight, trapping her against a hard body. Pulling in a breath to scream, wrenching against the hold, she stilled when a voice sounded right next to her ear.

“Shhh. It's just me,” Sander said.

Wilting with relief, she grasped onto his arms and held tight. “I thought you were them.”

“I knew you'd pick the right passage, Dare,” Natalia said. For once she wasn't snotty, abrupt or rude. She sounded as relieved as Chey felt.

“This was always your favorite as a child,” Sander said. “Keep going. We're almost there.”

Natalia continued down the corridor another forty feet before pausing. She pushed with two hands against the cold wall, moving the hidden door inward just enough for a body to squeeze through.

With Sander at her back, unable to see much of anything yet, Chey let him move her forward, through the door and into a bedchamber she hadn't ever seen. She glimpsed a large canopied bed, persian rugs, a dainty vanity, lush sitting area with a faux white tiger pattern on the furniture and whimsical collectibles from all over the world in tall glass curio cabinets along the walls.

Unwinding his arms, Sander pushed the hidden door closed and brushed dust from his palms.

Looking back, Chey saw the same sort of crown molding shaped to disguise the crack for the opening. With his suit askew, the tie loose and the jacket unbuttoned, Sander looked a bit unkempt. As he should after skulking through a dingy corridor.

“How did you know we were in there?” Chey said once she got her bearings back. With quick swishes of her hands, she removed clingy spider webs from her clothes and her hair.

“A guard happened to see you on rounds, just disappearing 'into the wall' with two men on foot behind you. And there are silent alarms that go off if anyone opens the first door.” Sander braced his hands on Chey's shoulders and looked her over, concern in his eyes. “You're not hurt? Either one of you?”

Chey glanced at Natalia, expecting the nasties to return any second. “No. We're not hurt.”

Natalia met her eyes, then looked away.

Sander said, “I want to know
everything
that happened. From the beginning.”

. . .

“They caught me returning from my jog at the back of the castle and asked if I would walk with them, that they had a few things they wanted to discuss,” Natalia repeated. “Like I said, they seemed amiable and passive and I didn't see the harm in it. Actually, I thought they might tell me that Bashir changed his mind and that he'd dropped his suit.”

Perched on the edge of a sofa in the upstairs sitting room, Chey glanced between those present: Natalia, Sander, Mattias, Gunnar, Urmas and Allar Kusta. She measured their reactions to Natalia's story, impressed with the level of professionalism and restraint they showed considering the situation.

“So they didn't
outright
threaten you,” Mattias said, going over the fine details one more time. “But they intimated that they would make sure the Crown Prince was the best match you'd ever get.”

“Yes. They were very clever to shape their comments in a way that let me know my name would be slurred through the ranks of the elite, and that I'd be lucky to have anyone with a name, title or money show me any interest after this.” Natalia paced in front of a bookcase, fingers twined and twisting.

“But they didn't lay a hand on you,” Sander said.

“No. Not once. They were very cordial and polite, and I think that was the most unsettling thing. Their confidence in the plan was unnerving,” Natalia replied.

Chey, who had already told her side of the story, listened and watched and wondered how Sander would deal with Bashir's underhanded tactics.

A tap at the entrance to the room drew everyone's attention. Urmas stepped over to receive a sealed missive from the security member and walked it back to Sander.

In moments Sander had it open, gaze scanning the contents.

Pinpricks of unease dotted Chey's skin under the sleeves of her sweater. She rubbed her arms with her palms to chase the sensation away.

Sander folded the missive and stood. “Put security on alert,” he said aside to Allar. “And inform Bashir's people that I want a meeting with him in ten minutes.
Alone.
Take him to the South parlor.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Allar said. He swung away for the door, disappearing into the hall with the other man who'd delivered the message.

“The council and legislators were not able to come to an agreement over the contract. It remains in dispute. Bashir's people won't accept resources only, and also will not accept their payment back in full. I suspect it's because they thought Natalia would cave to the pressure and saw no reason to back down.” Sander folded the missive over once more and slipped it into the inner pocket on his coat.

“What happens now?” Chey asked, unable to keep quiet any longer.

“I go down there and tell Bashir that since Natalia has declined the contract, and his offer of marriage, he and his entourage can head back to their country in the morning.” Sander paused to bend down and kiss Chey on the mouth.

“You're going to send them away?” Natalia asked with no small amount of surprise.

Chey touched Sander's jaw, a brief skim of fingertips before he straightened.

“Yes. No one can come to an agreement, so I find it useless for him to be here, brooding, while we're trying to get ready for a wedding.” Sander traded a glance with Mattias. The brothers exited at the same time, with Gunnar and Urmas on their heels.

When the men were gone, Chey glanced at Natalia, unsure what to expect. An awkward silence descended. Natalia wouldn't meet her gaze, so Chey decided not to push it. Rising to her feet, she exited the parlor without another word, making tracks for the kitchens and something to fill the void in her stomach.

Later, there would be time to tell Sander about Charlene and the interview.

“Your Majesty, am I hearing you correctly? You're telling me I have to leave your country because
you
refuse to honor a contract?” Bashir, hands clasped behind his back, stood at one end of the South parlor.

A study in white with silver trim, the South parlor got all its character from the architecture, accent pieces and texture. The elaborate fireplace had carved cherubs lining the perimeter as well as the mantle, which matched end tables, the coffee table and a statuette in marble against white walls. Decorative pillows sported fringe and tassels, and the rugs covering portions of the white stone floor varied between imitation fur or a white-on-white pattern in the Persian style. The courtyard it overlooked matched the pale theme in fountains, pots, trellis and stone benches. Lush greenery broke up the monotony both inside and out, with specifically situated plants designating separate sitting areas.

Sander hovered near one of the french doors, hands in the pockets of his slacks. He studied Bashir's expression of indignation and the gleam of retribution in the man's eyes. The Crown Prince was unhappy, it appeared, with Sander's decision.

“I see no reason to delay your departure, especially when you sent your men to coerce my sister into marriage. After, I should remind you, I declined in her stead. She's made it more than clear the arrangement doesn't suit,” Sander said.

Bashir laughed a condescending laugh. “Well, this is a first. Thrown out of the host's home because of honor issues and lies. I sent no one to 'coerce' the Princess, your Majesty. If anyone did so, it was an innocent attempt to talk sense into a woman who clearly does not comprehend what marriage to me will do for her social standing. Tell me, what other King is offering for her hand, hm?” Bashir tilted his ear toward Sander expectantly, exaggerating the motion by leaning his shoulders as well.

It was the kind of pompous gesture that annoyed Sander no end. He cut straight to the chase. “You'll forgive me that I don't believe you had nothing to do with your men intercepting my sister, Bashir. Her ambition to make a good match in marriage doesn't include being
forced
into it with a barbaric contract she never agreed to. But I've said all this, haven't I? Now we're just performing the dance steps again.”

Bashir straightened out of his pseudo-mocking lean. His dark eyes narrowed and one corner of his mustache twitched. “Several of your guests arriving soon are acquaintances of mine. They expect to see me here. So before you exert your authority, I suggest you think about what you'll tell them regarding my absence.”

“I'll simply tell them Natalia turned you down flat. I imagine that will set their tongues wagging for a good long while.” Sander smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.

“Not as long or as intent when they learn the Latvala King does not honor his contracts. How many do you have floating around, Sander? How many countries are you engaged with, have agreements with?” Bashir paused, then said, “That's what I thought.
Many.
That information getting out might cause all sorts of backlash.”

“You mean how many was my
father
engaged with. I've signed nothing binding since my coronation,” Sander said.

“That's hair splitting and we both know it. When you ascend, you take on all the responsibilities of your former King--”

“It doesn't mean I have to like, or agree to, contracts I never laid eyes on. That's my prerogative as the ruler of this country. I don't see that the terms are in the best interest of my people, therefore, I am not willing to turn a blind eye and pretend it doesn't exist. It may be the way
you
do business, but it's not the way I do mine.” Sander did not miss the anger that crossed Bashir's features. He was feeling quite a bit of anger himself.

“I require longer than one evening to prepare for departure. The soonest I can arrange the plane to be checked, fueled and a flight plan put in place is tomorrow night.” Bashir stalked toward the door, spine stiff, one hand curled into a fist.

“That's not entirely true, but you know that. Either way, tomorrow night is soon enough.” Sander regarded Bashir with neutral indifference when the man cast him a stark look.

After the door closed in the Prince's wake, Sander ran a hand through his hair and tugged out the band. Stuffing it into his pocket, he rolled his head left and right to ease the knots in his neck.

One major problem down, one to go.

. . .

“Miss Sinclair, there you are!”

Chey paused on the stairs to glance back at Hanna. Just through with lunch—a tuna sandwich with a dill spear on the side—Chey thought to slip in a nap until Sander was through with his meetings. Hanna's expectant, smiling face and the thick organizer she had in her hand suggested it might be a while before Chey found any rest.

“Hi, Hanna. How is everything going?” Chey asked.

“Actually, do you have a few minutes? The seamstress needs a fitting.” Hanna used a pen between her fingers to gesture to the lower floor Chey had just left.

“Sure. Lead the way.” Chey couldn't deny such a sweet request. And she really wanted the dress to fit well, which meant several fittings between now and the wedding.