The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (3 page)

“Perfect. I'll make sure you begin your fittings immediately to make alterations as needed. The bridesmaids as well.” Urmas made another few notes in his folder. “Then there is the matter of etiquette training.”

Chey glanced at Sander, brows arched. Etiquette training? He gave her a steady look and inclined his head, as if he expected something like this.

“What does that entail, exactly?” Chey asked, returning her attention to Mister Urmas.

“They will teach you what and what not to do in public. How to speak in front of a crowd, what reactions to have to news you may not be expecting. That kind of thing.” Urmas finished writing his notes and met Chey's eyes.

“All right,” Chey replied. What could she say? If it was expected of her, then she had no choice.

“Also, you'll need to attend classes on Latvala history and language. The sooner the better. Oh, and a new personal attendant, Hanna, will see to your hair, make up and advise you on appropriate clothing styles. She is now your direct liaison to everyone and everything else.”

Chey wondered what was wrong with doing her own hair and make up. No one had complained yet. Urmas arched a brow at her hesitation.

“Yes, okay,” Chey finally said. She clasped her hands in her lap, a more sedate gesture than she felt like making at the moment.

“One final thing. You need to move back to the castle here immediately,” Urmas said.

“No,” Sander replied.

“Your Majesty--”

“We're not moving back to the main castle.” Sander's voice took on a warning edge.

“The cost of flying you both back and forth at every whim will become prohibitive. Not only that, but flying others out to the castle for all these things,” Urmas gestured at the folder before him, “only adds to the bill. The council recommends that during this very busy time, you and Miss Sinclair return until the wedding is over. Already there are people questioning the expense--”

“Who?” Sander asked with narrowed eyes. “We have made far fewer trips than someone else might.”

Urmas shifted in his chair and glanced at the folder.

Chey noticed the liaison seemed hesitant, uncomfortable. Had someone really complained?

“Urmas,” Sander said, his tone edging impatience.

“Your brother, Prince Paavo, your Majesty. He submitted a Projection of Expenses to the council.” Urmas met Sander's gaze dead on.

Sander laughed. “Paavo, who probably spends more on his custom made clothing for he and his intended than a hundred helicopter trips combined? Please.”

Urmas cleared his throat and fiddled with the pen. “Regardless, this is not the kind of thing we want to get out right before the wedding, your Majesty. The council wishes public perception to remain enamored with the upcoming nuptials and this might throw cold water on their euphoric mood.”

Chey cautioned herself not to say a word. Coming from someone who had grown up outside the realm of the elite and royalty, most of what was being said in this room seemed outright ludicrous to her. It was shocking when she allowed herself to really consider the implications of what she was hearing. The level of control about what, and how, information reached the citizens knew no bounds.

“Is Paavo threatening to go public with it?” Sander's blunt question appeared to catch Urmas off guard.

“I really couldn't say, your Majesty--”

“Urmas, just call me Sander in here for crying out loud.” Sander's impatience spilled over. He waved away formalities with a slice of his hand.

Urmas opened his mouth like he might counter the King, then closed it again. “Of course.”

Chey tried not to be amused that Urmas refused to say Sander's name. None of it was at all funny. She didn't want to move back to the castle any more than Sander did.

“Is Paavo threatening to use the information against me? Other than taking it to the council,” Sander repeated.

“I honestly don't know,” Urmas said, sitting back in his chair. His posture remained stiff and upright. “But why take the chance of the information spilling into the wrong hands?”

“It wouldn't take that much,” Sander said. “All he would have to do is spread it around to certain people with the right connections. The next thing you know, it's gone viral over the internet, by word of mouth and through any paper willing to print an unconfirmed report.”

Urmas tilted his head in agreement.

Sander grew silent. Elbow propped on the table, he curled his fingers near his mouth, expression contemplative.

“There's more,” Urmas said.

“Of course there is,” Sander replied in a droll voice.

“Crown Prince Bashir of the Afshar Dynasty will be arriving in three days. His people expect the Prince to stay here at the family seat, not Pallan island. All his security has prepared for it. Changing destinations at the last second will be considered rude.”

“Isn't that a little early for the ceremony?” Sander asked, frowning.

“It appears this was their arrival date all along.” Urmas shrugged his eyebrows in a
what can you do
way.

“Huh.” Sounding perplexed, Sander exhaled and let his gaze drift to the ceiling, then to Chey. “Well, we certainly can't turn him away.”

“No,” Urmas agreed.

Chey regarded both men with a critical eye. She really didn't need lessons on how to act; all she had to do was watch the others and take her cues from them. When Sander glanced her way, Chey knew then that he'd made the decision to move back to the main castle. What else could he do? She understood he—and thus they—had no choice. She didn't allow her own expression to give anything away.
See, Mister Urmas? I'm a quick learner. No classes needed.

“We'll return until the wedding. No need to send someone for Chey's details, we'll bring them with us,” Sander said, rising from his seat in clear indication he was through with the meeting.

Urmas gathered the folder and his pen and rose as well. He bowed his head to Sander and Chey. “Very well, your Majesty. Miss Sinclair.”

Chey nodded her goodbye.

Urmas turned on a polished shoe and left the room.

Chey met Sander's eyes. “It's going to be an interesting two weeks.”

. . .

Mattias cruised the halls of the castle with easy familiarity. Taking the stairs by two, he eventually arrived at the third floor. He knew where to find his errant sister without having to inquire of the guard which direction she went. At her bedroom door, he used a knuckle to knock three times.

“Go away,” came the petulant voice from inside. The clink of glass on glass followed.

Mattias twisted the knob in his hand, unsurprised to find the door unlocked. Natalia never locked anything—car doors, bedroom doors, hotel rooms—thanks to the levels of protection she'd come to depend on her whole life. Stepping inside, he was also unsurprised to find Natalia at the side bar, pouring a drink.

Closing the door with a quiet click, he waited for the abrasive rant about to take place.

“What part of
go away
don't you understand, Mattias? When you know I don't want to be disturbed, then stay the hell out of my room. I don't barge in on you when you need to be alone.” She glared across the decadently decorated space and lifted the glass to her mouth for a sip.

Strolling deeper into the formal sitting area with its richly textured sofas and heavy tables, he closed the distance by half, choosing to stop near an overstuffed chair with a floral motif. “Are you done? Or do you need another few minutes?”

“Don't antagonize me. You can't pretend to think it's fine that I have to be a part of this ridiculous wedding.” Stepping away from the table, tumbler in hand, she headed to a couch where she settled with stiff indignation.

“Actually, I'm ashamed that you can't do what you need to for your brother,” he countered, staring at her with disapproval he didn't bother to hide.

“
Brother.
” She made a dismissive gesture reminiscent of Sander when he was impatient.

“If you're angry with anyone, be angry at the King and Queen for hiding the truth, not the boy who didn't know better growing up. He was just like you and the rest of us—oblivious to the secrets lurking in these halls.” Mattias chided her with his eyes and his voice. He knew she was blaming Sander for things that were out of their collective control simply because he was an easy target.

“I'll be angry at anyone I choose. How dare you come in here and--”

“Stop being nasty, Natalia. Why are you so defensive? Do you think Dare looks at you any different just because someone told him we're not full blooded siblings?”

On the back end of a longer drink that left a wince at the corner of her eye, she said, “Of course. Why wouldn't he? What
I
don't understand is how you can stick up for him when he stole the throne right out from beneath you.”

“I don't see it that way. Dare has earned the right to be where he is. The citizens love him, like he loves them. He also loves you, whether you choose to believe that or not.”

Natalia's gaze dove down into her glass. She gave the potent contents a swirl.

“Remember that before you do something you'll regret. Ruining his wedding would be the perfect opportunity to put a serious wedge between you that you may never recover from.” Mattias wondered if any of this was getting through. He supposed the fact she hadn't thrown her glass at him like she had Chey was progress.

“You don't understand,” Natalia said. There was less vehemence in her words than before.

“I understand far more than you know. Think hard about what you're planning. Think harder about what you'll do if you sever ties with the only people who've known you your whole life. There is only so much he—and the rest of us—will take.” Mattias left Natalia with that. Turning on a heel, he crossed to the door and exited, half expecting to hear her screech in fury or throw something.

Only silence greeted his departure.

Journal,

It's much worse than I thought it would be. Not only did we move back into the main castle, but we're in Aksel's chambers. The same chambers where he supposedly committed suicide. There are three other empty suites on this floor, but they are all under renovation and unavailable. Once Sander found out, he delayed our return by three days. He ordered Aksel's entire suite repainted, a new bed brought in covered with fresh linens, and every piece of furniture taken out to be replaced by ones in holding for other rooms.

I never saw Aksel's private domain before his death, so for me, the stark changes aren't as drastic as they are for Sander. This is our first night here, and already I can't sleep. I know it's my imagination, but I keep thinking I hear things. Right now I'm sitting next to the fireplace, watching Sander sleep. It took him a while to go under, probably for the same reasons I'm still awake.

I can't shut my mind down in here. I wonder what Aksel's last hours were like and what he was thinking. Did the King even know his end was near? Or was it a rash, last second decision?

The wedding can't come soon enough, if only so Sander and I can return to Kallaster Castle. It's my home now, and nothing less will do.

I'm hyper aware of Natalia living mere doors away down the hall (and around a corner), although I haven't crossed paths with her since our return. She has serious issues about being in the wedding and made no bones about it the last time I saw her. Mattias was supposed to have a talk with her about things. I hope he made inroads and convinced her not to ruin the ceremony.

Sander ordered two extra security guards outside our door, which tells me he doesn't feel nearly as secure here as he does at Kallaster. I feel suffocated in ways I don't at the other castle, too, partly due to the sheer amount of people in this one. There is always someone wanting Sander's attention, and lately, mine, simply for wedding details.

Tomorrow, or I should say later today considering the hour, I am supposed to meet with the attendants and the bridesmaids (except Wynn, who won't be here for another week) so they can try on their dresses. It will be my first meeting with the cousins. I'm not sure what to think or expect. Natalia will undoubtedly have them in her pocket straightaway. That girl gives me a headache.

Anyway, I should at least try to get some rest. I don't want to be off my game in the face of possible hostility.

Chey

The feel of a warm mouth on her breast pulled Chey from darkness to light. Waking to find Sander hovering above her, she threaded her fingers through the length of his hair. A sharp gasp cut through the mental cobwebs at the sting he wrought with a suckle that left a blushing rosette in its wake. The breadth of his shoulders, broad and strong, obliterated the rest of the room as he slid between her thighs, covering her slender body with his much larger one.

In seconds she split a cry to the ceiling, nails raking a path along each side of his spine. He took her with familiar possession, filling all her senses, stealing kisses like a thief in the night between grinding slaps of his hips. He extended the bliss by biting a path along her throat and changing the angle of penetration, pinning her with stabbing thrusts that brought his name to her lips. Whispers of worship and praise that he returned wordlessly, using his body to translate his passion and his animal need.

By the time they fell from the lofty heights he'd taken her to, she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and panting to get her breath back. Clinging with her fingers curled into the hard muscles of his back, Chey shuddered beneath him, forgetting everything but the sheer pleasure of release.

“You're going to be late for your meeting this morning,” the devil said without bothering to let her up.

Chey couldn't think, much less remember what she had planned for the day. Sander was her whole world, all she wanted to see or touch or smell. He wasn't a King, and she wasn't his bride. They were just a man and a woman reveling in an age old ritual that never failed to leave her boneless and weak.

“It's your fault,” she finally said, slitting her lashes open. The handsome face peering casually down at her had a light layer of whiskers along the jaw and blue eyes that sparked with left over lust. Chey thought she could lay there forever, just like this, appreciating everything male and masculine about him.