Read The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) Online

Authors: Danielle Bourdon

Tags: #Romance, #contemporary romance, #King, #Love, #Billionaire, #Royal, #Princess, #Passion, #Wedding, #Suspense, #Intrigue, #Sensual, #Adventure

The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (6 page)

BOOK: The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4)
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It didn't matter that she had showered and changed earlier in the day. Chey repeated the process, taking her time under the hot spray to help relax the knot between her shoulders. Getting used to queenly duties was more stressful than she thought it might be. Mostly because she didn't want to make a gauche mistake in front of such important company.

The one comfort was that with each interaction, she had a chance to watch Sander and learn from him. That and common sense, more than her lessons, let her know where to toe the line.

Choosing an ankle length, sensible dress the color of plums, she secured the buttons at the cuffs around her wrist and rechecked her make up. Sander showed up not long after and hit the showers after a quick kiss.

He complimented her outfit with a dark gray suit, tie that matched her dress and polished shoes of black. Chey stole glances at him in the mirror as he splashed on a bit of cologne once he was done shaving. He caught her looking and gave her a deviant, knowing grin.

Chey returned the favor with an expression that clearly said,
Well? Look at you. How else am I supposed to react?

Laughing, he gathered her elbow in a hand and guided her toward the door. “Try to keep the flirting at a minimum tonight in front of our guest, hm?”

She snorted a laugh. “I would never ruin my etiquette lessons by making eyes at you in front of visiting royalty. What goes on under the table is fair game.”

“I dare you,” he said through another laugh.

Chey gasped. “Don't dare me! Wynn isn't here to tell you, but if she was, she would say that I never, ever turn down dares. It's written in my DNA.”

“I dare you,” he repeated, looking mighty amused as he guided her along the richly decorated hall toward the staircase.

“You're worse than bad.” Chey couldn't turn the dare down. Now she had to figure out how to create havoc under the table without their guest catching on.

“Of course. You wouldn't want it any other way.” He slipped a handsome smile sidelong.

In the foyer, a fresh bouquet of flowers greeted them on the center table. A light floral scent hung on the air as they passed it for the archway to the dining hall. Here, the long table had been set using beautiful china and glittering crystal. Candles sat to the side near the walls in iron holders, adding a pleasant ambiance while large chandeliers threw down a soft glow over the whole room.

Mattias and Gunnar, already present, looked to be discussing business with some of the Crown Prince's entourage. Sander traded greetings with the swarthy skinned guests while Chey dipped a polite nod. Waiters and waitresses brought trays of wine and other spirits around while they waited for Prince Bashir to arrive. Chey accepted a glass of chilled water for herself while Sander opted for a tumbler with a splash of amber liquid two fingers high.

With little fanfare, the Crown Prince entered, four more companions at his flank. Dressed to the nines in a white on white suit with a white tie that matched the head cloth, Bashir smiled and headed straight to Sander to shake hands.

“I hope you brought your appetite. We've got a surprise for you for dinner,” Sander said with a broad smile.

“As long as it's not squid, we'll do just fine.” Bashir laughed a rakish laugh and stepped around Sander for his brothers. “Princes Mattias and Gunnar,” Bashir said next, exchanging hand shakes with both men after Sander. “Miss Sinclair.” He didn't touch her, only inclined his head before everyone took their seats around the table. Sander sat at the end, with Bashir directly to his right and Chey to his left. The Princes each took a side next followed by the entourage.

“Prince Paavo won't be in attendance this evening,” Sander said. “He has pressing business elsewhere in Latvala.”

“I see. What of the former Queen Helina?” Bashir asked.

“She's residing at another location during her mourning period. You understand.” Sander had a drink from his glass.

“Oh, certainly. Give her my condolences when next you speak, yes?”

“I will.” Sander set his drink down.

In moments, easy conversation resumed, centering around Mattias and Bashir since their meeting on Bashir's last visit.

Chey, content to observe and learn, took a long sip from her water. Her throat felt parched. She understood better what Sander meant about a surprise when the staff delivered the plates of food a short time later. The King of Latvala, in a show of culture recognition, had traditional fare from Bashir's corner of the world on the menu. Roast lamb on a bed of rice and nuts, hummus, rice stuffed vine leaves were only a few of the many offerings. Intrigued by the different spices, Chey listened to the conversations while she ate and contemplated how to reach Sander's thigh under the table. It would have to be a diagonal reach, a risky venture with her arm extended enough for a guest to see.

“Forgive me if this comes off as uncouth, your Majesty,” Bashir said between bites, “but since you have yet to broach the subject, I must mention it myself.”

Chey glanced up from her plate to the Crown Prince across the table. Sander looked over at the same time.

“What subject is that?” Sander asked.

Bashir's dark brows arched. A murmur ran through his entourage. For a few moments, confusion touched the faces of Mattias and Gunnar.

“Why...the contract, of course.” Bashir appeared mildly taken aback.

“What contract?” Sander set his fork down, smeared the napkin across his mouth, and laid that on the table.

Bashir chuckled in apparent disbelief. “The contract agreement for a wedding between myself and the Princess Natalia.”

Chapter Five

Stunned silence met Crown Prince Bashir's declaration. Chey stared at their guest, then cut a look at Sander, thinking it must be a joke. Prince Bashir would bang a hand on the table and bark a laugh at getting one over on the King. Any second now.

When it didn't come, Sander said, “Excuse me? I know of no contract about a wedding between yourself and my sister.”

“Trust me, it exists. King Aksel and I signed it together ten months ago in the presence of my father. Our union will make stronger allies between nations. Also, my father has paid a large sum for rights to natural resources located in your back country, land yet untouched by the advance of machinery and technology.” Bashir studied Sander, expression closing off to something more neutral and hooded.

“If there was an agreement to trade payment for resources, then why was my sister part of the bargain?” Sander asked. Like Bashir, his features were neutral, hard to read.

Even Chey, who knew his moods well, couldn't tell what he was really thinking. By his questions she understood he doubted the deal. Further than that, she had no idea. Reaching for her glass of water, she brought it to her mouth for a sip.

“Do you doubt it is a good match for her?” Bashir asked with an arch of a brow. “She will be married to a man positioned to become King. It is an honor for her to be my third wife.”

Chey choked on her drink. Her fingertips caught a dribble of water from her lip until she dabbed at it with a napkin when she set the glass down. Another quiet cough fell into the sudden silence. The weight of many stares caused Chey to shift in her seat. Instead of apologize, or blurt out something unintentionally offensive, she picked up her fork as if the episode had been nothing more than an awkward swallow. She pushed bits of rice around her plate and waited for attention to swerve back to Sander or Bashir.

“I can tell you right now—King or no King, my sister will be unhappy in that role,” Sander said, clearly straining for diplomacy. “Our council members can discuss trade, work out a new deal, but Princess Natalia won't be a part of it.”

“The contracts are signed--” Bashir paused when Sander cut in.

“They can be renegotiated.
Will
be renegotiated. I'm sure we can come to terms that suit you.” He brought his glass up for a stiff swallow, eyes on Bashir.

“And if I insist?” Bashir asked.

“You have two wives already. You don't
need
my sister as your third. There are many in your own country who would be honored, as you say, to take that role,” Sander countered. He set his tumbler down, fingers wrapping the base.

“You speak of honor, yet here you sit, refusing to abide by a legal contract signed in good faith between two nations. I take issue with your idea of
honor,
your Majesty,” Bashir said.

“I don't believe in prearranged marriages, your Excellency. And I am not my father, so the contracts will be renegotiated regarding trade and resources but not flesh and blood.” Sander leveled a determined look on Bashir.

Chey, shocked and struggling to hide it, continued to push food around her plate. In this instance, she agreed with Sander. Natalia would never agree to such an arrangement. As spoiled and coddled as she was, being anyone's third wife would only ring as an insult to her. Natalia would need what she considered equal status, in competition with no one.

“What does the Princess say about this? Does she even know?” Bashir asked.

“I'm sure, as the rest of us were unaware, so is she.”

“Perhaps you should inquire of her first and see what her desires are. From rumors that float within our ranks, I take it that she will be hard pressed to find a match with a common man, much less a future King.” Bashir picked up his glass without taking his eyes off Sander and had a long drink.

“She's my sister first and foremost. I know her mind well. This is not a union she will want or approve of,” Sander said.

“Still. I wish to speak to her myself. I should be allowed that considering you are promising to negate the contract—which I am not inclined to do.” Bashir set his glass down.

“Tomorrow.” Sander made his decision and turned his attention to his plate. With sharp stabs of his fork, he resumed eating, effectively ending the conversation about Natalia.

 

. . .

 

“What are you going to do? What if he won't relent about the contract?” Chey asked a half hour later, while she and Sander were in the upstairs parlor waiting on Mattias and Gunnar. Dinner had been a quiet affair after the Natalia incident, both sides preferring to finish their meal and go separate ways. Mattias and Gunnar had stayed behind to see everyone out and to also summon Natalia for a meeting.

“He has no choice. I'll work terms with him over the resources, but Natalia's out of the question. I don't care if it strains relations or not.” With a fresh drink in hand, Sander paced before the roaring fireplace. At some point he'd pulled the band out of his hair; the unruly mass fell wild and loose around his face.

Struck by the image of him looking so roguish and Kingly at the same time, Chey couldn't at first find words. The suit he wore complimented the breadth of his shoulders and the lean angle of his hips. Soon, she knew, he would start tugging at the knot in his tie, then throw open the first buttons on his shirt.

“Can he take action? I mean—I'm not sure what I'm trying to say.” Chey didn't know how any of it worked and couldn't easily vocalize the things rolling around her mind.

“You mean will they bring a physical presence to Latvala? No. They wouldn't dare, not with the allies we have. Never mind the international implications. He
can,
however, take it public. That's a common strategy between countries when things like this happen. A lot of political posturing and mud slinging goes on until an agreement is reached.”

“He sounds pretty determined. If he knows Natalia won't want him, why is he so insistent?” she asked.

“Maybe he thinks it will up his rank in the world. He's currently the Crown Prince, in line for the throne, but that can change overnight. The King typically chooses the son who has the most to offer to become Heir Apparent, and although Natalia is from another country, that might be appealing as far as political ties go. You see?” Sander slanted her a questioning look from the fireplace.

“I think so, yes. What of the King signing the document, too? Will that change anything? Or is it up to Bashir to make it happen?”

“That ups the pressure, yes. If this was simply Bashir's signature, I wouldn't care half as much as I do. But this is probably a test on my part as well, to see if I bend or break.”

“Or if you stand firm and won't allow them to see the contract through,” she added.

“Yes.” He smiled a tense smile and finished off his drink. Hissing in the aftermath, he set the glass on a small table.

“Will there be many tests like this? That other countries do to see what your reaction will be?” Chey advanced on Sander, a slow progression until she stood directly before him. She wanted the full effect of his suit and wild hair. A side benefit, she discovered when she got there, was the scent of his cologne and the extra gleam in his blue eyes, making them bluer.

“There always is. It happens in your country all the time. Sometimes you hear about it and know what it is, sometimes you never hear about it at all. But it happens. 'Talks' can get nasty behind the scenes. You've glimpsed a small taste whenever a microphone was left on and picked up snarky comments by politicians that weren't meant for public consumption. Although once or twice, I'm sure it was intentional.” He set his hands on her hips, thumbs arching over the material of the dress.

“That sounds like something you would do,” she said, teasing.

“I would never do such a thing.” His voice was full of false promise.

Chey laughed. “The Rogue King. Someone should make a movie.”

“What a boring tale it would be,” he said with a laugh.

“Hardly boring! You just don't see it from the right perspective.”


Your
perspective, you mean.”

“Yes.” She flashed him a girlish grin that drew another low laugh.

“Are you going to swoon?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Will you catch me if I do?” She set her hands on the lapels of his suit.

“Always.” The teasing faded in favor of seriousness. He studied her face, her mouth.

Chey decided in that moment that swooning might not be such a horrible thing.

BOOK: The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4)
9.56Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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