The Wrath of the King (10 page)

Realistically, she knew it was a knee jerk reaction to all the uncertainty. It was easy to transfer her frustration to someone else when she felt this helpless. Fear that Sander would never wake up lingered despite her fierce determination that he would open his eyes and be his old self.

Four hours later, a hand on her shoulder jerked Chey from a dead sleep. Sitting upright, one hand still on Sander's bed where she'd lain her head, she swiveled a look behind her. Five councilmen stood in a semi-circle around her chair, three looking at her, and two looking at Sander's prone body.

Chair legs scraping the floor when she pushed to a stand, Chey let her natural wariness burn away any confusion leftover from slumber. “Yes?”

“Miss Sinclair, we would like a few minutes alone with Sander and the doctor to assess the situation for ourselves. Will you please step outside?” the councilman said with a gesture to the open door.

Chey wanted to ask where her title went, as well as Sander's. Now she was 'Miss Sinclair?' Regardless of her title as Queen, she and Sander were still married. Her legal surname was Ahtissari. She decided they'd done so on purpose, to unsettle her, put her off her game. More than that, something just felt...
wrong.
She didn't know if it was the looks on their faces or the way all five men crowded too close. Instantly defensive—and protective—she straightened her spine and met each man's eyes. Her first order of business was to get those she knew were loyal to Sander in the room.

“Guards!” Chey called loud enough for those lingering out in the hall to hear, but not loud enough to bring the entire floor and all the nurses running. Four guards entered the room within seconds; another four came jogging in not long after.

Then, Chey said, “No. I won't step outside. Ask the doctor your questions in the hall and make your decisions out there. You don't need to be in here alone with him to do that.”

The councilmen, clearly unhappy, glanced back at the guards, then at Chey.

“That was unnecessary, Miss Sinclair--”

“Missus
Ahtissari
, or is your short term memory damaged?” Chey asked, arching a brow. She put herself between the men and the bed while the guards hovered at the edge, just behind the councilmen. Without waiting for an answer, Chey said, “Take your leave from the room or my guards will escort you out.”

“
Missus
Ahtissari,” the spokesman said, “I don't know what you think will happen, but I assure you--”

“Andersen. That's your name, is it not?” Chey asked, interrupting. She knew each of their names, as a matter of fact. “I'll give you and your little group here ten seconds to leave or the guards will drag you out.”

Three of the councilmen stiffened with insult or outrage, Chey couldn't tell which. The guards shifted forward, three unholstering their weapons without drawing the attention of the council members.

Andersen, eyes gone hooded, said, “I see paranoia has you in its grip. We'll simply get an order from the sitting King and be back here shortly.”

As one, the councilmen, staring at Chey, filed out of the room.

“Your Highness, what was that about?” one of the guards asked.

Chey glanced from the door to the guards. “Prince Gunnar and I believe a coup is underway. Do I have your allegiance to protect Sander no matter what—or who—shows up here in the next hour?”

The guards showed open surprise but did not hesitate to answer.

“Of course,” one guard replied.

“I don't care what decree or order or command the councilmen return with. No one but myself, Mattias, Krislin, Gunnar or Wynn is allowed past that door.”

“Princess Natalia?” another asked.

Chey hesitated. Did she trust Natalia enough to leave her alone with Sander? Just because the woman showed up and shed a few tears didn't mean she was devoted to his safety if Paavo threatened her as he'd threatened Gunnar. Whatever differences remained between herself and Natalia were enough to put doubt in Chey's mind.

“Not alone. If I'm in here, yes. Also, I need a list of guards you know we can trust. Only those you're positive are loyal to the King. Don't alert anyone else yet, not until I figure out whether or not 'traitors' to the sitting King will be arrested.” Chey gauged the seriousness of the guard's eyes, assured by what she saw that they would do as she asked.

“Your Highness.” The guards bowed their heads and departed. Four stood directly in front of the closed door, while the rest marched out of sight.

Exhaling a deep breath, Chey sat down in the chair. She didn't realize her knees were shaking until she was off her feet. Digging her phone from the pocket of her cardigan, she found Mattias's number and dialed.

It rang, and rang before going to voicemail.

While Chey left another urgent message, she secretly wondered if Paavo had gotten to Mattias, too, and whether the Prince still lived.

. . .

Wynn stared at the neat arrangement of items on Paavo's office desk, then glanced at the door. No one lurked in the hallway just beyond. She couldn't hear the click of boots indicating a guard was close by, nor voices approaching or receding. In the two days since Paavo's announcement regarding the division of Latvala, a change had come over the castle. More guards arrived daily, replacing others who were sent off some place else. The switch-over happened subtly, until the majority of the security was under Paavo's control.

In her effort not to make waves or draw too much attention to herself, Wynn had performed all the duties Paavo asked of her. She kept her head down and avoided him whenever she could. Part of it was her inner disturbance about the attraction she felt, and the other part were the questions. Paavo routinely inquired about Chey and Sander, citing too much work as the reason he hadn't gone to see his injured brother. Wynn feigned ignorance of any
real
detail, insisting that Chey said everything remained the same. Sander was no better, no worse.

All the attempts recently to eavesdrop on Paavo's plans failed miserably. There was always a guard on duty or other waitstaff coming and going near the conference rooms.

Today, however, she found herself alone in Paavo's office, where she just might find interesting information. A calendar sat open next to a laptop and several file folders were stacked neatly to the side. She tested one of the four drawers built into the heavy, elaborate desk, only to find it locked. The others all resisted opening when she tried them next.

With a second glance at the door, aware of the danger she was putting herself in, Wynn peered into one of the file folders. The mundane paperwork didn't hold any startling clues or insight. So she tried another, ending with the same result. She wasn't stupid enough to open the laptop, aware he might have some sort of security system on it that alerted him to tampering.

Setting her own stack of papers down she examined the calendar, looking for clues. Every few seconds, she glanced up to make sure no one came in while she wasn't looking.

A flashing red light caught her attention on the phone perched next to the calendar. Above, a digital readout said he had ten messages. Before she thought too much about the consequences, she snatched up the receiver, put it to her ear, and hit the button. The first three messages were mundane and uninformative. On the fourth, she hit gold. Bashir's distinctive accent rolled down the line.

“I am sending the additional
personnel
you requested through the north most port. Be sure it's open. As far as the extra funds, expect a deposit in the morning.”

Wynn scribbled a quick note, folded it, and stuffed it into the pocket of her suit jacket.

“Do you always listen to other people's messages?” Leander said from the doorway.

Wynn fumbled the handset. It hit the desk with a bang. Scooping it up, she clapped it into the base and scowled at the guard. Her heart trip-hammered so hard she thought it might pop. “Do you always sneak up on people?”

“Only when I think they're up to no good. What
are
you doing, anyway?” he asked.

Gathering her files with shaking hands, Wynn stepped around the edge of Paavo's desk. Leander, decked out in a steel gray uniform, looked like he meant to block her exit with his body. Making contact with his eyes, which were two shades lighter than his uniform, Wynn said, “It's none of your business. I work for the Prince, or have you forgotten? I've got every right to be in here.”

He straightened from his negligent lean and dropped his arms to his sides, effectively barring the exit. “Maybe you do. That doesn't explain why you're so prickly. Unless you're feeling guilty, which means you're doing things you shouldn't be.”

Wynn stopped three feet from him. She knew her cheeks were flushed, a state he didn't help when he pointed out her guilt. Blast the man, he was right. Not that she would ever admit it. “Move, please.”

“What, no tender greeting? No
I'm happy to see you again, Leander?”
he asked, barely containing a laugh.

Here he was, toying with her, and all she worried about was whether he meant to tell Paavo she'd been snooping. “Maybe next time,” she snapped.

Leander tilted his body just enough, just
barely
enough, for her to squeeze by.

Exasperated, she stalked past, refusing to inch around him. Instead, she bumped his shoulder with her own, nearly rocking her back on her feet. He felt like a solid wall, too strong for his own good. He also smelled like heaven. Something sexy and musky with a hint of amber. Steadied by his hand on her elbow, she glared up into his face and exited into the hallway. Feeling the weight of his stare, Wynn resisted the urge to look back and see if his mocking grin had faded into something more serious. Maybe he was already on the phone, or sending a text.

Holding her breath, she took the first turn she came to, expecting any moment to be waylaid by guards or Paavo's personal security.

To her surprise, she made it all the way to her borrowed bedroom without interruption.

Leander the Guard might not be such a bad sort after all.

Chapter Ten

“I don't know what we're going to do, Krislin,” Chey said. She closed the door to Sander's room so no one would overhear. Pacing away, she headed back to the bed where Krislin waited. Gunnar's wife had arrived ten minutes before with the news of Gunnar's departure. “With Gunnar gone to Solvandi, and Mattias unable to be found, Paavo has free rein to do what he wants. It worries me. I know why Gunnar went, and I think it was a smart move. I guess I wish Mattias would show up.”

“Gunnar can return any time if we need him to. I think he wants to see what's going on, what the countryside looks like. He wants to know how deep Paavo's plans go.” Krislin patted a chair next to Sander's bed. “You should sit down and relax. I'll rub your shoulders if you'd like. You look so tense, Chey.”

Chey paused to smile at Krislin. If there had been anyone willing to help, someone always on Chey's side of things, it was Krislin. The woman was indispensable in a time of crisis. “That's all right. I know you're just as tired as I am, taking shifts sleeping and standing guard.”

“But I'm not almost ready to have a baby,” Krislin pointed out. “Here, come put your feet up.”

Chey reversed direction, eased down into a chair, and allowed Krislin to push an ottoman under her feet. She had to admit—it felt good to recline and take the weight off her legs for a minute. Nerves caused her to pace relentlessly, not a bad thing in moderate amounts, but mildly exhausting with so little rest. She laid her palms over her stomach when the baby moved and rolled. “Thanks, Kris.”

“You're welcome.” Krislin tugged on the snug fitted, peach top she wore over a simple pair of jeans and crossed the room to pour herself a glass of water. “Gunnar and I are trying, you know.”

“Trying what?” Distracted, Chey glanced at Sander to check his breathing, then looked askance at Krislin.

“To have a baby.” Krislin smiled above the rim of the glass.

“That's excellent, Krislin. Wouldn't it be great if our kids were close in age and could grow up together?” Chey didn't need to voice her concern over what their children's future would be like if Paavo successfully overthrew Sander for the throne. Krislin, she knew, was vividly aware of the risks, dangers and challenges.

“Yes. Though I suspect we'll have to put those plans on hold at least for a little while, now.” Krislin finished her water and set the glass aside.

“Mattias will return soon, or Sander will wake up, and get things back to normal. With any luck, this won't last,” Chey said. In the midst of her fervent prayer that she was right, her phone rang. Plucking it off the nightstand, Chey answered without looking at the I.D. “Hello?”

“Chey, it's Wynn. Are you alone?”

“Krislin's here. What's wrong?” Chey scooted up in the chair, frowning.

“I'm not sure anything is wrong yet, but I have some information. I listened to one of Paavo's phone messages and heard Bashir promise more 'personnel' and funds. He said the personnel would be arriving at the north port, whatever that means.”

“I knew it. Bashir has the means and the motivation to help Paavo. There's no telling what Paavo promised in return.” Chey didn't contemplate the repercussions right now. It was enough to know what entity backed Paavo's brazen move for the crown.

“Someone caught me listening though, so if you don't hear from me tomorrow or the next day, it's because I probably got in trouble.”

“Wait, what?” Alarm shot through Chey.

“A guard caught me. He didn't take me to Paavo straightaway, so maybe he won't say anything. More than likely, though, it's just a matter of time before I'm summoned.”

“Wynn! I said to be my eyes and ears, I didn't say get yourself arrested!” Exasperated and worried, Chey got up out of the chair. So much for relaxing. “Come to the hospital. Right now. Leave immediately, don't even pack clothes. Just go.”

“Won't that look really suspicious? Paavo might say something. Besides that, you know what happened the last time I tried to go to the hospital.”