The Wrath of the King (22 page)

“All I know is that I'm so relieved you're not hurt. For a while, I worried Paavo had someone...you know. Try to take you out, like he tried to take Sander out.” Wynn sat back, finally, and drew a leg up to curl it beneath her on the seat.

“I was still too valuable as a chess piece at that point. If I hadn't remembered that a lot of these old castles have hidden passageways, I'd still be there.”

“They came for you, though. And I'm pretty sure they would have gotten you out. It was a brazen move, driving straight up to the gate in their uniforms.” Wynn smiled a smile that suggested she was reliving the telling from someone else.

“I'm upset that Sander is going back so soon. We got into an argument about it,” Chey confessed. It wiped the smile off Wynn's face.

“What? When are they—they're going
back?,”
Wynn asked, eyes round as saucers.

“Yes. Probably as soon as they have a new plan. Tonight, I think. Sooner than I want them to. Sander needs rest, he needs to heal. But he's all about getting down there and bringing this to an end. It's not like I don't want it to end, too, but at what cost? If he gets dizzy or weak from busted stitches, he'll just be putting himself in danger again.” Cranky about Sander's decision, Chey smoothed her hands over her stomach, watching Wynn process the information.

“I don't really like it either. Not after being down there in the trenches, so to speak. And I understand why you want him to wait,” Wynn replied with a frown.

“He isn't going to. I hate that we'll be at odds when he leaves.” Chey couldn't bring herself around to supporting his decision.

“All we can hope for, then, is that they can get in, grab Paavo, and get out before sustaining any more injuries. It'll be all right, Chey.”

She snorted, rolling her gaze to the ceiling. Chey wished she could believe it.

Chapter Twenty

At the long dinner table, Chey sat to Sander's right, pushing food around her plate. The entire group was present, from Gunnar to Wynn to Natalia and the stranger, Leander. Chey wasn't sure what to think of the way the guard sat himself next to Wynn like he had a right to, or the way he and Sander discussed options in the open. It put her off her food to hear about this plan and that plan, what could go right and what might go wrong. She wasn't appeased that there would be three strike teams or that the Generals loyal to Sander were on board with the second attack.

“You should eat,” Sander said to Chey when the discussion switched momentarily to Leander and Gunnar.

“I'm not that hungry,” Chey said without looking up.

“Doesn't matter. You need the nourishment.”

“What I need is for you--” Chey caught the snarky remark before she could finish it. This wasn't the time or place for confrontation. Sander's few seconds of silence assured her that he was still rankled about their earlier argument, too.

“I have a great team. I'm confident, I feel strong and alert. Everything will be fine, okay?” he said.

Chey set her fork down and picked up her glass of water. She wished it was wine, or better yet, a strong mixed drink. “Forgive me if I won't believe that till I see it.”

“You could be a little more supportive,” Sander said, an edge entering his voice.

“I
could
be, but I'm not. You know all the reasons why.” She sipped at the water and set the glass back down. Picking up the linen napkin off her stomach (since she had no lap to speak of), she dabbed at the corners of her mouth. Busy work. Something to keep her hands and mouth occupied.

He leaned closer, driving his point home while everyone else's attention remained with Gunnar and Leander. “It won't help me later, knowing you're upset. It'll distract me, possibly at a bad time. Just go with it, Chey. This is what I need to be doing right now and I'd rather have you on my side.”

“I
am
on your side. What part about that did you miss?” she hissed, frowning at him. The sharp suit he'd dressed in for dinner made him seem as impervious as he would have her believe. Dark in color, it offset his blonde hair, which he'd tied back at the nape. He'd even shaved his jaw, the lingering scent of some great smelling aftershave tickling her senses.

Damn the man. Didn't he know it was because she thought she'd almost lost him that she didn't want him to go now?

He set his jaw. “It sure as hell doesn't feel like it.”

“I'm going to worry the whole time you're gone.” Chey enunciated a few particular words to emphasize her feelings.
The. Whole. Time. You're. Gone.
It wasn't until she stopped speaking that the weight of silence made itself known. Everyone had ceased their conversations and were either eating quietly, staring at a far wall, or staring down at their plate.

“Can I see you in the other room?” Sander said. He set down his fork with a clatter and shoved his chair back. The noise grated on Chey's ears.

Rising, she departed the long table without glancing at the others. Did she need to explain what was going on? She thought not. These were immediate family members—except for that Leander person—and she knew they understood her angst. Hot on Sander's heels, she followed him through a sitting room into another hallway. His shoulders were set in a rigid line, stride clipped and brisk.

Chey had trouble keeping up after he took a turn down another hallway and ducked into an informal sitting room. Refusing to waddle, she paced herself. She'd get there in her own time. Until then, he could just wait. If she went slow, she wouldn't be embarrassingly out of breath when she got there.

Rounding into the sitting room, finding it well appointed but less gilded than others, she halted near the back of a divan and crossed her arms over her chest. Sander had managed to have some clothes sent up that fit decently, if a little snug across her stomach. The plum colored, long sleeved shirt stretched over her expanded frame, topping a pair of leggings that tapered to a soft pair of knee high boots.

Sander stood with his back to her in front of a cold fireplace. Hands in the pockets of his slacks, he finally turned to make eye contact. “This is part of it all, Chey. I know you know that already. I'm not the type of man to sit back while someone attempts to overthrow my reign. It's not my style to send others out to do my bidding, at least not under these circumstances, and although I expect you to worry, I also expect you to back me. This won't work if we're constantly at each other's throats. We need to present a united front not just to the public, but to our family. They depend on knowing I can handle this, no matter how strong they seem.”

“I know all that. And I do back you—I just don't want you to go
right now.
You don't see my side of it, that I spent a week at your bedside, not knowing if you were going to wake up or not. I mentioned that before, but do you really know what it was like? It was terrifying. I fought for you all the way up until the end, and I remained positive when Paavo hid me away in a room miles and miles from here. I refused to think that they'd killed you in your sleep. But you're here now, alive and breathing, and I don't understand why you can't give me just twenty-four more hours.” Chey, short of breath after that, schooled her breathing so it didn't appear as if she'd just run a marathon.

Sander stared, one knee half cocked in his casual stance. “I hear you. I know you were scared, and I'm glad to know you stood by me when I needed you to. This is just an extension of that. Waiting gives Paavo time to regroup, to make more plans, to try and outguess what we'll do. I told you that upstairs, and I wasn't lying. There's turmoil at the castle and we need to capitalize on it. What it means, Chey, is that it could be safer for us to go in now than later. I
won't
let him have time to orchestrate another assassination strike, to find out where we're staying, or to let him grab someone else in the family to use as a shield. Leander says his troops aren't well organized, not by a soldier's standards, so let's not give them time to replace the bad with the good. Do you understand?”

Chey hated the way he held himself from her, keeping a broad distance while they worked through the problem. She felt miles away from him instead of twenty or so feet. All the things he said made sense, but she couldn't let go of the niggling fear that it was too soon. That he was taking too much of a risk. And what was this sting of tears at the back of her eyes?

Hormones. That had to be it. What she understood was that Sander and his group were going whether she liked it or not. She could protest until she was blue in the face and it wouldn't change a thing. Holding up her hands, flashing her palms in a sign of surrender, she acquiesced. It made her stomach churn to give up and give in, but she would feel ten times worse if he walked out under the cover of darkness while this rift still existed between them.

“All right,” she said.

Sander hesitated, then strode across the room at a sedate pace. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he reached for her and held onto her shoulders with a gentle touch. He stared into her eyes, the blue of his serious and sober.

“I need you to be my Queen right now, not just my wife. I'll be back, I promise, and then we'll spend the next few months straightening out our country and welcoming our son into the world. Stress and worry free. I'm in good enough shape to see this through, Chey. Trust me.”

The honesty and forthright manner in which he spoke touched deep places in Chey. He succeeded in rallying her when she didn't think she had any rally left. He made her proud, made her stronger.

“I do trust you. Please be careful. I--” She paused. Licked her lip. Then tried again. “I don't want to live the rest of my life without you. I love you more than anything and although I'm worried, I'll stand behind you in this.”

He smiled, a glint of affection sliding across the panes of his eyes. “I love you more than you know. It's what will bring me back before morning, what drives me to make sure no one ever takes you from me again. I
will
return.”

Chey settled her hands on his hips and offered her mouth for a kiss. “You better.”

. . .

An hour after midnight, Chey stood in the foyer with Wynn, Natalia and Krislin. She watched the men make last minute adjustments to their gear and re-check flashlights, walkie-talkies, weapons and other battle paraphernalia. Dressed in all black, they looked different than they had earlier masquerading to be part of the military. Each wore gloves, boots laced up the front, and vests that allowed them free movement but still protected their torsos.

Chey couldn't find fault with Sander's actions, movements, or clarity. He seemed alert, strong and determined. All that without a lick of rest or sleep.

“You won't hear from us until after we've acquired our target,” Sander said to Chey. “It might take longer than we think, depending on what we find when we get there. Don't call until we contact you first or morning comes.”

“All right.” Promising herself she wouldn't repeat words of caution, she waited while they tucked away the last of their supplies and Sander came to kiss her goodbye. She didn't make a big deal out of it, even if her heart felt like it might pound right out of her chest. Holding onto the vest where it cut up by his shoulders, she pulled him down for one more kiss, standing on her tiptoes to reach. Then she let him go.

He smiled a grim smile, cupped her cheek with his gloved fingers, then led the way out the front door. Chey exhaled a long breath, sending up a few silent prayers for his—and everyone else's—safe return. What surprised her was the tug Leander gave to Wynn's hair and the wink he shot over his shoulder.

Chey glanced sideways at her best friend, doubly surprised to see Wynn mouth
Come back safe!
Rosy cheeked, Wynn wiggled her fingers, waving Leander out the door behind the others.

“What was that all about?” Chey asked as the engine turned over in the Hummer. Moments later, the sound of debris crunching under the tires heralded the men's departure.

Wynn rocked back and forth on her feet, hands clasped together. Before she could speak, Natalia beat her to it.

“Flirting, that's what. I can see why, too. He's pretty hot.”

Chey and Wynn looked Natalia's way. For a change, the Princess was dressed in casual, camel colored slacks and a simple white button down shirt. Natalia arched her brows at the girls as if to say,
What?

“Did you really just admit a man was hot?” Chey asked.

“I did,” Natalia replied.

“Well, hands off that one,” Wynn said with a cheeky smile. “It might go nowhere, but it'll go nowhere without any help from you.”

Natalia laughed. “For your information, I'm dating a Belgian Prince.”

As the butler closed the door on the departing Hummer, Chey was more than happy to give Natalia her full attention. “How long has that been going on?”

“For about two months?” Natalia's smile was more than a little sly.

“How come you never said anything?” Chey asked.

“Because I've been happy to see where it leads first, before my brothers start badgering me about marriage. I'm sure they'd love to pawn me off at the earliest possible moment.”

“Natalia! That's not true. I mean—it might have been six months ago, but not now.” Chey gave Natalia honesty for honesty. Things had changed lately—for the better. And if her actions in recent days were any indication, Natalia's loyalty was to Sander, not Paavo.

“I know.” Natalia didn't shy away from the truth. “Don't say anything though. I'll tell them when and if things progress.”

“You have my word,” Chey said. She glanced at the door, then over to Wynn. “And what about you? When did this whole Leander thing crop up? I thought you were busy being my eyes and ears.”

Wynn looked uncomfortable for long moments. She shuffled her feet and lifted a shoulder. “He's probably just doing his job, but...well. He's been really great to me through all this.”

Chey thought there was something Wynn wasn't saying. “Is that all there is to it?”

Wynn directed her gaze toward a dark window. Nostalgia and confusion flickered across her features before it cleared. “Yeah, that's all there is to it.”