Heir in Exile (23 page)

Olev glanced up, apology in his eyes. “I'm sorry, Sir. He's gone.”

. . .

Chey rocked on her knees, hands over her mouth, while Sander turned Laur over. Moonlight from the windows in the corridor spilled across Laur's face, making a deeper shadow along the deformed side. Sander sought a pulse despite that Olev already checked. His movements were gentle but concise, fingertips pressing against Laur's throat.

Elsewhere in the house, she heard 'clear' ring out several times. It was a distant reassurance that whatever hitmen had intruded were subdued—or dead.

Mattias rushed down the corridor, holstering his weapon. Coming to a knee, he touched either side of Laur's head as if the man were precious and glanced at Sander, something desperate in his dark eyes.

Sander sat back on his haunches, fists on his thighs. He shook his head. Laur was, as Olev said, gone.

Broken-hearted, Chey covered her face and cried for the loss. At the same time, fury boiled her blood that Aksel and Helina could be this cruel. To sacrifice their child in the name of the throne.

Mattias cursed under his breath.

Sander, still and silent, stared first down at Laur, then up at the ceiling.

Chey didn't know if he would shout or punch things or what he might do in the thrall of grief. She'd never seen him out of his element in this way before. That he was hurting couldn't be missed. Pain glinted in his eyes, sagged his shoulders.

In the end, he didn't shout
or
punch holes in the wall. He reached out with a hand and smoothed it over Laur's temple and into his hair. A kind, tender gesture that indicated just how torn up he was inside, even if he collected himself and refused to show it outside. He took a deep breath, glanced at Mattias for a lingering, telling moment, then rose to his feet and stepped over Laur's legs to ease Chey up off the ground.

“Come on. Let's get you upstairs. Are you hurt?” he asked.

She leaned on him, letting Sander bear the brunt of her weight. “I'm
furious,
” she replied through her misery. “Not hurt, no.”

“I know. Here...” Sander paused to scoop her into his arms, groom-style. “Mattias, have someone take Laur to a trusted mortuary and put no less than five guards on him.”

“I will,” Mattias said, pushing to his feet, expression grim.

“Let me know as soon as the others are located.” Sander ascended the small staircase, carrying Chey as if she weighed no more than a feather.

“When is it going to end? When will all the danger and the attempts on people's lives stop? He didn't deserve to die,” Chey said, teeth chattering over the words. She had hit her limit with death and threats.

“As soon as I can make it,” Sander said. “And no, he didn't deserve to die.”

He carried her into her bedroom and used his boot to knock the door shut. Ferrying her to the bed, he laid her down and hovered over her, searching her eyes.

Chey smeared tears off her cheeks, unable to quell her shaking or her upset over Laur. While Sander searched her eyes, she searched his, chest hitching with a small hiccup. “What will happen now? Will Aksel and Helina just be allowed to get away with this atrocity? They can't. You
have
to do something, Sander.”

“I plan to. Trust me when I say they won't get away unscathed.” He sat on the edge of the bed, weapons tucked into the holsters on his shoulders and around one thigh.

Chey had never seen him quite that armed, nor dressed in what appeared to be fatigues. Her fingers trailed over the arm he braced on the other side of her body, effectively trapping her in place.

“Why aren't you angry? How can you not be fed up with it all? I don't understand,” she said, letting her thoughts spill into the open. When she'd had enough, she
really
had enough. The lingering effects of fear made her temper shorter than usual.

“I
am
angry. Don't mistake my control for indifference. Flipping out in front of the men will do no one any good, least of all me. But trust that vengeance will be mine.” He spoke with solemn assurance, never breaking eye contact.

“I wish it made me feel better. I mean, it does, but it doesn't. You know?” Chey smeared another tear angrily off her cheek. “I'm tired of them. Both of them. Tired of worrying about whether I need to look over my shoulder because they've decided to get rid of me, or whether they'll finally back off and leave me—leave
us—
alone.”

“You'll never stop having to look over your shoulder, not completely. That's an unfortunate fact that comes with this life. But we can reduce the threat considerably now that we know where it's coming from, and because I think Mattias and I have collected enough evidence to force his hand.” He gathered her fingers into his, smearing the remnants of her tear off her skin with his thumb.

“Is that what you're going to do? What does that mean, exactly?” she asked, needing it spelled out for her.

“It means, if I ever want to be King, I'm going to have to go public with it all. He made an announcement earlier this evening about my exile, so now I'm forced to act on my own behalf. He's afraid I'll do exactly what I've set out to: remove him from power. This was a preemptive strike on his part.”

“Removing him from power is great, but will that make him stop trying to get rid of me? He can still hire people, can't he?”

“He can, yes. I will make it much harder on him to be able to get at you, though. Or any of us for that matter.”

There was something about the look on Sander's face and in his voice that triggered concern in Chey. It wasn't quite calculating or cunning, yet she knew there was more to it he wasn't saying. Would he and Mattias take
permanent
action? Was Sander set to become just like his father out of necessity? Killing people because it suited him, or made his life easier? The questions ran rampant through her mind. What was more, would she care?

Yes.
Yes, she would care. She didn't want to believe Sander, or Mattias for that matter, would stoop to such levels. They needed to rise above killing for killing's sake, throne or no throne.

She knew it wasn't that easy even as she thought it. An entire country was at stake. The rise and fall of an empire rested squarely on the decisions Sander was about to make. Either he and Mattias would best the King and Queen, beat them at their own game, or fall prey to some unseen ace Aksel had up his sleeve. Chey thought he should be well out of aces by now.

“How?” she asked, hoping she was wrong thinking Sander might stoop to murder.

He cocked his head, holding her gaze. “Why do you have that look on your face?”

“What look?” Chey resisted the urge to cringe. Sander knew her too well.

“
That
look. Like you're suddenly wary of me.” He arched a brow.

“I'm not wary of you. I just--” she paused to collect her thoughts. Her body felt heavy and strange now that the adrenaline rush was wearing off.

“You're worried I'm going to do to him what he did to Laur,” Sander said.

“Not worried. It did cross my mind, though,” she confessed. She wondered if it would drive another, new wedge between them. If he would be offended—or if he would confirm he was a man of his father's making.

“I am many things, Chey, but a cold blooded killer is not one of them. No, I will not send a hunting party, or an assassin, to kill my parents. I have a much more mundane idea in mind. Like exposing them for what they've done and what they are, then banishing them to the mountains or even to another holding elsewhere, as he did to me, so that his reach to people that matter is harder.”

“You're not mad I wondered, are you? Because that's one part of you I don't know. You
could
have been a man like that.”

He shook his head. “No, I'm not mad. You have the right to know if I'm the same man that way. After all, he
did
raise me. It's not in my blood to end people's lives unless it's in self defense or a situation like tonight, when others need to be defended.”

“Okay.” She exhaled in relief.

“I want you to gather all your things here. I'm going to have you flown back to Pallan island where I know you'll be safer. All right? Mattias and I need to work this out, so I'll be staying here for the time being.” He cupped her jaw and leaned down to brush a kiss across her mouth.

Chey started to say a thing. The kiss cut her off. She kissed him once more before he leaned away and finished her thought. “I want to stay here. Maybe not in Mattias's house, but close by. Isn't there somewhere—what about that place in the woods? Or not, because they already knew I'd been there?”

“Yes, I wouldn't feel safe leaving you there.” He didn't deny her out of hand. Instead, he grew quiet, appearing to think about her request.

Chey wondered if this was the time to tell him about the baby. It felt wrong after Laur though, so she remained mute on the subject for now. As anxious as she was for him to know, she also wanted the occasion to be somewhat happy instead of riding on the coattails of grief.

Sander was quiet so long she worried something was wrong. She reached up to smooth the frown that had developed on his brow. “What is it?”

“I'm deciding whether—yes. Actually, give me fifteen minutes to talk to Mattias, all right?” He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth.

“Sure, of course. I'll be here. You won't leave the house, will you?” Chey didn't want to be further than a few yards from Sander at any time in the immediate future.

“No, I won't. And if I do, you'll be coming with me.” He kissed her temple and rose off the bed. “I'll be right back.”

Chey watched him cross the room to the door. He winked before stepping out.

Slumping back into the pillows, she rested an arm over her brow and closed her eyes against the horrible image of Laur lying dead at the bottom of the stairs. She agonized over all the things he would never get to experience, all the things he would never get to do with his brothers. What a waste of a good life, of a good soul.

Whatever Sander was planning, Chey hoped it ripped Aksel and Helina out of their privileged existence and made things much less pleasant for the duration.

It was far better than they deserved.

Chapter Eighteen

Sander closed Chey's door and stood in the hall, hands on his hips, head bent. He allowed himself thirty seconds to center the righteous fury and indignation Laur's death brought. Thirty seconds to calm his pulse, to latch onto the idea that had sprouted while talking to Chey. Otherwise, he might make a wrong move in this chess game gone wild.

It wasn't just his temper he sought to control, but the intense grief he felt over Laur's death. He wasn't the type of man to give in to tears or openly express too much sorrow. It was his way to let it eat him up inside and present a calmer facade to the world. Too aware of an opportunity lost, of a life cut far too short, he reined in his desire for immediate bloodshed and siphoned all that energy into a plan so that nothing like it would ever happen again.

His argument with Chey seemed trivial in the aftermath of all this. Even though he knew it wasn't, not when it put her in jeopardy, he couldn't find it in himself to deny her wish to be close or to hang onto an old grudge when there were more productive things to do.

He struck out for the stairs leading to the main floor in search for Mattias, sure he already knew where to find him.

As he suspected, Mattias was staring out a window at the evening in the parlor, a drink in hand, open bottle at his elbow. Mattias suffered in the same way he did, he knew, and said nothing at first while he walked over to pour himself a tumbler full of liquor. Sander swigged half of it down, hissing at the afterburn.

“Seriously, brother. How have I allowed my own parents to manipulate me so? I should have dumped Viia the second I knew I could never marry her. I should have done—and said—many things I did not.” Mattias was the first to break the silence.

“We all have our regrets. What we need to do now is make sure we reduce the likelihood of having them in the future. Our little plan? We need to expand it,” Sander said, taking another drink. He stared out the same window as guards moved discreetly around the house and the grounds, securing the property against any possible second attack.

“What do you mean, expand it?” Mattias said, glancing sideways at Sander.

“I think we should have Aksel and Helina detained.” Sander met Mattias's eyes. His brother's jaw went slack and he looked at Sander as if he'd grown another head. Any other time, it might have been amusing. Right now, Sander could find little to be amused over.

“You want to arrest the King and Queen? Sander, have you lost your mind?” Mattias asked, incredulous.

“Detained, not arrested. There's a difference.”

“On what grounds? You have to have a reason to detain the King, you realize?”