Heir in Exile (24 page)

“Of course I realize,” Sander said with a dark scowl. “Abuse of power. First for forcing me into exile, and second for the murder of his own firstborn in an attempt to hide the truth from the public. If that's not abuse of power, I don't know what is.”

Mattias had another drink, still watching Sander. “Will the military acquiesce? You have the ear of three Generals, but what of the men?”

“They will do whatever their commanders tell them to do, I suspect. As long as there is good reason. I'll have to go to the head council members and inform them of my intent. The problem there is timing. If I go too early, before Aksel is detained, then one of them will tip him off and he'll have me killed. It needs to be timed exactly, and I need your support to do it all.” Sander held his brother's eyes. He didn't doubt Mattias would rise to the occasion. It was why they were as close as they were.

“You have my support. As ever. And I agree—timing is critical. I fear public backlash, however. If you do not also have their support, all of this will come to nothing. They will restore Aksel, you will be exiled by force this time, probably stripped of your rank and everything else, and forbidden to ever return,” Mattias said.

“It will be up to them to decide. There is nothing more I can do than present my case as it is, and leave it up to the citizens. If it comes to that, then I'll accept my exile and that will be that.” It left a bitter taste in Sander's mouth to think of Aksel winning this hand in their game of war.

“Say Aksel and Helina are detained, and you are granted ascension, do you plan to follow through? You have not changed your mind because of who your mother is, have you?”

Sander looked out the window. Mattias knew him well, indeed. It was a question that haunted him, as Aksel knew it would. He was not rightful heir, not according to law nor decree. Removing Aksel and Helina as an obstacle would have allowed him to ascend
if
he did not confess to the public his true birthright.
If
his conscious would let him. He was a man bound by honor his whole life—should he keep this secret, it would forever change that.

“Sander?” Mattias said, pressing the issue.

“The only way I can do it and not suffer guilt for the rest of my days is to also announce who I really am,” he said.

Mattias fell to silence. The sound of the bottle came again, followed by a splash of liquor.

Sander held his tumbler out; Mattias filled it.

“You take a great many risks, brother,” Mattias said into the quiet.

“Doesn't it take many risks to become great?” Sander asked.

Mattias had no answer.

“Tomorrow, just before dawn. I'll order the Generals to detain the King and Queen while I call an emergency meeting with the council. I'd like to refrain from a public announcement for a few days so we can locate the other members of that household and bury the dead,” Sander said. He would not be rushed through his goodbyes to a possible brother he barely got to know. Sibling or not, Laur's life tale was a sad one. He thought the man—and any others—deserved to be respectably laid to rest.

. . .

Chey stood under the hot steam of a shower like the burn might rid her of the horrific images regarding Laur's death. Unable to rest after Sander's departure, she'd retreated here to stand under the spray, arms crossed over her front with her hands hooked onto her shoulders. Chin tucked, she mourned in private the events of the night.

When would the upheaval end? Or at least tread onto common ground? She wished desperately for quieter, less dreadful times. Walks on the half moon bay, exploring the mountain on Pallan island, traveling to different countries at Sander's side—that's what she wanted.

A shadow looming outside the curtain startled a gasp out of Chey. It was only Sander, peeling back the barrier to step under the spray with her. He was golden and glorious, all sinew and honed strength, the clothing shed somewhere along the way. She decided she must have looked downtrodden and melancholy; he drew her against him and cradled her head with his hand, exhaling a sound of quiet frustration. The water sluiced over them both, creating rivulets that snaked over contours and into the hollows, making their hair stick to their skin.

“Tomorrow before dawn,” he said at a low decibel that vied with the hiss of the shower head, “I intend on detaining the King and the Queen. Several respected Generals have pledged their allegiance to me, and I will put their honor and trust to the test. I'll claim abuse of power as my reason to the council in the hope they do not attempt to over ride me.”

Shock made Chey stiffen in his arms. Cheek against his chest, sensing he was not done, she remained quiet.

“The King and Queen will remain under guard for several days while we lay Laur—and any others—to rest. Then, I'll take the entire scandal public, explaining my reasons and my plans. I'm going to confess I am not the true heir to the throne at that time and allow the council and the people to have their say.”

Stunned, unsure what to say, Chey smoothed her palms along either side of his spine. The implications were immediately clear: Sander was taking an enormous risk and stood a good chance of losing his right to rule the country. A right she wasn't sure he had any longer, if he went public with the news. Tilting her head back, she sought his eyes.

His were troubled, filled with shadows and concern.

“Are you absolutely sure that's what you want to do? Confess Helina is not your true mother?” Chey asked. “As much as I would love to be selfish and have more of you to myself for the rest of our lives—I realize that you were born to be King. Your heart lies in leading and protecting the people of Latvala, and I don't think you will ever truly be happy if you cannot do so.”

“If I keep the ruse, then I will not be happy, either. Guilt will eat at me and make me miserable. I know this about myself, at least. It's better if I'm open and honest, something I have always tried to be with everyone. Sure, some things can never be shared, that's a given. But this...this is simply too big, too encompassing, to brush under a rug,” he said.

“What are the odds of you still taking the throne?”

“Honestly? Slim to none. I like to hope for the best, but it's because the worst case scenario is difficult for me to contemplate. The people might forgive me for detaining the King and Queen, though I imagine they will chose to have the rightful heir seated as King when all is said and done.” He looked over her head, staring at the shower wall.

“What will happen if Mattias takes over?” she asked. “Will you lose Kallaster castle?”

“It's a good bet Mattias will break tradition and leave the holding to me. It'll be his choice, after all, and he's not bound by any legal law that says he
has
to take it to become King. It's just been the way of it for so long.”

“So you won't be exiled, then?”

“The people can't exile me. Only the King or the high council if the offense is bad enough. Being born not of the Queen is no fault of mine, so it's likely they'll allow me to remain in Latvala and live my life out here as a Prince. Unless they deem it necessary to strip me of that title as well. If they do, then I'll have to forfeit all my holdings as well as everything else.” He settled his whiskered chin against the side of her temple.

“What does Mattias think you should do?”

“What my heart tells me to. Though he would be supportive of me keeping the bastard secret because he thinks I should be King. At least this nonsense with Paavo taking control is over.” He made a gruff, annoyed sound in the back of his throat.

“He wouldn't do a good job?” she asked, running her hands up to make circles over his shoulder blades.

“My younger brother is an honorable man, but his politics and personal ambition get in the way of what
should
be done. He would make many bad choices for Latvala. Aksel is blind to it, or perhaps condones some of it, seeing that he has allowed certain Officials from other countries to sway his thinking about our military involvement in skirmishes we have no business being anywhere near.”

Chey considered the complications of being Royalty. If it wasn't interpersonal strife, it was politics.

“Hypothetically, if your military
was
to engage in skirmishes, would you actually be fighting?” Chey moved her head back far enough to see his eyes.

Sander glanced down, gliding his hands low to settle on the back of her hips. “We're all trained for battle. Yes, I would be fighting.”

“But you can't all go. What if the worst happens and you're all killed? Won't the throne fall to some second or third cousin?” Chey failed to keep a frown from building on her brow.

“We wouldn't all fight at the same time. The council frowns on the heir actually going onto the front lines, though they have no final say. It's my nature to fight alongside my countrymen. My choice to give up the throne if I die.”

“I'm glad you won't be sending people into situations unless it's really necessary, then.” She refused to think more about him going to war. Several of her friends had relatives serving in the forces, and she remembered well the anxious wait for news of their loved ones.

“It's nothing you need to worry about right now, if that eases you any.” He pressed a kiss between her eyes.

Chey had the urge, once again, to confide about their baby. They weren't quite as raw as they were a couple hours ago. The timing wasn't perfect—and then she wondered if it would ever be. The situation with Aksel could take another turn, and another, landing them in a precarious position.

“Let's get cleaned up, all right? You washing my hair will take my mind off all that other stuff.” Chey knew her smile didn't convey the ease he was trying to give her.

Sander echoed her smile, which looked strangely sober and somewhat maudlin. He reached for the shampoo and got down to business.

While he put his hands in her hair, she tried to figure out the best way to tell him he was going to be a father.

Chapter Nineteen

Dressed in lounge pants and a thin tee shirt of yellow, Chey toweled her hair dry before the mirror. Sander, in just a pair of black pajama pants, stood next to her, hip against the counter, shaving off his whiskers.

She kept glancing at him, undecided whether to just blurt her news out or leave a note on his pillow or what.

Without looking at her, he said, “You're staring.”

“I'm your fiance, I'm allowed to stare.”

“You should try my face sometime. Do you even know what color eyes I have?”

“Of course I do. They're green.” She knew very well they were blue.

He paused, dumbstruck, and sought her eyes through the reflection.

She quirked her lips and arched a brow. Clearly, her expression said,
gotcha.
It lacked the verve and animation of their usual banter.

Sander's features waned wry. His eyes lidded and he snorted before resuming his shaving.

Chey set the towel down on the counter, over her make up box. Recalling she'd put the pregnancy tests inside earlier, an epiphany hit about how to tell him about their child.

Taking the towel over to a drying rack, she draped it over a rung and returned. Her fingers snapped the clasp to the kit open. Just as she was about to lift the lid, someone knocked at the bedroom door.

Chey bit back a curse. Maybe whoever it was would go away quick. “I'll get it. You finish removing the sandpaper from your face.”

On her way past, she pinched his hip.

“You
like
the way it feels when I rub it on your--”

“
Sander.”
She refused to laugh. Her heart wasn't in it, despite that a flicker of amusement raced through her.

Opening the bedroom door, she found Mattias there, fully dressed. She wasn't sure whether to be alarmed by the look in his eyes or not. A look she couldn't exactly read. Was it bad news? Good news?

“You both come down to the parlor as soon as you can,” he said.

Sander appeared at the archway to the bathroom, rubbing his now smooth skin with a small towel. “What is it?”

“Just come down,” Mattias said, features enigmatic and impossible to figure out. He disappeared down the hall.

Chey closed the door and glanced at Sander, bemused. “What was that about?”

“I don't know. Let me put a shirt on and we'll find out.” Rather than intrigued, Sander looked disturbed. He retreated into the bathroom and the walk in closet. Moments later he emerged in a long sleeved shirt of steel gray. Foregoing shoes, he escorted her out of the room.

“If it was an emergency, he would have said, right?” Barefoot herself, Chey padded alongside, putting thoughts of baby confessions aside for now. There was still time when they got back before bed.

“No telling with him. Let's hope not.”

They descended to the first floor and went straight to the parlor. Several guards stood with Mattias around the television. Images of what looked to be a mass gathering scrolled across the screen. People bundled in heavy coats, scarves and caps carried handmade signs. Others held candles. Many chanted and called out.