Heir in Exile (28 page)

“And you keep speaking as if you have any place in the order at all any longer,
half
brother,” Paavo said. He stepped around Sander for the door, forgetting Aurora on the couch.

Aurora rose, fingers over her lips, a nervous look in her eyes. She followed Paavo from the room, easing the door closed behind her.

Chey felt Sander stiffen beside her at the callous, cruel taunt Paavo delivered.

“He has never dealt with this kind of stress well, you know that,” Gunnar said when Paavo was gone, speaking almost too quiet to hear.

“Yes, but it does not excuse him, Gunnar.”

“Maybe not. Our family is coming apart at the seams,” he said after another moment. Gunnar returned to offer his hand down to Krislin, who clasped onto it and stood from her seat. Gunnar paused shoulder to shoulder with Sander, facing the other direction, and left a final comment near his ear. “No matter what, you'll always be Dare Ahtissari, brother of my blood, fit to be King.”

Sander clapped Gunnar on the back of the shoulder.

After that, Gunnar led his wife out of the sitting room.

Natalia, unusually silent throughout, started laughing. She laughed and laughed, until it reached a hysterical pitch.

Chey cringed inwardly, expecting Natalia to throw a vase or some other hard object to kick off yet another tantrum.

“Natalia,” Mattias finally said, cutting through the woman's giddy, drunken giggles.

“This is just...too rich. A dead brother I never knew existed,
another
brother who turns out not to be worthy to even live in the castle nor have access to the monies and titles due the rest of us, and the little woman who thought she would be Queen. What an impossible tale.” She buried another laugh into her palm.

Mattias shot Sander an impatient, annoyed glance, closed the distance to his sister, and escorted her firmly by the elbow toward the door.

“Good luck with your speech, Dare. They're expecting you in the front in eight minutes,” Mattias said. Then he was gone, Natalia in tow.

“I need a drink,” Sander said half under his breath. He released Chey's hand and approached a side bar where he poured himself two fingers of scotch.

Chey wasn't sure what to make of it all. She expected Natalia's vehemence, but not Paavo's. “I think they all need to process what just happened.”

“Don't we all,” Sander said, tossing back a swallow. He hissed, pacing her way. “Would you like something? More water?”

“No thanks. I'll get something after you speak. Where are you doing the announcement?” she asked, aware that time was ticking off the proverbial clock.

“I chose the Monument of Kings. It's an outdoor display of statues depicting the lineage of my ruling ancestors.”

“Oh, the one in the park, the life sized replicas?” she asked, recalling photographing it with Mattias.

“No, this is a more formal representation. Come on, we better get going.” He finished off his drink, set the tumbler on a table, and sought her hand to lead her from the sitting room.

Chey held onto his hand tighter than usual, dreading the event to come.

. . .

The Monument of Kings turned out to be a square shaped dais sitting on a field of grass. Currently, the ground was buried under a half foot of snow. Lined along the back of the dais were white statues of once reigning Kings. Tall and imposing, they stared out with sightless eyes at a swath of land stretching away toward the shore. The platform, white stone as well, looked well suited for public announcements.

What struck Chey more than anything was the amount of people surrounding it on all sides. From five streets away in Kalev, they began encountering the masses. Sander's limousine cruised along the avenue, fronted by a Hummer full of troops as well as more behind. People packed the sidewalks, balconies of double and triple storied buildings, and crammed into businesses to await Sander's arrival.

More troops kept the streets clear, politely barring anyone from blocking the road to the Monument.

Chey glanced at Sander often, aching inside for the official end to his right to the throne. She knew it was hard on him, harder than anyone might expect. He bore the responsibility with his usual stoic reserve, jaw set in a hard line.

She looked down at her hand, his ring sitting prominent on her finger. Relieved to be wearing it again, she admired the cut and sparkle, wondering what his brothers and sister would think when they found out. Sander hadn't had time to tell them in the impromptu meeting.

At the venue, she disembarked with Sander, hand caught in his, surprised all over again at the sheer amount of people filling the grounds of the Monument. The statues towered above the platform by at least fifteen feet, the detail exquisite.

Chey returned greetings and well wishes, using several of the few words in the Latvala language she knew. The simple ones were easy: Hello, Thank you, Please, Good afternoon, and others. She accepted flowers from several women who appeared quite happy to see her at Sander's side. It brought the sting of tears to Chey's eyes, the kindness of the people.

Sander was gracious in his interactions, pausing often, using quiet words to express one sentiment or another.

After a twenty minute delay, Sander guided her up the steps to the platform. By then she had an armful of different flowers, hair tousled by an errant wind. Sander, unruffled by the crowds or the weather, released her hand after a roar swept through the throng and lifted it high. He stepped up to a microphone and stared out at the sea of faces, features taking on a grim cast.

Chey's heart ached. She stood to his left a few feet from his elbow, giving him room.

When he began, the crowds hushed, creating a vacuum of silence. Chey shivered beneath the coat she'd donned over the suit. Sander's voice echoed into the day, sun shining down from a startling blue sky. It wasn't long before the crowd gasped and began to whisper, reacting to the news Sander had to give.

Aware of the many photographers and cameramen, Chey schooled her features, careful not to show too much emotion one way or another. A ripple of shock replaced the gasps, and then a surge of shouting Chey didn't understand. The people looked unhappy at whatever Sander had just said. A few women started to cry, something Chey hadn't expected. Were they upset Aksel and Helina were detained? Would this whole thing backfire on Sander, making him an enemy of the people he cherished so much?

A few of the men looked angst ridden and angry. Some had their fists in the air, others rattled off insistent phrases in the mother tongue.

Chey knew exactly when he announced their engagement; a roar lifted into the day and thousands of eyes swiveled her way. She lifted the bouquet of flowers, gifts from many in the crowd, and saluted them. Chey wasn't sure it was the right thing to do, but the people cheered harder, louder. Nestling the flowers in the crook of her arm, she met Sander's eyes across the few feet that separated them.

He wore pride mixed with affection in his gaze, masking the pain she knew must be there as well.

Turning back to the microphone, he finished his speech, lifting a hand, this time in farewell.

Choked up, Chey touched the tips of her fingers to her forehead, trying to cover the rush of emotion from cameras.

With a sudden surge, the crowd flooded up the stairs onto the platform. For a moment, Chey was so startled she almost ran the other way. It would have been impossible; the throng surrounded them from all sides, packing in as if they were overflowing the stage of a popular rockstar.

Once the initial surprise passed, Chey discovered she wasn't afraid to be among them. These people were not her enemies. Many had tears on their cheeks, some were openly begging Sander—who was attempting to make his way to her—to take over as King. The citizens pleaded in ways that made Chey's heart ache even more. It was wrenching to see them so supportive of someone the council would not allow on the throne.

For three hours, she remained at Sander's side while he shook hands, accepted condolences, and attempted to assure the people Mattias would be a solid ruler in his wake. Finally, the troops eased into a circle around them, making it possible to leave the platform and head through the crowds toward the waiting limousine. She stopped every time Sander did, which was often, to speak with those who hadn't been able to reach the platform.

In the limousine once more, she slumped into the seat, laying the flowers and ribbons across her lap. The floral scent permeated the interior.

Overwhelmed, Chey didn't know what to say.

It appeared Sander was at a loss as well. He stared out the window, one hand twined with hers, as the driver took them away from the Monument.

One sign in particular, held by a pedestrian alongside the route, brought tears to Chey's eyes. It read:
We love you. Be our King.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kallaster castle never seemed more like home. For the rest of that day and the next, Chey settled into a routine that didn't demand much in the way of energy or emotional investment. Sander paced more than he lounged, staring out the windows at the sea. He brooded in silence, coming to terms with the new hand life had dealt him. When he took calls, they were from Mattias only. Everyone who wanted a piece of the former heir had to go through his brother. They took their meals in his suite, secluded from everyone but immediate staff, preferring to ensconce themselves in private thoughts that they sometimes shared with each other.

Sometimes.

Chey didn't push him, and didn't push herself. She wanted the down time as much as he wanted to be performing duties as King. In the end, she thought it might help settle Sander's mind to be away from the constant turmoil of court and the rest of his family. Part of their retreat had to do from learning the fate of the rest of Laur's household: only three of the eleven remaining had been found alive. Sander took the news hard. Chey mourned the loss with tears of frustration, attempting to console herself with the idea that Aksel and Helina's murdering spree was over.

This morning, their plans were different. Chey slipped a small pearl earring through her lobe, watching in the bathroom mirror although her eyes had gone distant, mind elsewhere. Coming back to herself, she perused the strict black slacks and matching fitted coat. It was a somber outfit for a somber occasion.

Exiting into the main bedroom, she glimpsed Sander straightening a cuff on his own suit of black. He wore it as well as he wore anything else, the color complimenting his golden hair and skin. Solemn and silent, he slid his arms through his sleeves and plucked her long coat off a peg, holding it open for her.

“Thanks.” Sliding her arms through, she adjusted the collar and gave the suit jacket beneath a gentle tug to straighten out a wrinkle.

“You're welcome. Have everything you want to take?” he asked.

“Yes. I'm not taking a purse. Don't see the need. I'll put my phone in my coat pocket.” Which she did right after she mentioned it.

Sander escorted her out, steps brisk, eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses he put on at the last second. Chey had a pair as well, which she slipped into place as they descended to the main floor.

From there it was a matter of a car ride, then a hop from the island to the mainland in the helicopter, and another trip in a long limousine. The day was as solemn as Chey felt, with an overcast sky and the threat of more snow later in the evening. Driving through the Latvala countryside, she watched the terrain fly by, aware Sander did the same beside her on the seat.

The limousine turned down a final road, a desolate area with no homes or other structures in sight. Trees crowded closer to the asphalt, then fell away as they arrived at an iron gate. A tall fence stretched in two directions, obviously to protect the cemetery sitting within its confines. Small and compact, a guardhouse stood sentinel at the entrance, manned by a guard in military dress.

Once inside the gate, the limousine cruised along a well cared for road, circling to the right when a fork emerged. He followed it into a pretty area with trees sparsely dotting the ground. She thought it strange there were no headstones in sight yet.

That rectified itself moments later, when a row of crypts overlooking a sprawling lake came into view. Other statues and headstones, some more ancient than others, flanked the path on the opposite side. The limousine stopped at a separate parking area beyond the immediate burial ground. Other cars had arrived before them, along with a hearse. Two other limousines sat on the far side of the lot, windows up.

Chey accepted Sander's hand when they climbed out. He closed the door himself, rather than wait for the driver. Striking out for a cobbled walkway, he guided her toward the site of the headstones rather than toward the crypts.

Some of the engravings depicted names and dates that stretched back centuries.

“Why are some of these here, and crypts over there?” Chey whispered.

“Only the Kings are buried in crypts. Wives and other children go here,” he replied.

“Is this not open to the public?”