by Lucy Monroe
Seeing a likely hallway, she ducked out of the huge ballroom. The farther she walked along the hallway, the more muted the cacophony of voices from the ballroom became and the more tension drained from her until even her hands, which had been fisted unconsciously at her sides, uncurled.
Only as her fingers straightened did she realize how very hard she’d been holding them.
She could hear voices ahead, one whose tones she recognized with a smile. Demyan.
Delighted by the opportunity to see him amidst the chaos of her wedding day, she quickened her steps, only slowing down when she realized who he was with.
King Fedir.
The one person who intimidated Chanel and brought out her barely resolved and all-too-recent insecurities. There were two other voices as well, a woman and a man.
They were all speaking Ukrainian, thinly veiled anger resonating in at least two of the speakers’ tones.
As Chanel slowed her progress, their conversation resolved itself into actual words she could understand.
The unknown woman demanded, “How dare you humiliate us this way?”
“My actions were not intended as an insult toward you.” Demyan did not sound particularly worried the woman had taken whatever he’d done as such, though.
“How could they be taken any other way?” a man who was not the king said. “You have repudiated us before all of Volyarus.”
“I didn’t repudiate you. I aligned myself with my true family.”
“I gave you birth,” the woman said in fury.
And the identity of the other two people became clear to Chanel: Demyan’s birth parents.
“You also gave me to your brother, abdicating any responsibilities and all emotional connections to me. I am no longer your son.”
“You are not a child.” The man speaking had to be Demyan’s biological father. “You know why that was necessary.”
“I know that you traded your son for the chance at leverage over your brother-in-law, the king. I know that Fedir and Oxana needed a secondary heir to the throne, but they have always treated me as more than an expedience.”
“I’m very pleased you took our house’s name, Demyan,” the king said with sincerity. “Your parents could have avoided this surprise today by allowing Oxana and me to adopt you as a child. It was their choice not to, as you said…for their own expedience. I, for one, was joyfully surprised and I know your mother feels the same.”
Chanel smiled, pleased the outwardly cold man so obviously cared about his adopted son. Demyan said something she did not catch.
“You think you are more than an expedience to the king and queen?” Duke Zaretsky sneered. “He has just ensured you sacrificed the rest of your life for the sake of his family’s wealth. You are far more his tool than you were ever mine.”
Chanel didn’t understand what the duke meant by his words, but there was no question they were intended to wound. And she wasn’t about to stand by while anyone tried to hurt Demyan.
She pushed open the door to what turned out to be a very impressive masculine study and crossed to Demyan’s side quickly.
His dark gaze flared with something that looked like worry before pleasure at her presence sparked to life, as well. “Hello, sérdeńko.”
“What are you doing here?” the king asked with his usual less-than-warm attitude toward her.
“The reception was getting too loud.”
“You cannot abandon your responsibilities as a hostess on a whim.”
“Really? Then what are you doing back here?” she asked with enough sarcasm to be mistaken for her sister. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it your name on the invitation listed as host of this party?”
Demyan laughed, taking her hand and pulling her to his side. “You make an excellent case, little one.”
Everyone in the room except Chanel showed differing levels of surprise at his humor. The king recovered first, giving her a grudging look of respect when she’d expected a frown and polite dressing-down.
She had a lot of experience with both and a lifetime realizing she was no good at taking the path of least resistance, even if it meant avoiding them.
“Point taken,” King Fedir said. “We should all be getting back.”
“Does she know yet?” the duke asked, his expression calculating, his tone undeniably malicious.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHANEL DIDN’T ASK what he meant, or even acknowledge the man had spoken.
He’d done it in Ukrainian. Somehow she doubted Demyan had been into sharing confidences with the older man, which meant the duke had no idea she understood the language. That made his choice to converse in it pointedly without courtesy.
“You will be silent,” the king replied in the same language to his brother-in-law, his tone harsh.
Ignoring both posturing men, Chanel smiled up at Demyan. “I missed you.”
“Oh, how sweet,” Princess Svitlana said in a tone that made it clear she thought it was anything but.
Demyan’s expression was an odd mixture of tenderness and a strange underlying anxiety as he looked down at Chanel. “I am very proud of you. Not many science geeks would do so well at an affair of state with so little training.”
“You assigned a very potent group of babysitters.”
His nostrils flared as if her words surprised him.
“You didn’t think I realized you’d asked them to watch over me?” Once she had, she’d felt very well cared for.
Demyan would never leave Chanel to sink or swim in the shark-infested waters of his life.
“I could not be with you the entire time,” he said by way of an explanation.
Not that she’d needed one. “Because you’re a prince.”
“It’s a nominative title only,” his birth mother said with more venom, in English this time. “He’s no more a prince than you are a well-bred princess.”
Chanel gave the older woman a measure of her attention, but kept her body and clear allegiance toward Demyan. “I am not a horse and I wasn’t born in a breeding program. While I won’t claim to be a princess, Demyan is definitely a prince.”
“He won’t inherit. Not now that Princess Gillian is carrying the next heir to the throne.”
“But he is the king and queen’s son. That makes him a prince.”
“I gave birth to him,” the duchess said.
Chanel found it odd that the duke never verbalized his claim at fatherhood. “Congratulations.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No. I don’t know what your other children are like. Hopefully more like their older brother than their parents, but I do know you gave birth to an amazing man in Demyan. I’m sure you are very proud of that accomplishment, but you aren’t his mother any more than I am a princess.”
“Oxana is my mother,” Demyan asserted with absolute assurance.
“And you would do anything for her and the man you consider your father, even marry some socially backward American scientist to protect the Yurkovich financial interests.” She said scientist as if it was a dirty word.
Chanel almost smiled. She’d never considered her vocation as beyond the pale before.
“That is enough, Svitlana.” The king’s tone was again harsh, his expression forbidding.
“Oh, so you haven’t told her?” Duke Zaretsky asked snidely, clearly ignoring his king’s evident wrath and this time taking evident pleasure in speaking English. “I could almost feel sorry for her. She gave up hundreds of millions of dollars by marrying you and she doesn’t even know it.”
There could be no doubt the duke was talking about Chanel, but the words made absolutely no sense.
“I didn’t give up anything and gained everything marrying Demyan,” she fiercely asserted.
The duchess looked at her pityingly. “You have no idea, but no matter what kind of prenuptial agreement these two convinced you to sign, until you spoke your vows three hours ago, you were a twenty-percent owner in Yurkovich Tanner.
”
“I wasn’t. My great-great-grandfather left his shares to the Volyarussian people.” He’d told her great-grandmother so in a letter still in Chanel’s possession, along with the family Bible.
“And they have been used to finance infrastructure, schools and hospitals since then,” the king assured her.
She smiled at him, holding no grudge for his unwelcoming demeanor. “I know. I did some research when I got the scholarship. Your country is kind of amazing for its progressive stance on the environment and energy conservation.”
“I am glad you think so.”
“That money was yours,” the king’s sister insisted. “Until you married my son.”
The claims were starting to make an awful kind of sense, but Chanel had no intention of allowing the two emotional vultures in front of her to know about the splinters of pain slicing their way through Chanel’s heart.
She simply said, “He’s not your son.”
“Would you like to see your grandfather’s will?” the duke asked, clearly unwilling to give up.
Two things were obvious in that moment. The first was that there had to be some truth to what the duke and his wife were saying. If there wasn’t, Demyan and the king would have categorically denied it.
Also, they were both way too tense now for the claims to be entirely false.
Second, whatever the duke and Princess Svitlana’s motives for telling Chanel, it had nothing to do with helping or protecting anyone. Her least of all.
In fact, she was fairly certain their intention was to hurt the son who had finally made a public alliance with the family who had raised him.
She turned away from the duke and duchess to face Demyan. “Tell me your siblings don’t take after your egg and sperm donors.”
Duplicate sounds of outrage indicated the Zaretskys had heard her just fine.
Demyan didn’t respond, an expression she’d never seen in his eyes. Fear.
She wasn’t sure what he was afraid of. Whether he was afraid she would mess up whatever plan he’d made with King Fedir, or worried she would go ballistic at their very politically attended reception, or something else really didn’t matter.
Whatever Demyan felt for her, Chanel loved him and she wasn’t going to let the two people whose rejection had already caused him a lifetime of pain hurt him anymore.
“I think it’s time we all returned to the reception.” She couldn’t quite dredge up a smile, but she did her best to mask her own hurt.
He spoke then, the words coming out in a strange tone. “We need to talk.”
She didn’t want him showing vulnerability in front of the Zaretskys. Chanel wasn’t giving them the satisfaction of believing they’d succeeded in their petty and vindictive efforts.
She reached up and cupped his face, like he did so often with her, hoping it gave him the same sense of comfort and being cared for it had always done her, no matter how much of a lie it might have been at the time. “Later.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“She is a fool,” the duke said in disgusted Ukrainian.
Chanel looked at him over her shoulder, her expression a perfect reflection of her mother’s favorite one for disdain. “The only fool here is you if you think for one second you have the power to influence my prince’s life for good or ill today, or any time in the future. You simply don’t matter.”
She had also spoken in his native language and enjoyed the shock that produced in the overweening nobleman.
The duchess gasped. “You’re American.”
“Which does not equate to uninformed, stupid or uneducated.” Chanel met eyes so similar in color but different in expression from Demyan’s. “My heritage in this country may not be royal, or as long-standing, but when it comes to the welfare of Volyarus, it is equally as important as yours.”
Her grandfather had helped this nation stay afloat financially three decades ago and his efforts were still benefitting the Volyarussians.
“You already knew,” the duchess said, almost as if she admired Chanel’s acumen. “But then why did you marry him?”
“Because she loves me,” Demyan said, his voice gravelly.
Chanel turned back to him without agreeing or giving his parents another single solitary moment of her time. She hadn’t known about the will being different than what her great-grandmother had believed, or what that had to do with Chanel’s marriage to Demyan, though she could make a pretty educated guess based on the prenuptial agreement.
She wasn’t about to admit that to the Zaretskys, though.
Demyan was searching her face as if trying to read Chanel’s thoughts. So far in their relationship, she’d been an open book. She had little hope of hiding what was going on in her head right now.
But she didn’t have to talk about it. Especially in front of the older generation of the royal family.
“Leave,” the king said to his sister and brother-in-law.
The Zaretskys started for the door of the study.
“No,” the king instructed. “Out through the secret passage. You will not return to the reception and you will be out of the palace within the hour.”
“What? You cannot be serious. How would that look?” his sister demanded.
“Like you threw a temper tantrum when your son chose to change his name to reflect his true parentage,” the king replied, his tone arctic.
Princess Svitlana crossed her arms, but stopped just shy of stomping her feet. “I won’t do it.”
“You will. Do not presume to forget that this is not a nominal King of Volyarus. I hold the power to revoke your citizenship and deport you. Do not tempt me to use it.”
The duke and his wife both paled at the king’s words, Princess Svitlana doing a fair imitation of a gasping fish, though no words passed her lips.
The expression in her brother’s eyes suggested she keep it that way.
Showing she was marginally more intelligent than evidence might suggest, the princess left without another word. Through the secret passageway. Her husband followed close behind her.
Chanel stepped back from Demyan, intending to return to the reception. The crowds of people and litany of voices that fifteen minutes ago had seemed so overwhelming now called like a beacon for escape from the thoughts that were multiplying by the second in her head.
And with every new thought came a shard of pain Chanel had no idea how long she could contain.
The king blocked her exit, his gaze searching hers as much as his adopted son’s had done. However, the level of ruthlessness behind his perusal chilled her; she’d felt only confusion mixed with hurt at Demyan’s look.
She said nothing, simply waited for the King of Volyarus to move.
He frowned. “You will not return to the reception only to cause a scene.”
She was doing her best to hold back an emotional devastation she hadn’t experienced since her father’s death. Did he really think his display of bossiness was helping the situation?
“Let me give you a small piece of advice, Your Majesty.”
His brows rose in obvious shock at her tone.
She went on, “Right this second, all I see when I look at you is a man who would use whatever underhanded means are necessary to rob a woman and her family of a legacy they knew nothing about.”
“There was nothing underhanded about your marriage to my son. It is legal in every sense. You cannot undo it.”
She said a word that rarely passed her lips, but called the lie for what it was. Oh, he might be correct in that she could not undo whatever legality the wedding had wrought, but as for nothing about it being devious?
That was an ugly bit of nonsense. “All I’ve done so far is tell you my opinion, not offered my advice. If you’re smart, you will take it.”
“Chanel, you cannot speak to him like that,” Demyan said, sounding tired rather than corrective. “He is your king.”
“Not my king.” Any more than Demyan was her prince.
King Fedir asked before Demyan could reply to that claim, “What is your advice?”
“Do not attempt to tell me what to do. Because though my intention is not to embarrass my family, or Queen Oxana who has been nothing but kind to me, your very instruction not to cause a scene is nearly overwhelming impetus to do so.”
“You love my son.”
She didn’t deny it. What would be the point? Everyone in that room knew the truth about her emotions. And his now, no matter how misled she’d been that morning.
“But I don’t even like you,” she told Demyan’s adopted father very succinctly.
The king flinched, his face slackening in shock as if he’d never had anyone speak to him in such a way before. Maybe he hadn’t.
“Chanel…” That was Demyan, the tone in his voice not one she wanted to hear or could even begin to trust right then.
Definitely not admonishment for her rudeness to his father, but what it was, she refused to name.
She spun to face him, her heart in a vise that brought pain with each indrawn breath. “Don’t. Just don’t, Demyan. However horrible their intentions, the duke and duchess were more honest with me than you’ve been.”
“No.” He lurched forward, as if he’d been yanked by a string attached to his chest.
She stepped back quickly, sure of one thing. She could not allow him to touch her right now. “Stop. I said later. I meant later.”
“Perhaps you two should speak now,” the king said, sounding less certain than he had to this point.
Chanel made no attempt to hide the utter dislike she felt when she faced him. “You’re doing it again. You say maybe we should talk and all I can think is how much more certain I am that there isn’t going to be any more talking.”
“You are a contrary woman.”
“You have no idea how contrary I can be, but spend a few minutes talking with my stepfather and he’ll fill you in.”
“I have spent some time in his company already.”
And heard an earful, Chanel was sure. For the first time in her life, she simply didn’t care if Perry had managed to turn someone right off her. “I’m sure he enjoyed that.”
