Memoirs of a King
Page 1
Memoirs of a King
Danielle Bourdon
Contents
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Also by Danielle Bourdon
Published by Wildbloom Press
Copyright © 2018
* * *
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
* * *
Dedicated to the fans of the Latvala royals series
Author’s note: This novella is meant to be read after the Royals series, books 1-8.
Chapter One
An Introduction
* * *
This is an accounting of events in my life, written by me at various points in time.
* * *
I should begin by admitting that I have always denied the existence of a journal or that I had any interest in keeping one. Simply, I didn’t want anyone to read the things that I’ve written here. For me, these memoirs are a personal purge, a way to shed emotional weight out of the limelight. In my role as king, and before that as heir to the throne, true privacy has eluded me. Everyone needs a place to decompress; this is mine.
* * *
Early on in our relationship, Chey encouraged me to start a journal, which I at first resisted (to keep up appearances). I have long suspected that should my writings be discovered, they would eventually make it into a public memoir so I decided to give in and keep a more open journal that was not a secret. I have kept two sets of journals all these years: one to throw everyone else off, the others for me.
* * *
I have arranged to have these (my hidden ones, kept in a locked box that no one else can open) burned upon my death. The other journal can be added to the annals of Latvala’s long and complicated history.
* * *
Some of these entries have been written retroactively, some have been rewritten from smaller notebooks I used when I wasn’t in the presence of my leather-bound journal, and then there are literal scraps of paper I simply taped atop another page to preserve the unusual texture. In hurried or turbulent times, when I had no notebook at all, I have written on brown bags, pastry sleeves, the margins of a newspaper, and whatever other blank space I could get my hands on.
* * *
I added this introduction for the very unusual circumstance that my most private writings somehow get into the open.
* * *
If they do, I can only hope that my family and my countrymen do not judge me too harshly.
* * *
Sander, King of Latvala
* * *
PS: This particular journal starts around the time I met Chey.
* * *
A Return
* * *
I’m home. Home from a misguided, deceitful trip where I believed I would be engaging other royal members of society to better strengthen our status as allies and talk business strategy. It wasn’t that at all. It was yet another blatant attempt by Mother to finagle me into Valentina Novak’s presence.
* * *
I wound up at a ritzy restaurant, expecting to meet a group of people for dinner, and the only one waiting at the table for me was Valentina. I knew immediately, of course, that I’d been set up (again). Because I hold myself to a certain set of standards, I didn’t turn around and walk out the door. I held Valentina’s chair, poured her wine, ate dinner with her. All of her attempts to flirt were returned with questions like, how is your brother? I hear Weithan Isle is having some trouble with imports. Can Latvala help with that? And so on. Her fury grew as the evening went on, but of course she didn’t snap or berate me. She wouldn’t dare. I knew she was mad by the narrowing of her eyes and the hot flush on her cheeks, and pretended I didn’t notice. Apparently, I hid my own anger well.
* * *
I left the trip early and refuse to tell anyone except Mattias that I’m back. Mother can continue to think that she successfully manipulated me, and Valentina can stew over her failure to hook herself a prince. I’m here at the king’s cabin, enjoying a rare span of peace and quiet.
* * *
Soon enough, I’ll have to return to my duties as heir to the throne.
* * *
Sander
* * *
Chey
At dusk, as I was riding through the forest back to the cabin, I happened upon an unusual sight: another rider skulking through the trees. Skulking is probably too harsh of a word, but this rider was alone on horseback with no accompanying groom or other companion. Our policy at the castle is to have people ride in pairs for safety reasons, especially those who are not stable hands or security guards. Right away I thought it might be paparazzi, someone who had traveled overland through the back of the property via the hinterlands. One of my pet peeves is the media ignoring the rules we set out, which clearly state that they are not allowed to sneak onto the estate for photo opportunities.
* * *
It was a woman; that much I could tell even in the oncoming gloom. I gave chase, startling the stranger into flight. She rode recklessly along the trail and then veered off the main path into a lesser, more dangerous one. I knew I had to act before her horse went down and caused her grievous injury.
* * *
I caught up while our horses were at a full gallop and tackled the woman to the ground. It wasn’t a cushy landing. She had the audacity to slap me once we were on our feet, as if the entire fiasco was my fault. We had a brief war of words where she defended her right to be riding alone in the forest, and I threatened her with arrest if she turned out to be something other than the guest she insisted she was. Even before I called in to check on her status, I noticed she didn’t seem to recognize me. Strange in itself, although a relief. It’s rare in my own homeland that someone doesn’t know who I am. I started to doubt her role as a tabloid reporter because they all know my face very well and her act was convincing.
* * *
Turns out she’s a photographer all right, but not part of the media. She’s been brought in to capture pictures of the royal family and Ahtissari Castle. An American, no less, and a beautiful one.
* * *
That should go over well with Viia and Aurora.
* * *
I escorted her—Chey is her name—to the edge of the woods and let her go back to the stables from there. I’m not yet ready for the rest of the family to know I’m home. Since I lied and told Chey I was head of security, and because I think she won’t want to tell anyone she’d been tackled to the ground, I believe my secret will remain mine for a little while longer.
* * *
Sander
* * *
A Better King
* * *
I remember the day I knew I would be a better king than my father. I was nine. That fall afternoon, with autumn leaves scattering the ground and a crisp chill in the air, we stood before a line of my father’s personal employees while he gave them the most scathing dressing down I’ve ever heard. Which is saying something, considering how cru
el my father can sometimes be. It wasn’t just a dressing down but a stripping bare of the soul, a crushing derision that snarled through every word and action. The faces of the drivers, the maids, and his personal chef reflected varying stages of emotion: shame, guilt, fear, humiliation.
* * *
Even as a young boy, I sensed the increasing resentment from each staff member the longer my father ranted. It wasn’t the way to handle his disappointment in lukewarm coffee, the driver being late to open his door, or the hair on his bed pillow. Despite the fear of being fired from their jobs, the staff members are still human, a fact my father forgets on a regular basis.
* * *
The honor and respect I bestow on others around me have nothing to do with the way my own father raised me. It has to do with how horribly he treated others and my determination to be nothing like him when I got older. I cannot be thankful to him for his reverse life lessons, not when so many had to suffer for them in the first place.
* * *
It wasn’t the first time my father showed cruelty toward his staff, and it wouldn’t be the last.
* * *
Sander
* * *
The Lake
* * *
My second interaction with Chey did not go the way I thought it might. Not at all. She informed me during our first disastrous meeting that she intended to come back to the lake and shoot pictures the following day, so I showed up there this morning to see if she was telling the truth. Sure enough, I found her setting up a tripod, the camera aimed out over the water. If nothing else, I’m impressed at her sheer stubborn determination. She’s sassy and unafraid to say what she thinks. I’m sure part of that is because she still doesn’t know who I am, although I could be wrong. Maybe she’s this feisty all the time.
* * *
The next thing I know, a gunshot rings out. No one should have been shooting that close to the castle regardless of which direction they aimed. Hunters head miles away to less risky surroundings, where stray bullets won’t accidentally hurt employees in the vicinity. I also immediately knew it wasn’t an assassination attempt on me, because no one, not even Mattias, knew I’d planned to visit the lake. Could it have been an accident, someone shooting to scare off a wolf? Maybe. But I’m not a man who likes to take chances on people’s lives.
* * *
My first instinct was to get Chey on the ground. I flattened her like a proverbial pancake and instructed her not to speak. She did exactly as I told her without complaint, and crawled behind me over the forest floor to the nearest stand of trees. Not only is she feisty, she reacts well under pressure. I brought her here, back to the cabin, and we hid out while I informed security of the breach. It meant I had to blow my cover, at least to a few of the guards, but I know they won’t give me away. I have loyal employees within the walls of the family seat who keep those kinds of secrets for me. It isn’t the first time I’ve avoided my mother and father, after all.
* * *
While we waited, I engaged Chey in a game of Scrabble to help keep her distracted (she didn’t buy my insistence that flore is actually a word) and fixed lunch afterward. I discovered that she’s actually a smart, likable woman with a sense of humor to rival my own. I’m not sure what made me offer to take her canoeing, but I did, and we’ve planned to go soon. If nothing else, I can give her a glimpse of the wilds around the castle that she wouldn’t get otherwise.
* * *
Sander
Chapter Two
Rumors
* * *
Now that I have made connection with a few more people other than Mattias at the castle, I am hearing some interesting things. I meant to get a report on Mother and Father, but wound up discovering that Mattias took Chey into the city for a visit. Although he’s doing his duty with Viia, I know it to be only that. There is no real love, probably on either side. Viia is one of those who is in it for the title and the things a royal life can give her.
* * *
I wonder if Mattias has decided to find out whether he and Chey would be compatible lovers. My brother has never cheated on a woman, to my knowledge, but then he’s never been involved like he is with Viia. Everyone expects them to marry, even the media and the citizens of Latvala. But my brother is still a man, and perhaps he’s realized what he’ll be missing if he settles with someone as cold as Viia. It’ll be a miracle if she ever allows him to touch her again once they take the walk down the aisle.
* * *
Along with that information are the rumors that there is discord between Viia and Aurora. It hasn’t quite reached a peak, according to my sources, though castle staff members are taking notice. I suppose it’s possible that Viia has seen Mattias interact with Chey and doesn’t like it, which might amp her natural bitchiness up another level.
* * *
I’ll still take my canoe trip tomorrow with Chey. Perhaps my brother is simply trying to be a better host to her than the women have been. I also hear Natalia is up to her old tricks, which is neither surprising nor pleasant.
* * *
I admit that I’m looking forward to spending more time in Chey’s presence.
* * *
Sander
* * *
Canoeing, Ghosts, and Sex
* * *
First gunshots, then bruises on Chey’s face. She showed up for our trip this morning with ugly discolorations, and my blood boiled at the thought of someone putting their hands on her. It was an unexpected flash of fury, which surprises me now that I’ve had time to reflect on the day. Chey tried at first to tell me that she’d banged into a cupboard, but I know physical blows when I see them. So she promised to tell me everything after our canoe trip. I had the sense that she just wanted to get away and enjoy herself, and who am I to deny such a sweet request?
* * *
We never got that far, however. I had been pressing her with questions while we rode toward the river and she finally told me the truth. Someone came upon her in the night, held her down with a knee in her stomach, and pinned her head to the pillow with a blindfold. I confess that I wanted to ride straight to the castle and make some heads roll. Then she said that whoever attacked her also threatened her. They told her not to spend more time with Mattias or take late-night walks through the castle. The bastard threatened to plant evidence in her room, making it seem as if she’d stolen valuables from Ahtissari Castle. They went so far as to suggest an accident on the stairs if she didn’t back off.
* * *
This is no simple matter of dislike or agitation. They threatened Chey’s life. When I asked Chey if there was dissension between her and anyone at the castle, she explained that Viia had been shooting her dirty looks. I imagine Viia is probably unhappy with the time she’s spending in Mattias’s company. Chey also told me that Natalia caught her and Mattias in the queen’s garden (which is a restricted space) and threw a glass at her.
* * *
My sister is many things, but orchestrating a murder is not a part of her makeup. Yes, she’ll throw glasses and stomp around, and generally act like a child. She’ll use her tongue like a weapon. But murder? I don’t think so.
* * *
Viia, I cannot say. She doesn’t seem the type either. But there is motivation, and Viia is a very driven woman. She’ll have Mattias as her husband, or else. I won’t accept that those are all the options, however, and have set more security in place for Chey. She deserves protection. I demand she have it.
* * *
If I have to blow my cover sooner than I want to, I will. Right now, though, I’m enjoying Chey’s ignorance of who I am, enjoying our banter and easy companionship. She challenges me, tries to put me in my place (laughable, but I like to let her think she can). We went ahead with our canoe plans and I found her to be a delight to spend the day with. She took her photographs, rowed the canoe, and engaged in amusing repartee with me when I told her of the haunted castle and Andra. We ate lunch on a rocky outcropping overlooking the land
that I love while she pressed me with a thousand questions, sure she could deduce that Andra’s death wasn’t a murder but a suicide instead. I challenged her to visit the castle at night if she was so sure it wasn’t haunted. Now we have another adventure planned for tomorrow.