“You don't understand,” Natalia said. There was less vehemence in her words than before.
“I understand far more than you know. Think hard about what you're planning. Think harder about what you'll do if you sever ties with the only people who've known you your whole life. There is only so much he—and the rest of us—will take.” Mattias left Natalia with that. Turning on a heel, he crossed to the door and exited, half expecting to hear her screech in fury or throw something.
Only silence greeted his departure.
Chapter Three
Journal,
It's much worse than I thought it would be. Not only did we move back into the main castle, but we're in Aksel's chambers. The same chambers where he supposedly committed suicide. There are three other empty suites on this floor, but they are all under renovation and unavailable. Once Sander found out, he delayed our return by three days. He ordered Aksel's entire suite repainted, a new bed brought in covered with fresh linens, and every piece of furniture taken out to be replaced by ones in holding for other rooms.
I never saw Aksel's private domain before his death, so for me, the stark changes aren't as drastic as they are for Sander. This is our first night here, and already I can't sleep. I know it's my imagination, but I keep thinking I hear things. Right now I'm sitting next to the fireplace, watching Sander sleep. It took him a while to go under, probably for the same reasons I'm still awake.
I can't shut my mind down in here. I wonder what Aksel's last hours were like and what he was thinking. Did the King even know his end was near? Or was it a rash, last second decision?
The wedding can't come soon enough, if only so Sander and I can return to Kallaster Castle. It's my home now, and nothing less will do.
I'm hyper aware of Natalia living mere doors away down the hall (and around a corner), although I haven't crossed paths with her since our return. She has serious issues about being in the wedding and made no bones about it the last time I saw her. Mattias was supposed to have a talk with her about things. I hope he made inroads and convinced her not to ruin the ceremony.
Sander ordered two extra security guards outside our door, which tells me he doesn't feel nearly as secure here as he does at Kallaster. I feel suffocated in ways I don't at the other castle, too, partly due to the sheer amount of people in this one. There is always someone wanting Sander's attention, and lately, mine, simply for wedding details.
Tomorrow, or I should say later today considering the hour, I am supposed to meet with the attendants and the bridesmaids (except Wynn, who won't be here for another week) so they can try on their dresses. It will be my first meeting with the cousins. I'm not sure what to think or expect. Natalia will undoubtedly have them in her pocket straightaway. That girl gives me a headache.
Anyway, I should at least try to get some rest. I don't want to be off my game in the face of possible hostility.
Chey
The feel of a warm mouth on her breast pulled Chey from darkness to light. Waking to find Sander hovering above her, she threaded her fingers through the length of his hair. A sharp gasp cut through the mental cobwebs at the sting he wrought with a suckle that left a blushing rosette in its wake. The breadth of his shoulders, broad and strong, obliterated the rest of the room as he slid between her thighs, covering her slender body with his much larger one.
In seconds she split a cry to the ceiling, nails raking a path along each side of his spine. He took her with familiar possession, filling all her senses, stealing kisses like a thief in the night between grinding slaps of his hips. He extended the bliss by biting a path along her throat and changing the angle of penetration, pinning her with stabbing thrusts that brought his name to her lips. Whispers of worship and praise that he returned wordlessly, using his body to translate his passion and his animal need.
By the time they fell from the lofty heights he'd taken her to, she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and panting to get her breath back. Clinging with her fingers curled into the hard muscles of his back, Chey shuddered beneath him, forgetting everything but the sheer pleasure of release.
“You're going to be late for your meeting this morning,” the devil said without bothering to let her up.
Chey couldn't think, much less remember what she had planned for the day. Sander was her whole world, all she wanted to see or touch or smell. He wasn't a King, and she wasn't his bride. They were just a man and a woman reveling in an age old ritual that never failed to leave her boneless and weak.
“It's your fault,” she finally said, slitting her lashes open. The handsome face peering casually down at her had a light layer of whiskers along the jaw and blue eyes that sparked with left over lust. Chey thought she could lay there forever, just like this, appreciating everything male and masculine about him.
“No. You shouldn't tempt me like you do every morning, then this wouldn't happen.” Sander smiled a lazy, leonine smile.
“I was asleep when you happened to start sucking on things,” Chey reminded him with a raspy laugh. She drew her fingers through his hair again, tilting her head on the pillow.
“Lies.” Sander's voice, laced with languid amusement, had also picked up a gravely edge.
“What time is it, anyway?” Chey, out of sorts, couldn't get a feel for how late or early it was. The curtains had been drawn over the windows the evening before, blocking any sunlight from coming in.
“Five minutes before ten.” Sander centered his body more firmly over her own.
Chey gasped and shoved at his immovable shoulder. “What? Five minutes before ten? Get up, get up, hurry!”
Sander didn't look to be getting up any time soon. He stared down into her eyes with an arrogant curve at the corner of his mouth, apparently enjoying himself.
“What are you doing? Sander, you're going to make me late. Get up!” She squirmed beneath him, attempting in vain to dislodge him. Her appointment—since Urmas was all about appointments—was in fifteen minutes. She needed to shower and do something respectable with her hair hair before then.
“I like when you get all swirly and bossy.” He sounded darkly humored.
She laughed and swatted his shoulder. “What does swirly even mean?”
“This, right here. Swirly. When your eyes get big and you start trying to move in ten directions at once. And your voice gets this higher pitch to it. Sometimes, in Swirly Mode, you're forgetful and yet demanding at the same time, which is highly amusing, I might add.”
“You're impossible. Get. Up.” She thought if she enunciated her demand it might make him behave.
Wrong.
Sander did what Sander wanted to, when he wanted to.
A change of tactic was necessary. Instead of pushing and squirming, she ran her fingertips up his back and brushed soft little kisses along his jaw. When she spoke, it was an outright coo. “If you move, I'll make it up to you later.”
“Now we're getting somewhere. I knew you'd learned something in your time with me. What, exactly, are you willing to offer as a proposition?”
Aware of every second ticking by, Chey met his eyes and batted her lashes. That might have been over doing it. The shake of his body, quelling a laugh, assured her she was right on the money with that guess.
“Meet me in the King's garden at three and I'll show you.” Chey made it sound scandalous, the things she planned to do with him there. No one should be anywhere near the King's garden—except the King himself. It was, she surmised, therefore safe to engage in illicit transactions.
He hummed, as if speculating.
“You have to move within the next thirty seconds or the deal is off.” Chey restructured her initial request, realizing she should have put a time limit on it. The man really was the devil.
But he was her devil, and she loved him so.
Sander, of course, didn't move until the very last few seconds. He kissed her first, then rolled off. “Deal.”
For good measure, Chey reached over to pinch the inside of his thigh. Hard.
Then she fled the bed for the shower, muttering the whole way about punctuality and dealing with obstinate Kings.
Sander rumbled laughter from the bed where she left him.
She didn't have time to wash and dry her hair. Good thing she'd washed it yesterday. In less than four minutes she soaped, rinsed (shaving her legs would have to wait) and dried off. She changed into a pantsuit of dark gray with a peach shirt beneath. These slacks had a little give in the waist to accommodate her early stages of pregnancy. Soon, though, she would have to start buying maternity clothes. Jamming her feet into low heels, she spritzed on perfume and applied a little make up with quick slashes, smudges and smears. Her hair had a sex-tousled look that she managed to almost tame with a brush. Leaving it straight and loose—not her preference for this meeting—she glanced in the mirror. The woman staring back looked hectic and hastily put together. No help for it now.
Chey vacated the bathroom and crossed to the door without searching for Sander or even saying goodbye. The guards snapped to attention in the hallway. One fell into step at her flank, shadowing her all the way to the stairs and down them. Making her way as fast as she dared to the main floor, Chey marched toward the parlor in question. With no watch on her wrist, she couldn't tell if she was running a few minutes late or not.
Entering through the open door, Chey discovered half the elaborate room had been converted to a dressing and staging area. The furniture was now organized into an open ended rectangle facing a large round dais situated before a long string of tall mirrors.
Several women stood at one end near a rack with the bridesmaid's dresses hanging from it. One, with rosy cheeks and neck length, white-blonde hair bustled over with a wide smile of welcome. Her accent was thicker than Sander's. “Miss Sinclair, I'm Hanna. Pleased to meet you and be working with you.”
So this was the new attendant. Chey returned her smile. “Pleasure, Hanna.”
“May I get you anything? A drink, something to nibble on?” Hanna asked, cocking her head like a bird examining a treat might.
Chey took note that Natalia was not here yet. The two women sitting on the sofas being pampered by staff had to be the cousins.
“Not just now, thank you,” Chey replied to Hanna.
“Very well. Allow me to introduce the Princesses Katrin and Esta.” Hanna swept her hand wide to indicate the two women on the couch. Katrin, a leggy woman with tawny hair and green eyes, didn't look over right away. Esta, a petite blonde with doe-like brown eyes, stood up and approached with a tentative smile in place.
“Princesses, may I present Miss Chey Sinclair, his Majesty's future bride.” Hanna shifted weight on her feet, as if she might flit away any second or had trouble standing still for any length of time.
Katrin, finally deigning to acknowledge Chey, looked her up and down. Head to toe. She said nothing in regard to the introduction.
Chey counted Katrin in Natalia's camp and promptly ignored her.
Esta, with kinder eyes, bridged the awkward gap left by Katrin and extended a hand. Her accent, like Hanna's, was thick and lilting. “Pleased to meet you. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.”
Chey shook Esta's hand, pleased the woman chose to at least give friendship a chance. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“Are these the dresses we'll be wearing?” Esta asked, making her way to the rack. She skimmed her fingers over the satiny material.
“You're supposed to curtsy, Miss Sinclair. They're Princesses,” Hanna whispered after Esta went out of earshot.
Chey twitched at the reminder. Too late now. “I'll get it next time. Thanks, Hanna.” Then, to Esta. “Those are the ones. I've already narrowed it down, so you all won't have to try on ten different types.”
“That color is going to look washed out on everyone,” Natalia said from the doorway. Attired in a red skirt suit, dark glasses covering her eyes, Natalia's stare aimed at the rack of bridesmaid's gowns. She approached the rack instead of Chey, pulling a dress off by the hanger. Her lips quirked in disapproval.
Chey, prepared for Natalia's surly mood, defended her choice. “I think they'll be classy and subtle at the same time.”
“It's a shade of brown, when you get right down to it,” Natalia argued.
“Brown?” Esta cocked her head and eyed the gown again.
Chey examined the champagne colored dress Natalia held with a critical eye. Ankle length, fitting snug around the waist and bust, the dress was strapless with a sateen sheen. Stunning and demure in color, Chey thought it was twice as pretty in person as it had been in the book. Brown didn't do the color justice.
“Miss Sinclair, the curtsy...” Hanna whispered.
Chey snorted before she could stop herself. The look she gave Hanna said better than words that it would be a cold day in hell before she curtsied to Natalia.
Hanna's brows arched and her lips shaped an 'oh' of understanding.
“I'm not wearing brown to a wedding,” Natalia said, jamming the dress back on the rack.
“Then don't. But if you wear anything else, you're not walking down the aisle,” Chey said. She wasn't putting up with Natalia's attitude today.
“Why don't we have the bridesmaids at least try them on, so we can get measurements?” Hanna said in a clear attempt to diffuse the tension.
“That's a good idea,” Esta said. “Natalia, come on. You won't know if you like it until you put it on.”
“Sorry I'm late!” Krislin hurried in through the door just ahead of Aurora, who split off for Katrin.
“You're fine, Krislin. Hello, Aurora. They were just about to try on the dresses.” Chey regarded Natalia while the woman debated.
Aurora passed along a sedate greeting and diverted from the couch before sitting down. With a heavy, put upon sigh, Katrin pushed to her feet and followed Aurora to the rack.
One by one, the bridesmaids filed behind the mirrors where Hanna indicated temporary dressing rooms had been set up. All except Natalia, who lingered with a gown in her hands. Her face lifted, the dark sunglasses aimed toward Chey.
Although she couldn't see Natalia's eyes, Chey knew the woman was pinning a hard stare on her. She arched a brow, defiant and unwilling to bend about the color.
Huffing, indignant, Natalia headed behind the mirrors.
Chey thought it was nothing less than a miracle. Maybe Mattias had been successful with his talk. All Chey cared about was that the woman behave for the ceremony. After that, she and Natalia could go back to ignoring each other.
While the girls changed, Chey answered a few questions for Hanna. Little minute details about shoes, hairdos, make up. Movement out of the corner of her eye drew Chey's attention to the open doorway of the converted parlor. There stood Mattias, one shoulder leaning against the wall, hands casually inserted into the pockets of his slacks.
Now she better understood why Natalia made an attempt to be cordial. It wasn't for Chey's benefit, it was for Mattias's. Either way, she smiled; he returned it, along with a dark-eyed wink.
Several minutes later, the women filed out from behind the mirrors and stepped up onto the dais. Natalia, stony faced and still wearing the glasses, stood next to Krislin with an openly defiant posture.
Hanna, realizing she might have only seconds to make measurements happen, spoke briskly in her native tongue to the seamstress and her attendants. Buzzing like bees, the women approached Natalia first, tapes and strings in hand, careful where they touched. Then each girl in succession, working in tandem with expert skill.
Before Chey knew it, they were through. She glanced back to the doorway. Mattias was gone.
“I still think this dress looks like someone puked on it,” Natalia said, vacating the dais without looking at Chey.
“Natalia!” Esta gasped, shot Chey an apologetic glance, and stepped down.
“She's allowed not to like it. But she'll wear it if she's going to be in my wedding,” Chey said, asserting her power over the decision. Natalia could wear mint green or dress like a honey
bee for her own wedding. Chey cared little. For this event, Natalia would acquiesce to the rules or be thrown out of the line up, council be damned.
Natalia made an unladylike noise and disappeared around the corner of the mirrors.
Hanna approached, clipboard in tow, the phone coming down from her ear. “Miss Sinclair, it's come to my attention that the Crown Prince will be arriving in several hours. Now that we have the first fitting, you should probably consider taking an hour of etiquette lessons before getting ready with his Majesty to greet him.”
“How about a half hour of lessons?” Chey suggested, glancing aside to Hanna. “I have a private meeting with his Majesty at three and I'd like to eat something before then.”
Hanna bobbed a nod, making notes in her folder. “Very well. I'll let Mister Urmas know you're on your way for lessons.”
Chey inclined her head. That suited her fine. Turning back to see the girls begin to file out from the dressing area, she said, “Thank you for taking the time to try the gowns on. Irma will let you know if you need to have another fitting before the wedding.”
Esta and Krislin said their goodbyes with sunny smiles and pleasant demeanors. Aurora, quieter than the rest, acknowledged with a simple nod on her way out. Natalia and Katrin ignored Chey completely, taking a side door into the hallway, heads bent together while they gossiped.
Hanna, once more wearing an uncomfortable expression thanks to Natalia and Katrin, made a gesture to the phone as if conveying the teachers were expecting her for lessons.
Glad to put the experience behind her, Chey departed in the wake of the others, refusing to let Natalia get under her skin.
She had more important things to look forward to. Like a rendezvous with a King.
. . .
The seclusion of the King's Garden appealed to Chey's need for some time out of the spotlight. Ten steps past the doors, lush foliage closed in around the cobbled walk, providing a layer of greenery between her and the castle. It increased as she followed the walkway, intent on locating Sander somewhere among the stone pavilions, benches, trees and hedge shaped archways. A fountain burbled to her left, vying with the trickle of a stream that meandered through the well maintained landscaping.
The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) Page 3
