“As long as it's not squid, we'll do just fine.” Bashir laughed a rakish laugh and stepped around Sander for his brothers. “Princes Mattias and Gunnar,” Bashir said next, exchanging hand shakes with both men after Sander. “Miss Sinclair.” He didn't touch her, only inclined his head before everyone took their seats around the table. Sander sat at the end, with Bashir directly to his right and Chey to his left. The Princes each took a side next followed by the entourage.
“Prince Paavo won't be in attendance this evening,” Sander said. “He has pressing business elsewhere in Latvala.”
“I see. What of the former Queen Helina?” Bashir asked.
“She's residing at another location during her mourning period. You understand.” Sander had a drink from his glass.
“Oh, certainly. Give her my condolences when next you speak, yes?”
“I will.” Sander set his drink down.
In moments, easy conversation resumed, centering around Mattias and Bashir since their meeting on Bashir's last visit.
Chey, content to observe and learn, took a long sip from her water. Her throat felt parched. She understood better what Sander meant about a surprise when the staff delivered the plates of food a short time later. The King of Latvala, in a show of culture recognition, had traditional fare from Bashir's corner of the world on the menu. Roast lamb on a bed of rice and nuts, hummus, rice stuffed vine leaves were only a few of the many offerings. Intrigued by the different spices, Chey listened to the conversations while she ate and contemplated how to reach Sander's thigh under the table. It would have to be a diagonal reach, a risky venture with her arm extended enough for a guest to see.
“Forgive me if this comes off as uncouth, your Majesty,” Bashir said between bites, “but since you have yet to broach the subject, I must mention it myself.”
Chey glanced up from her plate to the Crown Prince across the table. Sander looked over at the same time.
“What subject is that?” Sander asked.
Bashir's dark brows arched. A murmur ran through his entourage. For a few moments, confusion touched the faces of Mattias and Gunnar.
“Why...the contract, of course.” Bashir appeared mildly taken aback.
“What contract?” Sander set his fork down, smeared the napkin across his mouth, and laid that on the table.
Bashir chuckled in apparent disbelief. “The contract agreement for a wedding between myself and the Princess Natalia.”
Chapter Five
Stunned silence met Crown Prince Bashir's declaration. Chey stared at their guest, then cut a look at Sander, thinking it must be a joke. Prince Bashir would bang a hand on the table and bark a laugh at getting one over on the King. Any second now.
When it didn't come, Sander said, “Excuse me? I know of no contract about a wedding between yourself and my sister.”
“Trust me, it exists. King Aksel and I signed it together ten months ago in the presence of my father. Our union will make stronger allies between nations. Also, my father has paid a large sum for rights to natural resources located in your back country, land yet untouched by the advance of machinery and technology.” Bashir studied Sander, expression closing off to something more neutral and hooded.
“If there was an agreement to trade payment for resources, then why was my sister part of the bargain?” Sander asked. Like Bashir, his features were neutral, hard to read.
Even Chey, who knew his moods well, couldn't tell what he was really thinking. By his questions she understood he doubted the deal. Further than that, she had no idea. Reaching for her glass of water, she brought it to her mouth for a sip.
“Do you doubt it is a good match for her?” Bashir asked with an arch of a brow. “She will be married to a man positioned to become King. It is an honor for her to be my third wife.”
Chey choked on her drink. Her fingertips caught a dribble of water from her lip until she dabbed at it with a napkin when she set the glass down. Another quiet cough fell into the sudden silence. The weight of many stares caused Chey to shift in her seat. Instead of apologize, or blurt out something unintentionally offensive, she picked up her fork as if the episode had been nothing more than an awkward swallow. She pushed bits of rice around her plate and waited for attention to swerve back to Sander or Bashir.
“I can tell you right now—King or no King, my sister will be unhappy in that role,” Sander said, clearly straining for diplomacy. “Our council members can discuss trade, work out a new deal, but Princess Natalia won't be a part of it.”
“The contracts are signed--” Bashir paused when Sander cut in.
“They can be renegotiated. Will be renegotiated. I'm sure we can come to terms that suit you.” He brought his glass up for a stiff swallow, eyes on Bashir.
“And if I insist?” Bashir asked.
“You have two wives already. You don't need my sister as your third. There are many in your own country who would be honored, as you say, to take that role,” Sander countered. He set his tumbler down, fingers wrapping the base.
“You speak of honor, yet here you sit, refusing to abide by a legal contract signed in good faith between two nations. I take issue with your idea of honor, your Majesty,” Bashir said.
“I don't believe in prearranged marriages, your Excellency. And I am not my father, so the contracts will be renegotiated regarding trade and resources but not flesh and blood.” Sander leveled a determined look on Bashir.
Chey, shocked and struggling to hide it, continued to push food around her plate. In this instance, she agreed with Sander. Natalia would never agree to such an arrangement. As spoiled and coddled as she was, being anyone's third wife would only ring as an insult to her. Natalia would need what she considered equal status, in competition with no one.
“What does the Princess say about this? Does she even know?” Bashir asked.
“I'm sure, as the rest of us were unaware, so is she.”
“Perhaps you should inquire of her first and see what her desires are. From rumors that float within our ranks, I take it that she will be hard pressed to find a match with a common man, much less a future King.” Bashir picked up his glass without taking his eyes off Sander and had a long drink.
“She's my sister first and foremost. I know her mind well. This is not a union she will want or approve of,” Sander said.
“Still. I wish to speak to her myself. I should be allowed that considering you are promising to negate the contract—which I am not inclined to do.” Bashir set his glass down.
“Tomorrow.” Sander made his decision and turned his attention to his plate. With sharp stabs of his fork, he resumed eating, effectively ending the conversation about Natalia.
. . .
“What are you going to do? What if he won't relent about the contract?” Chey asked a half hour later, while she and Sander were in the upstairs parlor waiting on Mattias and Gunnar. Dinner had been a quiet affair after the Natalia incident, both sides preferring to finish their meal and go separate ways. Mattias and Gunnar had stayed behind to see everyone out and to also summon Natalia for a meeting.
“He has no choice. I'll work terms with him over the resources, but Natalia's out of the question. I don't care if it strains relations or not.” With a fresh drink in hand, Sander paced before the roaring fireplace. At some point he'd pulled the band out of his hair; the unruly mass fell wild and loose around his face.
Struck by the image of him looking so roguish and Kingly at the same time, Chey couldn't at first find words. The suit he wore complimented the breadth of his shoulders and the lean angle of his hips. Soon, she knew, he would start tugging at the knot in his tie, then throw open the first buttons on his shirt.
“Can he take action? I mean—I'm not sure what I'm trying to say.” Chey didn't know how any of it worked and couldn't easily vocalize the things rolling around her mind.
“You mean will they bring a physical presence to Latvala? No. They wouldn't dare, not with the allies we have. Never mind the inter
national implications. He can, however, take it public. That's a common strategy between countries when things like this happen. A lot of political posturing and mud slinging goes on until an agreement is reached.”
“He sounds pretty determined. If he knows Natalia won't want him, why is he so insistent?” she asked.
“Maybe he thinks it will up his rank in the world. He's currently the Crown Prince, in line for the throne, but that can change overnight. The King typically chooses the son who has the most to offer to become Heir Apparent, and although Natalia is from another country, that might be appealing as far as political ties go. You see?” Sander slanted her a questioning look from the fireplace.
“I think so, yes. What of the King signing the document, too? Will that change anything? Or is it up to Bashir to make it happen?”
“That ups the pressure, yes. If this was simply Bashir's signature, I wouldn't care half as much as I do. But this is probably a test on my part as well, to see if I bend or break.”
“Or if you stand firm and won't allow them to see the contract through,” she added.
“Yes.” He smiled a tense smile and finished off his drink. Hissing in the aftermath, he set the glass on a small table.
“Will there be many tests like this? That other countries do to see what your reaction will be?” Chey advanced on Sander, a slow progression until she stood directly before him. She wanted the full effect of his suit and wild hair. A side benefit, she discovered when she got there, was the scent of his cologne and the extra gleam in his blue eyes, making them bluer.
“There always is. It happens in your country all the time. Sometimes you hear about it and know what it is, sometimes you never hear about it at all. But it happens. 'Talks' can get nasty behind the scenes. You've glimpsed a small taste whenever a microphone was left on and picked up snarky comments by politicians that weren't meant for public consumption. Although once or twice, I'm sure it was intentional.” He set his hands on her hips, thumbs arching over the material of the dress.
“That sounds like something you would do,” she said, teasing.
“I would never do such a thing.” His voice was full of false promise.
Chey laughed. “The Rogue King. Someone should make a movie.”
“What a boring tale it would be,” he said with a laugh.
“Hardly boring! You just don't see it from the right perspective.”
“Your perspective, you mean.”
“Yes.” She flashed him a girlish grin that drew another low laugh.
“Are you going to swoon?” he asked, arching a brow.
“Will you catch me if I do?” She set her hands on the lapels of his suit.
“Always.” The teasing faded in favor of seriousness. He studied her face, her mouth.
Chey decided in that moment that swooning might not be such a horrible thing.
From the doorway, full of defiant indignation, Natalia said, “Please. Is this what I was summoned for? To watch my brother and his bride make eyes at each other?”
. . .
Chey took a step back from Sander when Natalia's icy barb cut through the room. Holding her own tongue by some act of a higher power, she clasped her hands before her while Sander stared at Natalia with open displeasure.
“Come in, sit down, and be quiet,” Sander said. “There are things we need to discuss.”
Natalia exhaled, petulant, and stalked into the room. Walking stiff and abrupt, with Mattias and Gunnar in her wake, she sank down onto a sofa and crossed her arms over her chest.
Gunnar closed the door with a quiet click.
Chey chose to sit in a wingback adjacent to the array of sofas while Mattias went to stand next to Sander.
“Seriously, what is this? All because I called her the enemy?” Natalia spat, glaring at Chey before turning the hot look back on her brothers.
For the briefest moment, Chey almost wished Sander would honor the contract and send Natalia off to a foreign country. The little witch deserved a comeuppance. In the next minute she backed off the wish. Even with all the things Natalia had done, Chey wouldn't want an arranged marriage pushed off on anyone. Much less becoming a third wife. Putting herself in that place, thinking of Sander having two wives before her, Chey seethed with jealousy.
No thank you. It just wasn't for her.
Pushing an ottoman closer to the sofa, straight in Natalia's line of sight, Sander braced the sole of his boot there and draped his forearms over the arch of his thigh. The posture left him bent at the back, the jacket pulled taut across his muscles.
“I want to know if you're familiar with the Afshar Dynasty situation,” Sander asked.
Natalia frowned. “What situation?”
Mattias and Sander exchanged a glance. Sander found Natalia again. “The contract. Do you know about it?”
Natalia's shoulders tightened defensively. “What contract? I didn't offer anyone any contract, I swear. Nor did I sign anything at an official visit without having legal look at it first.”
“I'm talking about the one our father made with the Afshar King regarding you,” Sander said, expanding his explanation.
Gunnar hitched onto the arm of the sofa near Natalia, glancing between her and Sander.
Chey did the same, trying to gauge each expression. If Chey had to guess, Natalia really did know nothing about the contract. The girl looked too genuinely perplexed and slightly wary.
“No. What's the contract for?” Natalia asked.
“Apparently, and I've yet to lay eyes on this document myself, Aksel signed an agreement of intent with the Afshar King between you and the Crown Prince Bashir. A marriage agreement.”
Natalia's mouth fell open. Literally came unhinged at the jaw and gaped at the news. Slowly, horror and rebellion replaced her shock. She surged up off the couch, wide-eyed. “He did not! Father would never do such a thing to me. Not without my consent! He signed a contract? Isn't that binding?”
Chey cringed. Never in a million years would she have thought to feel sympathy for Natalia on any level, but she felt it now. An acute ache of compassion and shared rebellion. Chey would have fought the decree tooth and nail on morality issues alone.
Sander studied Natalia, then straightened from his lean. His hands dove into the pockets of his slacks, face a mask of concentration. “All contracts between Kings are binding, Natalia. I've already informed Bashir this union won't be taking place, though, and asserted that while I'll consider the monetary and resource aspects already agreed to, you will not be a part of the deal.”
“Can you make it stick? What if he insists? Dare, I can't marry someone I don't even know!” Natalia said, pacing before the couch. Fretting, she pushed at the styled length of her hair, working the pretty layers into a haphazard mess.
“I realize that, Natalia. I won't allow the contract to go forth as is. If it isn't adjusted, then we'll be at an impasse. Regardless, you're not leaving Latvala.” There was no argument in Sander's tone. No ands, ifs or buts. He meant to fight for Natalia, use his position to break her from the contract.
Chey regarded the siblings with no small amount of tension. Their relationship was already on the rocks. What would happen if Sander couldn't get Natalia out of the contract? Would there be international implications, or would Bashir back down quietly? She wondered if it would affect the upcoming wedding.
“That's what you say now. But this would be the perfect opportunity to get me out of your hair, right? You could say all kinds of things, then pack me off because it's not your contract, you didn't sign it.” Natalia, scowling, face paler than it had been when she came in, sent Sander an accusing glare.
Chey wanted to shake the girl. Didn't she realize her best—maybe only ally—was standing right in front of her? Sander wouldn't let Bashir take her anywhere. Chey believed every word Sander said in Natalia's defense. He would do whatever it took to keep her here.
Silence descended on the room. The only sound came from the crack and hiss of the firepla
ce. Finally, Sander said, “Don't be a fool, Natalia. Recognize when someone is offering to help you and try harder not to make a bad situation worse. He wants to meet you, says he should at least be allowed to exchange conversation. I'm wary of it, but I thought I would see what you had to say. Perhaps you can persuade him this isn't in his best interest and he'll drop his suit.”
“I don't want to even look at him. I remember who he is from when he visited the last time. He's not my type.” Natalia paused. “Wait! He's already married. I recall there being something mentioned about it before.”
“You would be his third wife,” Sander said.
“Third wife? I'm a Princess, does he understand that? Third wife?” Natalia shrieked, throwing her hands in the air. “He's lost his mind.”
“That's the way their culture is, Natalia. Actually, for him to even consider a foreigner is far out of the ordinary. Their offspring cannot ascend to the throne if the mother is not of their own country and upbringing. His first two wives have taken care of that and have given him many heirs,” Sander said. “It softens the blow, so to speak, of bringing in a Princess from somewhere else. I think it might raise his status to achieve that in fact, having you as a third wife, which is a prize he won't easily let go of.”
Chey saw Natalia's reaction coming from a mile away. She couldn't exactly blame her. If someone happened to tell her that she'd been sold off to the highest bidder, so to speak, a stranger from a foreign land, Chey would have issues, too.
“I won't talk to him,” Natalia repeated. Her distress was palpable.
“Think about it for a second,” Mattias interjected. “If you met him face to face, talked with him for a few minutes, it might resolve the whole thing and save Sander a lot of political maneuvering. It's better for Bashir to drop the case than for us to try and find a way out. Unfortunately, he's got the upper hand with the signed contract. If he breaks it, things will go much easier.”
Natalia paced. Fretted. Raked a hand over and over through her hair until all the style was worn out. She glanced up, meeting Chey's eyes. “What is she doing here, anyway? Why does she have to witness my humiliation? Get her the hell out.”
The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) Page 5
