“The council will have a fit if she's showing when she walks down the aisle,” Mattias predicted. “And all hell will break loose if you wait until after she delivers to marry. The next heir, born out of wedlock? The trauma will never end.”
Chey rubbed her forehead with her fingers. She felt a giant headache coming on. “Then why don't we get married now? Just us and a witness. No guests, no media.”
“The people expect a wedding. They look forward to such a big event and to deny them will cause tension,” Gunnar said.
The people, the people, the people! Chey suffered a moment of sheer irritation. Every move she and Sander made were dictated by either 'the people' or the council or Kingly protocol. Even though she'd prepared herself for this, knew her life would be subject to micro-scrutiny, there were times she wanted to do what she wanted to do and to hell with the consequences. The constant need to portray an even keel to the public, to bow to the pressure of the Latvala elite, was starting to take a serious toll. And she wasn't even Queen yet. Aware that she'd drawn Sander's attention, she met his eyes.
He arched a brow in silent query, as if he understood she was suddenly overwhelmed and annoyed.
Chey knew he was testing her. Testing her reaction to the overload she was feeling, wondering how she would deal with the tension and stress. Straightening her spine, rolling a shoulder to ease the tightness of her muscles, she said, “All right, then we'll give them their wedding. What if you keep Paavo separated from the guests? He won't try anything at the ceremony itself, but maybe you can have some of your closest guards waylay him at the reception or something. Keep him so preoccupied that he doesn't get a chance to talk to anyone.”
“That's an excellent idea. In fact, why don't we use Paavo's own greed against him?” Sander said. The corners of his mouth curled in a faint smile of approval for Chey.
“How will we do that?” Gunnar asked.
“We tell Paavo that we're seriously considering his idea, but we need a little time. Of course, because of the wedding, and Sander's obligations, we'll have to work out the finer details afterward. At the ceremony itself, we distract him, and perhaps distract the guests as well, so that he doesn't have time to corner anyone and present his scheme.” Mattias answered in place of Sander, as if they were of the same mind.
Sander nodded agreement. “It'll buy us another week or two to come up with our own, long term plan.”
“Do you think he'll buy it? Paavo's not stupid. He saw your reticence at his dinner table. To flip so fast might set off warning bells,” Gunnar said.
“We'll let little snippets get back to him via a roundabout route,” Sander said. “Someone overheard us talking, like that. It should pave the way for us to postpone and buy more time.”
“Yes. I'll plant the seeds in the morning. We have just over a week to stall. It shouldn't be too hard.” Mattias veered toward the door. “I'm off to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning.”
“Us, too. We'll be waiting to hear if you want us to do the same,” Gunnar said, standing with Krislin at his side.
“I'll let you know,” Sander said. “Sleep well.”
“Good night,” Chey added.
After they departed, Chey glanced at Sander.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Exhausted,” she admitted.
“Let's get some sleep. We'll talk more about it tomorrow.”
Chey didn't protest when he scooped her off the couch and carried her groom-style to their suite.
Chapter Eight
Dear Journal,
It's four o'clock in the morning and I can't go back to sleep. My mind won't shut down. I keep thinking about the Crown Prince and Natalia and what will happen with the contract. And also Paavo, who invited us all down to his holding and then shocked everyone with an announcement.
He wants to divide Latvala up into regions and have each sibling rule their own territory. I'm not going to pretend I understand it all, because I don't, but what I do know is that Sander and Mattias are quite disturbed. They say to divide the country into parts amounts to political suicide. I have to take their word for it. It's caused a lot of fresh turmoil, which I don't appreciate this close to our wedding. I offered to postpone it but Sander declined. He made good points, not the least of which being I don't want to be as big as a house when I walk down the aisle. It's just personal preference. Every eye in Latvala will be watching on television, probably even people from other countries, and I don't want to give them more to talk about than I have to.
I'm given to wonder if Paavo is going to push his agenda and make things more difficult than they already are. He seems determined to make Sander and Mattias see his side of it. They think Paavo is bringing this up now because he might propose deals to some of the guests. I hope not. I'd like to get through this event without a catastrophe.
Nerves have started to set in. I have a 'personal' interview coming up, just me, the interviewer and the camera. Although I've been told what to expect, I'm still filled with anxiety. I've never been on television before meeting Sander, and certainly not a one on one type thing.
Tonight, when we all got back to the main family seat, I caught Sander watching me a few times while the discussion about Paavo was going on. I had the sensation that he was judging my reactions, sizing me up. Waiting to see if I cracked under pressure. The pressure wasn't even on me per se, but I was feeling the strain. He's probably not sure what I'll do—sometimes even I don't know what I'll do—and whether or not I can handle this lifestyle. If I can handle becoming Queen.
It's a matter of pride and stubbornness on my part that I rise to the occasion. I knew what I was getting into, so now it's time to pay the piper and buckle down.
Anyway, it's late and I'm finally tired again.
More later.
Chey
The sound of a slamming door woke Chey from her peaceful slumber. Frowning, disoriented, she shuffled her feet under the covers to free them from the sheets. Sunlight streamed past the edges of the curtains, filling the chamber with a soft, yellow glow. Sitting up, she was just about to rise when Sander approached the bed.
“Hey. What's wrong?” She struggled through the groggy greeting. Once she blinked away the blurry effects of sleep, she saw better the fury on Sander's features. That, more than the door slam, sent a jolt through her system.
“That bastard played us from the start.” Sander tossed a magazine on her lap.
Staring up at her from the front page of what Urmas termed a 'rag' was the map of a divided Latvala with a glaring headline: Royals To Carve Latvala Up Into Five Regions.
Chey gasped. “How could this have made the front page already? The meeting was just last night.”
“Because he planned it that way. I bet it wouldn't have run if we'd agreed to the split last night, or even agreed to consider it.” Sander tossed down several more newspapers on the bed, all with a different variation of the same message. Snarling, he thrust a hand through his hair and paced in clear agitation.
Chey rifled through the other papers, not bothering to read the details of the articles. She already knew what it said. Or what the basic premise was.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, looking up from the pile to Sander.
“I'm going to have to do damage control, that's what. I've arranged for some time on camera to explain it away. Mattias and Gunnar will be there to back me.” He all but growled the words.
Chey got out of bed and reached for the robe she habitually laid over the back of a nearby chair. Drawing it on to keep out the chill pervading the chamber, she moved closer to Sander.
“What will you say?”
“That this was a suggestion by Paavo, that's what, and that the other brothers and I don't support or agree with it. I'm going to force Paavo to shoulder the blame since he put us in such a precarious position.” Already dressed in a suit that made him look austere and professional, Sander stopped by a chest of drawers to add cuff links and a tie clip
. After, he scraped his hair back into a neat, low tail.
“Do you think it will change anything right away? With the people, or the guests attending the wedding?” Chey couldn't wrap her mind around what might or might not happen. She needed coffee, stat.
“I'm sure the entire country will be abuzz with rumors and gossip. The only thing I can do now is play it down, like it's not a big deal. Paavo's lucky I don't shred him on live television. As for the guests, they'll still come. They'll just be a lot more curious and questioning than before.” He faced her once he was more put together.
Chey stopped a few feet away, hugging her arms around her middle. Today she felt the pregnancy more than at any other time thus far. She knew without checking that her waist had thickened just a little more. Still imperceptible in clothes, much to her relief.
“Maybe this will be the end of it, then. You can put rumors to rest and people will eventually forget about it.” Chey suffused her comment with all the confidence she could muster.
Sander met her eyes. His glittered with irritation at Paavo's unexpected move and doubt over her remark. “Only if the universe shifts and things start actually working in our favor for once,” he said with cryptic cynicism.
“It will.” Chey stepped closer and rested a hand on his biceps. “I'll go get a shower so I can be there when you talk to the press.”
“Meet me downstairs, hm? I need to go have a quick meeting with the council members and make sure Mattias, Gunnar and I are on the same page.” He bent to press a quick kiss on her cheek.
“I'll be there shortly.” Chey watched Sander depart. The line of his shoulders was strict and unforgiving, his posture rigid with anger.
She couldn't blame him.
Twenty minutes later, attired in a concealing pant suit the color of wine, hair and make up done, she exited the chamber. Even before she hit the main floor, Chey detected a low buzz of gossip running through the staff and some of the guards. She relied on neutrality to keep the questions at bay. Chey needn't have worried; no one asked. The staff might have concerns of their own, but they kept it between themselves.
On her way to the media room, Hanna waylaid her with quick questions about the reception. Did she want the linen napkins to match the table cloth or another color in the flowers? Who did Chey want to partner with for the father-daughter dance? Was she going to do her 'intimate' interview with the press discussing her background and future today or tomorrow in light of current events?
Cautioning herself against irritation at the endless list of things, Chey paused in the long hall to figure out answers. She didn't know who was going to partner with her for the father-daughter dance. Her father was dead. Perhaps it was best, she suggested, if they cut that part out. Sander, she knew, wouldn't be dancing with Helina either.
“Miss Sinclair,” Mister Urmas said, coming up on the women without warning. In his fine suit, hair combed away from his face, he sported his usual austere facade while he got right to the point. “I wanted to inform you that several guests will be arriving this evening, much sooner than expected.”
Chey glanced away from the hovering Hanna to Urmas. She had no idea if she was supposed to do something different than she'd already done or not. “All right. Is there anything extra we'll need to do?”
Urmas shifted weight on his feet. “It's common courtesy to leave something in the rooms for the guests. Baskets of wine and fruit and cheese, perhaps. Also, I need to know which rooms you wish to have certain guests stay in. Regarding their status, yes?”
In her time at the family seat, Chey had investigated most of the suites along with her tour of the rest of the rooms. Some, according to architecture and design, were her favorites. She had not, however, sat down to decide who might go into what suite. Did it really matter that much? It did, according to Urmas's expectant look.
“You have a list, I'm sure, of the most important guests. Put them in the best suites according to where they sit on the list and have the wine, fruit and cheese baskets prepared for their arrival.” Chey arched a brow when Urmas paused as if he might counter her requests.
He inclined his head, expression shifting to one of practiced tolerance. “As you wish, Miss Sinclair.”
Chey watched Urmas retreat with his notebook. It didn't take a genius to realize he was annoyed with her answer.
“Miss Sinclair? Also, did you want smaller floral sprays attached to the railing outside the church? Or just inside, on the pews?” Hanna asked.
“Just on the—no, actually, yes. Outside on the railing, too. Thank you.” Chey turned away from Hanna even as the woman started to blurt more questions.
“I'm sorry, Hanna. I've got to attend a meeting.” She gave the woman an apologetic look over her shoulder before striding on toward the media room where she knew Sander was preparing to make his speech. She didn't want to miss it dawdling over ridiculous details for the wedding. It wasn't that she didn't want their day to be perfect—there was just so much going on.
Chey entered the media room from a side door that would put her closer to the podium where Sander would be speaking. Unprepared for the number of people crowding the room, she stopped some distance from Sander when she felt the attention of the reporters shift her way.
Cameras snapped, lights flashed and a general buzz swept through the gathered. Chey didn't know if she was supposed to smile or not. If she smiled, would it be construed that she didn't take the news of the Latvala split seriously? Or that she didn't care? She settled for a small, cordial smile.
A moment later, Sander called for their attention. Flanked by Mattias and Gunnar, each dressed to the nines in immaculate suits and ties, he began his public address. Chey noted the sharp glint in Sander's eyes, the flex of a muscle in his jaw. Those signs indicated to her that he was keeping his temper at bay. She kept up with the conversation via a feed in English on the bottom of a television screen.
Sander went slow, enunciating each word. He had a general dismissive air about him, as if this ordeal was such a non-issue he shouldn't have to discuss it.
“As you may know, there has been a photo circulating through the papers this morning. It depicts Latvala split into separate regions. I'm here to lay any rumors or fears to rest—that photo did not come from my office, nor was it any idea of mine, Prince Mattias, or Prince Gunnar.” He paused, then continued. “It was the suggestion of Prince Paavo, one that my brothers and I reject. To divide the country is not in the best interest of Latvala and a concept we strongly disapprove of. I'm here to set the record straight,” he repeated. “Latvala will not be partitioned off into sections.”
A surge of questions flew from the reporters while cameras flashed and film rolled.
“Is there any truth to the news that a petition has been circulating?”
“What about the five thousand signatures?”
“Will there be riots if the petition signers aren't heard, and what do you plan to do with dissenters?”
“Does this have anything to do with the fact you're not legally allowed to rule, Your Majesty?”
“Reports are coming in from the back country that thousands more are waiting to sign the petition. At what point is the Monarchy required to listen to the people?”
Chey refused to let her surprise at some of the questions show on her face. Several reporters brought up Sander's right to the throne, their tones and questions bordering indignation.
“I've seen the petition. We're accounting for the signatures but it's going to take a while--”
“Does that mean you believe--”
“Excuse me,” Sander said to the reporter who cut him off, a steely edge to his voice. “Wait until I'm finished speaking before you interrupt with more questions.”
The reporter stood up and pressed the issue, cheeks red with importance. “Does that mean you believe some of the signatures were forged? Or that the names are fake? If so, what does that say about the Monarchy?”
Sander met the reporter's eyes and held
them. A long, uncomfortable minute stretched in complete silence. Without saying a word, without shouting or getting unruly, Sander quieted the onslaught and made a few of the reporters squirm.
“It means we're covering all the bases. I'm not taking anyone's word, even my own brother, that the signatures are authentic. Listen,” he said, making a gesture with his hand. “Nothing has changed. If citizens riot and loot, they'll be arrested like any other day. A crime is a crime, period. This gives no one the right to assault anyone else, or an innocent business. If there are people unhappy with decisions made for this country, by all means, let us know. This policy has been in place for decades.”
If she didn't know better, Chey might have thought Sander was chiding the reporters as well as members of the public who complained no one ever listened. Yet he didn't quite take it there, treading a thin line between answering simply, and answering with attitude. It was effective, either way. The reporters were less aggressive during their next round of questions.
“If there were enough signatures, would the Monarchy consider splitting the country up?”
“No. I'm solidly against any division whatsoever. As I said a moment ago, it's our belief that dividing Latvala is not in the best interest of the country or its people,” Sander said.
“Does this mean there is dissension in the Royal family, that all the brothers cannot agree on a course of action?”
“There's dissension now,” Sander said with no small amount of wryness. It elicited a laugh from the reporters. “But it changes nothing. Prince Mattias, Prince Gunnar and I are agreed and that's all that matters.”
“With the recent situation over the former King, how can you assure the people that this won't turn into another event that rips at the fabric of society?”
“I can't. I won't. It's not realistic,” Sander said, answering the question head on. His honesty couldn't be faulted. “But what I can say is that my brothers and I are united in our cause to keep things at an even keel. If it's within our power to fix, we'll fix it.”
The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) Page 8
