Chapter Ten
At precisely seven o'clock, Chey answered a subtle knock at her door. Expecting to see Mattias on the other side, she swung it wide, a smile in place. Elise stood there in her typical uniform, a box in her hands. The maid looked surprised to see Chey dressed in such elaborate finery.
“Oh, Miss, did I disturb you? I have a delivery,” Elise said with another glance at Chey's gown.
“No, I thought you were someone else. What's this and who is it from?” she asked, taking the box from Elise's fingers. It was blue, almost exactly the same color as her dress. A sheer white bow sat on top.
“I do not know, Miss. Mister Urmas sent me to deliver it and to tell you that you are to meet him at the end of the hallway in five minutes.”
Chey smiled at Elise. “Perfect, thank you.”
Elise returned the smile and added a conspiratorial whisper. “You look very beautiful. Good evening.”
“Thank you. Good evening, Elise.” Chey waited until the maid was gone before opening the lid to the box. Nestled inside on a bed of pale blue velvet was a diamond solitaire on a delicate silver chain. The princess cut diamond, three or four carats at least, sparkled and shined. Chey gasped. Had Mattias loaned her this so she would blend in with the company better?
Hurrying to the vanity, she set the box down and fastened the necklace around her throat. The clasp was easy to latch and felt secure once she was done. An exquisite addition to the outfit, she admired its beauty for several minutes, stunned that Mattias would entrust her with such a thing. It offset the corset style bodice of the gown perfectly, adding just enough elegance without being gaudy.
Smoothing her palms over the snug fit of the gown, she assessed herself in the mirror one last time. Her make up, applied with a bit heavier hand to help cover the bruise, accentuated her eyes with dusky shadow and smudges of kohl. On her cheeks, a tint of rose rouge which matched a subtle stroke of matte color on her lips. The dress fit like a dream, nipping in at her narrow waist and hugging her curves toward her feet, where the hem flared just so over her shoes. Dark and curled into soft waves, the front of her hair had been affixed atop her head with a clip, the rest left to cascade down her back.
For a moment, Chey lamented that Sander couldn't see her like this. She was always in jeans and sweaters, clothing fitting to keep the chill of late fall at bay.
She didn't think she'd ever dressed so fine for any occasion.
Aware of the time, she left her room, locking the door behind her, and joined Urmas at the end of the hallway. He did a classic double take when he saw her.
Did the man even know she was attending the soiree? Or had Mattias kept it a secret from even the liaison, bent on making a surprise of her presence?
“...Miss Sinclair, I do say, you look stunning. Is there something I should know?” Urmas sounded complimentary and also wary. Dressed in a typical, subtle suit, he offered his elbow as he'd been born and bred to do.
“I don't know. Is there?” She smiled up into his face and slid her hand through the crook of his arm. Instead of asking him where he was escorting her, she acted like she already knew. She suspected Urmas was to escort her to some parlor or another, where Mattias would be waiting.
Urmas narrowed his eyes and grunted. He led her along the hall and as she'd guessed, guided her toward one of the formal sitting rooms available to guests staying on this floor of the castle. When they arrived at the doors, which were both open, Chey saw Mattias standing near the roaring fireplace with a glass of wine in hand. She wouldn't be human, or female, not to notice how fine he filled out his clothes. Looking straight off the cover of GQ, dark hair combed carefully back from his face, he was freshly shaven and sported an expensive looking set of cuff links, a silver tie and a silver watch that screamed money and power.
Mattias spoke without looking over at the doorway. “Thank you, Urmas. You may go.”
Urmas opened his mouth, then closed it again. This time when he glanced at Chey, there was clear suspicion in his eyes. Chey gave nothing away. She murmured her thanks and stepped into the sitting room. Urmas turned on a heel and marched away.
Chey waited a few feet from the entrance. Waited for Mattias to address her. He took his time about it, finally slanting a look across the room. His eyes swept her head to toe, lingering on her waist and the sparkle at her throat. Once again, he exuded a sense of animal magnetism so strong it was almost impossible to ignore.
Fresh from her romp with Sander, Chey could look at Mattias now and not be moved as she once might have been. Oh, he was handsome. And a Prince. In line to the throne. Any woman in her right mind would fight for a shot at his affection. How ironic, she thought, that she preferred the rough-and-tumble head of security to the pristine elegance of a Prince. Not that Mattias had romantic designs on her. He'd made that clear at lunch the day before.
“You'll be the most exquisite woman in the room,” Mattias predicted. He toasted her with his wine glass and had a long drink.
Chey lifted her chin and smiled, performing a small curtsy that was less clumsy than the ones before it. She'd watched and learned from other staff members.
“Thank you, Mister Ahtissari. The gift you loaned me is extraordinarily beautiful and I'm proud to wear it tonight.” Her fingers lifted to brush gently across the diamond at her throat.
He set his glass on a table and strolled over. Without pause, he circled her, looking at every inch of the dress. Of her flesh. “It is not a loan, Chey. It's a gift. Your gift. I'm pleased you like it.”
She gasped. “What? Mattias, I can't--”
“Can you not?” he asked, arriving before her. He reached out to touch a carefully arranged curl.
“No. It's far too fine. I'm happy to wear it tonight, however.” She stuck to her guns, denying the gift out of hand. He was spending too much money on her. Money she hadn't earned or deserved.
He leaned his head toward her. The subtle scent of his cologne was alluring and seductive. “It's a gift. Has no one ever told you it's rude to deny one given in gratitude?”
Chey swallowed and held his eyes. “Gratitude for what?”
“For being my companion this evening, of course.” He leaned out of her personal space and offered his elbow in a fashion much more regal than Urmas had.
“It's an awfully expensive gift to attend a one night function,” she said. Slipping her fingers under the bend of his elbow, she followed when he led her from the room and into the hallway.
“I think you should worry less about how much things cost and more about the thought behind it.” His expression waned contemplative.
“I have. It's still extravagant.” Chey walked with him to the end of the hall, where a guard opened a door not easily seen unless you were standing right in front of it.
Mattias led her through the arch and down a flight of broad, red velvet covered stairs. Low lights in sconces on the walls cast off an ambient glow. “It doesn't come with any strings attached, if that's what you're worried about.”
Maybe part of that had been the reason for her hesitance. Like with the dress. “I suspected not. I guess I'm unused to gifts of this nature, that's all.”
“Then get used to it.” He cut her a half smile and led her through another arch to a door that opened on cue by another guard.
From there, another, longer hall with windows along one wall stretched away deeper into the castle. Mattias escorted her toward the front instead of the back, where faint strains of music could be heard coming from one of the great ballrooms.
The double doors he aimed for were not the main entrance to the room. Chey knew because she'd seen the expansive archways leading into both ballrooms and this wasn't it. A private entrance, then, probably only used by the Royals. Bracing herself, she fortified her resolve and stepped into the ballroom on Mattias's arm.
Transformed into a gilded paradise, it took Chey's breath away. Gold lamae draped the walls, accented by red and gold shields keeping the material shaped like a swag. Red linen covered tables lining the edge of the room, the tall chairs carved in a baroque style reminiscent of early French designers. Candelabra stood at certain points along the walls, the flame flickering shadows across the tables and guests. Two enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting light down over the center dance floor where a few dancers gathered to waltz.
Already, a collection of guests mingled over extensive food tables and a wine fountain, with Latvala Royals liberally interspersed. The King and Queen were already in attendance, flanked by diplomats in fine suits and cordial smiles. Natalia, with her petulant face and haughty demeanor, stood amongst a throng of what Chey presumed were admirers, drawing laughs from the men along with appreciative glances over her body. She didn't appear drunk—so far. Paavo and Aurora, engaged with an elderly, affluent looking couple, both had wine in their hands and pleasant expressions on their faces.
Chey wondered at Mattias entering after the King and Queen. Shouldn't he have arrived before? Clueless over Royal events and staging, Chey waited for Mattias to lead her forward. In the few seconds since they'd entered the room, no one had, so far, glanced their way.
“His Royal Highness, Mattias Ahtissari,” a voice said over well hidden speakers.
And then just like that, Mattias and Chey were in the proverbial spotlight. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to sink through the floor or faint. Many pairs of eyes swung their way. Struggling to act like she belonged on Mattias's arm, she pasted what she hoped was a natural looking smile on her mouth. Why on earth had she agreed to this?
Mattias, smooth and cultured, finally advanced her deeper into the room.
Chey caught flickers of shock on the King and Queen's faces. On Paavo and Aurora's. Afraid to glance at Natalia, Chey studiously avoided eye contact with her. If the others were all but gaping, Chey figured Natalia would be outright scowling. The guests greeted Mattias with warm enthusiasm, apparently unaware of the sudden tension his arrival had created within the Royal family. He shook hands with important looking men and kissed the knuckles of their wives. Several times he introduced her as 'Miss Sinclair', and Chey extended her courtesies with every bit of grace she owned. The titles Mattias delivered—Ambassador, Liaison, Prince—all went right over Chey's head. She would never remember them all. That other Royalty was present in the room shouldn't have shocked her, yet it did.
Approaching the King and Queen, Mattias presented her with casual elegance.
“Father, Mother, I'm sure you remember Miss Sinclair,” he said with a glance aside to Chey.
Flustered, made more so by the way Aksel and Helina pinned her with sharp looks, Chey curtsied carefully and straightened. “Your Highnesses.”
What was she supposed to say after that? How the hell are ya? What about them Seahawks? Unnerved, Chey left her greeting simple.
“Miss Sinclair.” Aksel, though polite, nevertheless projected an air of displeasure. It was the slow way he enunciated each syllable of her name and the hint of warning that matched the stare he leveled on Mattias.
Helina, nostrils flaring, did not deign to acknowledge her.
“If you'll excuse us,” Mattias said with a slight bow of his head. He did not seem the least bit perturbed at the chilly exchange from his parents. Moving away from the Royal pair, Mattias paused when a server with a tray of wine glasses offered them drinks. He picked one up and handed it to Chey.
She accepted it and resisted the urge to gulp the entire thing down at once. After Mattias had his and the server retreated, Chey whispered, “I should kick you right in the shin.”
The resonance of his baritone laugh drew several glances their way. “I dare you,” he whispered back.
Chey gasped. Were they really having this conversation? Right here, right now?
“You should know that I rarely ever turn down a dare. If we weren't where we are, I would absolutely do it.” She sipped her wine. Just then, she caught Natalia's glance by accident. The woman wore a murderous expression. Her companions all stared Chey and Mattias's way, as if trying to figure out what got the Princesses ire up. Feeling puckish and truculent, Chey toasted Natalia with her glass.
In for a penny, in for a pound. If Natalia was behind the attack, then at least Chey could give the girl a real reason to shove her down the stairs.
“You're doing very well,” Mattias said with a subtle switch of subject. “But then, I knew you would.”
“It's not that hard to be cordial, you know. We heathen Americans do possess some diplomatic skill.” She countered his praise with a healthy dose of dry sarcasm.
His shoulders shook with silent laughter. Mattias sipped his wine. “And you possess--”
“Mattias Ahtissari! It's been too long. How are you?” A gentleman with ink black hair and equally dark eyes intruded on their conversation, smiling broadly with one hand extended to Mattias.
“Prince Severian, I think you're getting fat.” Mattias shook the man's hand, grinning like the devil himself. “I'm well. This is Miss Sinclair. Miss Sinclair, Prince Severian of Weithan Isle.”
Prince Severian laughed and clapped Mattias on the shoulder. “Always the charmer. Miss Sinclair, my pleasure.” He turned to Chey and extended his hand in the way that men do when they kiss the back instead of shake.
Chey let him have her fingers. “The pleasure is mine, Prince Severian.”
He lifted her knuckles to his lips for a brief brush, and released her. “Now then, not to be rude, but may I steal your date for a moment or two?”
Mattias arched a brow at Severian.
Chey couldn't decide if Mattias was surprised by the request or surprised that the Prince was asking her permission. “Of course. Prince Ahtissari, you know where to find me.”
She stepped away to let the men discuss what they would. The affairs of the state or other political intrigue. Not three steps from them, she heard Severian lower his voice and address Mattias. His voice carried despite his best attempt to be discreet.
“I won't keep you, Matt. But what's the rumor I hear that there's been assassination chatter intercepted by your security?”
Damn. Chey wanted to linger and hear Mattias's answer. Assassination chatter for who? The King? The Queen? By the time she heard the low rumble of Mattias's voice, she was too far away to make out specific words. Threading her way to the edge of the crowd, she positioned herself near a vacant table and sipped at her wine. She wasn't daunted by standing alone in a crowd of dignitaries. It gave her an opportunity to see how this level of society worked, how the women congregated in groups and how the men branched off, puffing on cigars or tossing back brandy. She wondered at the number of Royalty present that didn't belong to the Ahtissari name and what their visit was about. Surely, some sort of deal making was happening, or being introduced for the rest to consider. Trade, import and export, military might, positions on war. It could be a number of things.
“Left to your own devices already. I'm not surprised. Why don't you make a quiet exit while no one's watching,” Natalia hissed at her side.
Distracted by Mattias and Severian, Chey didn't see Natalia's approach.
“Or what? You'll pitch another tantrum and throw your glass at me?” Chey, shocked at her own audacity, couldn't quell her sudden fit of impatient annoyance. She didn't owe Natalia anything, hadn't done anything wrong, and she was growing tired of the woman's vitriol every time she turned around.
Natalia narrowed her eyes and leaned closer, until her mouth was right at Chey's ear. “I'll have you and your precious camera thrown out on your ass. Watch and see if I don't. Speak to me like that one more time, and you'll find yourself on a fast track back to whatever hovel you crawled out of.”
If there was anywhere Natalia could strike a winning blow, it was with the threat of being forced to leave the castle. She hadn't yet worked off the money she'd put in the bank, and the damage to her reputation might never recover if word got out that she'd been fired for lack of professionalism at her job. She was sure Natalia would do as much damage on the international front as she could, wrecking Chey's chance to work with other members of high society.
Still. It galled her to swallow her pride and feign regret. “My apologies, Princess Natalia.”
“You don't sound very convincing.”
Chey wanted to ask Natalia if she didn't have better things to do than stand here and heckle the hired help. Curbing her wayward tongue, she lifted her glass and sipped the wine instead. It kept her mouth busy until she reined in her temper. Across the room, she saw Mattias glance her way. His eyes narrowed when he spied Natalia standing in such close proximity. Chey knew she needn't convey the tension between herself and Natalia. A moment later, he disengaged from Severian and headed her way.
Rather than repeat an apology she didn't feel or mean, Chey took another drink. Natalia chose that moment to 'accidentally' bump her shoulder in the guise of reaching for a napkin on the table behind them. A small bit of wine spilled down the front of Chey's dress, splashing droplets onto the skin of her chest.
Gasping in outrage, Chey had half a mind to throw the remains of her drink right in Natalia's face. Of course she couldn't. That would land her in very hot water.
“Natalia,” Mattias snarled, arriving in time to see the blatant collision.
“I'm so sorry, Miss Sinclair. You'll have to forgive me.” Natalia simpered, offering Chey the napkin with a smirk in her eyes but not on her mouth.
Mattias, in a low voice, ripped a stinging reprimand in their mother tongue and snatched the napkin from her hand.
Chey, unable to understand the language, nevertheless had no trouble discerning his anger at Natalia. Rather than blot the napkin on her chest and the front of her dress, he set his wine down and cupped Chey's elbow to escort her to the private exit. The guard opened the door and they stepped through into the hall. Now she felt like she needed to apologize to Mattias for cutting his evening short.
“I'm sorry--”
“Don't apologize for her, Chey.” He spoke in a quiet, no-nonsense voice.
Chey picked up her pace to match his long strides. A quick glance aside showed her his profile and the compressed line of his mouth. Mattias was not happy.
“I'm not apologizing for her, I'm apologizing because your evening was cut short. You don't have to walk me all the way back to my room. I can find my way from the stairs.” She brushed ineffectually at the stain on the dress. What a waste. Thousands of dollars down the drain.
“I'm not leaving you to walk alone back to your room. That was the preliminary greeting round—the more serious talks begin tomorrow morning. I won't be missed.” He guided her up the private staircase and out the door leading to the hallway on her floor.
“I overheard Severian,” she confessed. Her curiosity was killing her. “At least the part about the assassination.”
Mattias snapped a sharp look at her. “It's best to forget it.”
“Someone in this house, yes? The King or Queen?”
“There are often rumors. More than you might think. Separating the real from the fake threats can be trying and tiresome.”
“You didn't answer the question.”
“Yes, someone in the Royal family.”
“You're not going to tell me who, are you?”
“Trust me. The less you know, the better off you are. It's not safe to have knowledge of too many insider secrets.” He winked, but his expression remained hard.
Chey considered his words and found wisdom there. The more she knew, the more danger she probably put herself in.
At her door, Mattias released her elbow and faced her. “Thank you for accompanying me. Your presence was notable and noted.”
“Oh, I have no doubt,” she said with a wry smile.
For the first time since leaving the event, he smiled too. “It's good to do the unexpected once in a while. Keeps them on their toes.”
“So that's what my function was. The 'Surprise Factor'.” Chey wasn't all that shocked to hear it.
He reached up to run his fingers along the delicate angle of her jaw. “No, your function was to entertain me and provide me an escort worthy of such esteemed company.”
“Viia isn't a worthy escort?” Chey arched a brow in disbelief.
“I think we have discussed what Viia's more prominent qualities are. It would not be seemly for me to discuss what I perceive her failings to be.” His fingers slid off the end of her chin.
“Right. Broodmare status. Mattias—it's disappointing to hear that. I've heard your reasons and I understand your position. Still. You seem like a strong enough man to make up your own mind and do what you want to.” Chey realized that she spoke from an inexperienced viewpoint, that she had no idea what life for a Royal must be like. All she knew was that she wouldn't be able to live that way, under such strict control and expectation. She'd been spoiled by the ability to make her own decisions and decide her own fate.
He regarded her with serious, dark eyes. Then, he whispered, “And this is why I am second in line to the throne, and someone like you is not.”
Any other time, Chey might have taken serious offense to what sounded like an insult. Except he spoke the truth, and Chey acknowledged it with a tip of her head. “Yes. No matter what else, thank you for inviting me. I would have never had the privilege of experiencing anything like it otherwise.”
“You're welcome. I'm sorry we were not able to squeeze in a dance. Maybe next time. If you leave the dress outside your door, I can have someone attempt to fix it.”
“Maybe next time,” she agreed, all while thinking of a dance with Sander instead. In the living room of the cabin, perhaps, or under the stars and moonlight. She glanced down at the front of the pretty gown. “There's an old saying: if it's red, you're dead. I don't think it will come out, but I'll leave it out here anyway when I change.”
“Very well. Good night, Chey.” Mattias bowed his head and pivoted to head down the hallway.
Fishing the key out of her bodice, because there wasn't a spare inch anywhere else on the snug dress, she unlocked her door and let herself inside.
Time to change and reflect on a very unusual day—and night.
. . .
In the spill of light falling in her window, Chey removed the stunning pendant and laid it on the dresser. The diamond shined despite the otherwise dim state of the bedroom. Struggling to get out of the dress, she kicked off her shoes and wiggled the zipper down her spine. What a pity Sander hadn't seen her in it before the advent of the bright red stain. She wondered what he would have thought, and whether he would have liked it.
Preoccupied with pulling a track suit out of her drawers, she made the change and walked the dress to the door. Folding it carefully, she left it just outside. Re-engaging the locks, she padded to the dresser and picked up the necklace. It went back into the original box Elise delivered it in and into her sock drawer. She felt conspicuous leaving it out where anyone might stumble across it. The only people who came and went in her room were the maids, however, and they never touched her personal things. Only the bedding, towels and general cleaning duties.
Stopping by the window, she stared in the direction of the woods. Sander was out there somewhere, doing who knew what at this late hour. Shuffling paperwork, taking care of security business, making plans for their outing tomorrow to the haunted castle. Despite her shower, she could still feel the imprint of his hands on her hips, the texture of his mouth on hers. It would be far too easy to allow that man to really get under her skin in the short time she had to spend here.
And yet, she couldn't imagine not taking advantage of every hour she could. Once she left Latvala, she would probably never see him again. Wasn't that a sobering thought.
Turning toward her bed, she reached down to snag the comforter and tug it back, when something on the surface caught her attention. She hadn't noticed it before, from a distance, because the squares were flat and flush with the material. Letting go of the cover before she could draw it down, she picked up one of the squares. That was when she realized they were paper cutouts, thin and crinkly in her fingers.
Snapping on the bedside table lamp, Chey got her first real look at the nightmare before her. A handful of photos from some local newspaper—or a rag, as Mattias called it—had been arranged haphazardly on the bed. All of them were shots of she and Mattias during their trip to Kalev. Taken with a high powered telephoto lens, it captured their jaunt into the exclusive store, their lunch on the balcony of the restaurant, and the stop at the park.
The message could not be more clear. Someone knew they were going, and had been watching the whole time.
A chill raced down Chey's spine. One of the papers had cutout letters taped to the bottom: You have been warned.
Dropping the papers, Chey straightened and glanced around the room. She hadn't checked the bathroom or the deep, walk in closet since she'd arrived. What if the person was there, waiting to hurt her?
Shuffling to the end of the bed, she jammed her feet into her tennis shoes, foregoing socks in her panic, and backtracked for the cutouts. Gathering them as quietly as she could, she tiptoed to the desk, the hair standing up on the back of her neck, and fished the keys to the truck out of the top drawer.
Any second she expected a shadow to part from the wall, or a corner, and stalk her.
Hurrying to the door, she exited her bedroom and broke into a run down the hall. At the top of the stairs, she cautioned herself to make sure no one was there. After a quick look around, seeing no one close by, she went down as quick as she dared to the main floor. From there she doubled back toward the kitchens and a rear exit, bypassing all the other security at the front of the castle due to the guests. There was security here, too, though none stopped her headlong rush through the bailey toward the back gate.
If they thought her eccentric, so be it. All Chey cared about was reaching the truck. At the stables, she found the vehicle sitting right where she'd left it. Once inside, she fired up the engine and spun the tires, tearing off into the night for the safety of Sander's cabin.