Chapter Fourteen
The south solar turned out to be an elaborate solarium with fully one whole wall and half the ceiling nothing but windows. Encompassing a view of the east woods, it was furnished with expensive leather and mahogany furniture, beautiful potted plants and collectible vases along with statues in marble wrought from the finest sculpting hands. Lacking the gilded décor of the King and Queen's private sitting room, the solarium made up for it with its tall backed tapestry chairs, tiki carved tables and large alabaster columns with complex designs engraved into the flaring top and bottom.
While members of the staff moved the furniture to her liking, she stared out the windows at the woods. Off limits to her by Sander's command, she wondered what made them different than the woods to the west. The longer she stared, the more she noticed smaller detail. That was how she came to see the thin wisp rising from the tops of the trees. Squinting against the gentle fall of snow, she tried to bring the sight into better focus.
“Miss Sinclair.”
The sharp snap of her name whipped Chey's head around. Urmas stood six feet behind her wearing a frown.
“Oh, I'm sorry. I was looking at the landscape and the snow.” She smiled and brushed a strand of hair away from her temple. For the session, she'd chosen another strict suit, this time with pants instead of a skirt, in black and white. It was austere and businesslike without being staid.
“Come away from the windows, please, and tell me if your arrangement suits.” Urmas gestured to the collection of chairs and divans Chey rearranged to accommodate the entire Royal family.
The quick look Urmas sent past her head to the window nearly caused her to turn and glance again. What was he looking at? Had he seen the wisp, too?
“It looks perfect, yes. Except maybe move that potted plant a little to the right. I don't want it looking like the fronds are sticking up out of the back of someone's head.” She guided an aid to move the pot. Despite the solarium setting, there was still an elegant, regal appearance to the room. One expected Royalty to reside here.
“Excellent. The family will be arriving shortly. You have your placements ready?” Urmas asked with a crisp tone.
“I'm ready when they are,” Chey assured him. She glanced at the liaison, curious at his abruptness.
He stepped away to double check everything was as need be.
In the interim, Chey pulled out her cell phone to check for messages. She was hoping for one from Sander. Stifling disappointment when there were none, she contemplated leaving one for him. Was that too forward? Maybe he was just that busy with work and hadn't had time to send her anything.
A flurry near the doors brought Chey's attention up. She slipped her phone into the pocket of her jacket as Paavo, Aurora, Gunnar and Krislin arrived. Much to Chey's surprise, the men wore military uniforms of royal blue and silver. The blue, deep and rich, was offset by silver buttons and a splash of red and gold medallions marking their rank on the chest. Silver tassels hung off shoulder boards and a belt at the waist supported a sheath with a sword nestled inside.
Chey understood enough to realize that the darker color of the uniforms indicated their Royal status as well as rank; the other military members wore dove gray and silver, with just the medals denoting their standing.
The women wore understated, beautiful dresses in lighter colors to offset the dark blue of the uniforms. Aurora had chosen pale blue while Krislin wore peach.
Entering in a stream, security arrived as the King and Queen made their appearance. Aksel's uniform was more elaborate, with a band around his chest, a wider belt and insignias ranging from stars to stripes to bars over his heart. Helina's ankle length gown of cream had dark blue piping around the collar and cuffs that exactly matched the blue of the uniforms.
Chey transferred her placements to Urmas, who then guided the Royals into their positions on the divans and chairs.
Natalia arrived a few seconds ahead of Mattias. Her beaded dress was a variation of her mother's. Mattias in uniform was a sight to behold. He wore it proudly, elegantly, exuding a capable air of command and intelligence.
Fiddling with the camera equipment, she made a point not to stare at any of them. It shocked her to realize Viia would not take part in this session. Mattias must have put his proverbial foot down.
“Prince Dare,” someone said near the door in greeting.
Chey straightened and glanced over. Finally, the final member of the immediate Royal family.
Sander strode through the archway, blonde hair neatly pulled into a low tail at his nape, jaw smooth and clean shaven. Broad shoulders filled out his uniform, lean hips encased by a sword belt. Regal and authoritative, Sander looked every inch a Prince. His height set him apart from everyone else, even the King, and the sharp glint of his blue eyes missed no detail. His presence was almost too much for the solarium, overflowing with charisma and palpable confidence.
He met her eyes as he stalked by, not shying away from the utter deception he'd perpetrated upon her the whole time.
“You'll catch a fly.” His voice didn't carry, the murmur for her ears alone. He glanced at her mouth, indicating she should close it before someone noticed. Then he was beyond the range of the equipment, sheath hanging at his side.
Chey snapped her mouth closed. Shock held her immobile and fury threatened to immolate her where she stood.
Sander freaking-Fisk was none other than the elusive Dare Ahtissari.
. . .
If her position in the household had not been so precarious, Chey would have read that bastard the riot act up one side and down the other.
Liar. How could he have looked her in the eye all that time and deceived her to such a degree? She paused when the realization hit that she'd slept with the heir to the throne.
Dear God.
What would Mama Queen have to say about that. Her precious boy bedding the help.
A thousand sarcastic, scathing quips burned the end of her tongue, begging for release.
Just that fast, many things that had niggled at the back of her mind made perfect sense. Why he hadn't needed to be in an office as 'head' of security, the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted. How all he had to do was make a call and someone jumped to do his bidding. Like leaving the truck at the end of the canoe trail and gathering the horses from the river.
Fisk wasn't his last name and his mother was far from the chef he'd portrayed.
“Miss Sinclair?”
Someone was saying her name. Chey snapped her gaze over her shoulder. Urmas stood there, frowning.
“Yes?”
“Where would you like Dare?”
Oh, oh what a loaded question. A muscle twitched in her jaw. Forced to look back at the array of Royals, she studiously refused to meet anyone's eyes and gestured to a spot behind the Queen's chair next to Mattias.
“That'll do.”
“Are you all right, Miss Sinclair?” Urmas asked.
“I'm fine.” She wasn't fine, she was pissed. Angry as she hadn't been in a long time. Gathering the remote, she transferred further pose instructions to Urmas and waited for everyone to face forward. She could feel the weight of Sander's—Dare's—gaze. Mattias's, too. Just how much did he know about his brother's shenanigans? Had Mattias been in on it?
Unthinkable.
Pressing her lips together, she clicked the shutter twice. Three times.
“Tell them to smile,” she said to Urmas.
He frowned again, then strode forward to request the members smile for the camera.
And so it went. Chey had Urmas arrange the family into a slew of different poses. All the men together. Then all the women. Couples, the King and Queen. Individuals. By the time Chey was through, Natalia was openly complaining and bitching. The Queen required a staff member to fan her while the King finished off his third stiff drink.
Her fury had abated to something cold and unforgiving, movements stiff, gaze anywhere but on Sander. She took only the camera and left everything else for the staff to break down. Sliding it into the case, Chey slung the strap over her shoulder and strode from the room.
“Miss Sinclair.” Sander's voice rose through the solarium.
She kept walking.
Someone gasped.
“Miss Sinclair,” Sander repeated, this time with an edge to his voice.
Chey marched out into the hall without looking back.
. . .
All hell was breaking loose behind her. Chey could hear Natalia demanding Chey be fired for her impudence. The Queen wanted to know exactly what was going on, and SanderDareWhatever-his-name-was left the solarium with her name on his lips. Urmas kept a quick pace just off Sander's flank, failing to rein Chey in with a reprimand sharp on his tongue.
Let them all burn.
Was the money worth this? Not hardly. She would rather sleep homeless in a dumpster than be used at this rate. How she would pay back the money she had already spent, she didn't know. At least a month's rent had been worked off. There was some solace in that.
She made it all the way to the end of the private hall before a hand caught her elbow and spun her around. Not a grab or snatch, but a firm grip that wouldn't be denied.
Chey let him. She used the momentum Sander obtained to bring her hand up for a ringing slap. This was becoming customary between them.
He pulled her to him, daring to bring her even closer.
“Don't,” she hissed. “Don't.”
In the hallway, people were gasping again. Murmuring. Shock rippled through the Royals and staff alike.
“You're going to listen to me whether you like it or not,” he said, scowling. The blue of his eyes glimmered with determination.
“No, actually, I'm not. Arrange whatever with whoever—I'm going home. Make it happen by tomorrow.” Chey tugged her elbow out of his hand. He was intimidating looming over her like that, with his towering height and commanding presence. She turned her chin up, however, defiant in the face of his orders. A part of her was sick, just sick, at the turn of events. What she hated most of all was the ache around her heart. She'd allowed herself to get too close, to trust him and begin to believe in him.
“I don't think so. Not until you listen to what I have to say.” Gruff and abrupt, Sander stared at her as if he might bend her to his will by the sheer force of his gaze.
“I'm not your prisoner here. I'm an employee and I just quit.” Chey spun on a heel and headed for the stairs. She wanted off the private floor, wanted to put as much distance between herself and Sander—Dare—as she could. Panic over the money was a secondary concern.
Somehow, she would figure the whole sordid thing out.
. . .
Twenty minutes into packing her first suitcase, a knock came at her bedroom door. Changed into jeans and a sweater to make the task of preparing to go home easier, Chey at first refused to acknowledge the visitor. It was Sander, she was sure, ready to defend his reasons for lying.
The knock came again.
She ignored it.
Five minutes after that, another trio of knocks.
Exhaling her frustration, she tossed down the folded shirts and went to the door. Swinging it open, she found herself face to face with Mattias.
“I don't want to talk to you or anyone else. I'm leaving tomorrow,” she said, turning away from the door but leaving it open. She knew he would just come in anyway.
Mattias entered and closed the door behind him. Like her, he had changed out of his uniform into something more suitable for every day business. Black slacks, white shirt with the buttons open at the throat.
“Unfortunately, you won't be leaving tomorrow. The weather will not permit it. This storm is growing and becoming dangerous. You will have to stay until it passes.”
Chey put her hands on her hips and stared at the wall rather than Mattias. When her anger got the better of her, she turned a hot look his way.
“Were you in on it, too? Did you know the whole time?”
“I knew after the shooting in the woods. The day he took you to the cabin for the first time.” Mattias observed her with shrewd, dark eyes.
“Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't someone tell me who he was?”
“Because he preferred that we didn't,” Mattias said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“And what about what I prefer?”
“It wasn't your choice at the time. It was Dare's.”
“What is his name, anyway?” She loathed that she would always think of him as Sander rather than Dare. Which only added fuel to her ire.
“Sander Darrion Ahtissari, is his full name. Those of us closest to him call him Dare.”
Small relief. His real name was Sander. “And you're wrong, Mattias. Someone should have told me.”
“It would have changed things--”
“Of course it would have changed things!” She slapped her hands on her thighs in exasperation. “He's the heir to the throne!”
Mattias thinned his lips. “Precisely. Did you ever stop to think that maybe he wanted to just be himself without all the trappings of his position? If you would consider something besides yourself a moment, you would understand why he did what he did.”
Bristling at his insinuation, Chey paced from the bed to the window. Snow fell faster than it had earlier beyond the panes.
“What I know is that he lied.”
“He delayed the truth,” Mattias argued.
Chey scoffed. “Please, Mattias.”
“Do you really think he thought he could hide it forever? Ask yourself why he wanted a head start when he got to know you. Why would he have reason to wait?”
An answer popped into her mind immediately. She didn't want to admit the reasoning behind it. Mattias however, proved to be as quick witted as ever.
“Because he sensed something between you. He was interested and instinctually knew that if he told you who he was, it might have been impossible for you to bond the way you did.”
Chey rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “Yes, and fat lot of good it'll do me. I remember, most clearly, the talk we had about your broodmares. And without repeating your Mother last night, I am as far from a prime choice for dating as there could possibly be. Sander knew this, yet he proceeded to play with my heart, my affections—and it was wrong.”
“I disagree. Perhaps because I live this life, and I know how impossible it is to find someone who will like you for you and not the title attached to your name. There are no guarantees anything will work out between you, but the two of you have a head start that none of us ever get. He saw a rare opportunity and took it. What is so wrong with that?” Mattias leaned a shoulder against the door frame.
“He lied to achieve his goals, that's what's wrong with it.”
“That is a matter of perspective. He told you his real name, that wasn't a lie.”
“Yes, and also told me he was the head of security, which he is not.” Chey arched a brow at Mattias, daring him to deny it.
“A small consequence.” He brushed it off as nothing.
“Why did you take me to the city? Invite me to the gala? For the reasons you said, about liking my company, even though you knew about Sander and I?”
“That and I was keeping an eye on you for him.”
Chey stopped pacing to stare at Mattias. “What?”
“I said, I was keeping an eye on you. From the day of the shooting, we suspected something was wrong. We never did find the shooter, you see.”
“But you said--”
“To put less strain and stress on you. Dare was worried, especially after the attack in your room. So I took it upon myself to enjoy your company while making it a lot more difficult for the culprit to get their hands on you. At least for the time you were with me.” Mattias delivered the facts with a straight face and honesty in every word. “In the very beginning, we had to make sure it wasn't an attack directed at Dare. He ruled that out pretty quickly.”
Processing the details, Chey stared alternately at the floor and at Mattias.
“Why didn't he just come back to the castle? Why does he live down there in the cabin?” None of that made sense to Chey.
“He arrived back early from his...trip...abroad, and decided to delay confronting the Queen about the woman she intends to be his bride. He stays there often, as a matter of fact. There is, unless you are blind and deaf, dissension in the ranks around here.”
“Mm, yes. The woman he was supposed to court or something. What happened?”
“I think you should let him explain.” Mattias straightened away from the wall. “And I think you should not hasten away from Latvala so cavalierly. Take a moment to breathe, to assess. Try to put yourself in his shoes.”
Mattias had a point. It did not lessen her ire, exactly, but she could see that Sander deserved a chance to explain himself.
“All right.” Truth be told, Chey didn't want to leave. Dysfunctional family aside, Chey was fascinated by the inner workings of the castle and its occupants. It did not give her hope for she and Sander, however. Chey understood that whatever they shared, it was temporary. The Queen—and probably the King—would never allow them to date on a serious level. Even Mattias bringing her to family functions as a guest caused unbelievable turmoil. Knowing they were doomed before they ever got off the ground put that familiar ache back in her heart. How depressing. And how infuriating that he wasn't the simple man she believed him to be.
“I'll see you tomorrow, if not sooner.” Mattias exited without another word.
Rubbing the back of her neck, Chey stood near the window and watched the snow swirl down from the sky. Her emotions were a wreck. It might take her a day or two before she was able to face Sander with any kind of control.
With the weather worsening by the hour, time was a commodity she had plenty of.