Chapter Two
Chey stood in the middle of her suite, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. Left alone at last, she turned a slow circle, eyes raking over the pristine walls in a color she could only describe as powder blue. Pale, subtle, offset by ivory colored crown molding. Gold accents—baroque shapes, tassels on pillows, a faint leaf design—added a regal flair to the décor.
This was the living area, separate than that of the bedroom. A collection of divans and wingback chairs, all keeping in the color scheme, bracketed a coffee table that looked direct from the renaissance age. Masterpiece paintings of foxhunts and beautiful landscapes covered the walls. More antique pieces of furniture sat in corners and stunning Persian rugs covered large swathes of floor.
She felt like she shouldn't touch anything. As if this was a space in a museum not made for actual living, just viewing.
Entering an archway, she found herself in the bedroom. The blue, white and gold theme existed here as well. The bed, a monstrosity that took up a good portion of one wall, sported a column at each corner with gauzy netting looping through gold painted iron scrollwork overhead. Whimsical bedding fit for a King looked plush, expensive and comfortable.
The bathroom, as large as her apartment back in Seattle, was a private affair with a huge walk in closet, shoe shelves and built in drawers that pulled out of the wall. A tub that looked more like a jacuzzi dominated the center, with a tall walk in shower, extensive cabinets and double sinks in marble adding to the appeal.
She wondered what in the world the King and Queen's bedrooms must look like if the guest suites were this lavish. Living here for the next four months would be no hardship.
Drawn to double french doors in the main room, she stepped out onto a private balcony overlooking the back bailey, another gate and the acreage beyond. It stretched as far as the eye could see.
More buildings and what had to be the stable sat off to the right past the bailey gate. Horses meandered in fenced pastures, though Chey saw no one riding. Just the stable hands grooming, walking and training.
Anxious to explore, she unpacked all her luggage and changed from the pink skirt suit into jeans, a thin sweater of turquoise with sleeves pushed to the elbow, and hiking style boots. Grabbing a smaller camera from her bag, she departed her room.
Urmas had been explicit in his instructions about where in the castle she was, and was not, allowed. The entire third floor was off limits. Home to the Royal family, only they, their staff and the guards had availability. Two different rooms on the main floor had been barred, as well as a walled garden and a specific dining room.
But the rest of the castle and the grounds she was free to roam. The guards all knew who she was, and what her purpose was, so she could expect to be given hassle free passage.
She spent an hour on the second floor, beginning to snap pictures of some of the fine detail. The corner of a painting with half the person in the portrait visible. A long shot down a hallway with light spilling in a round stained glass window.
There were literally thousands of shots to take like this.
What she tried to capture this time around were the vantages normal people might never see. Angles of Royalty, of the money and power that made the family who they were.
Walking backwards away from a doorway leading to a huge library, camera up at eye level, she bumped into a body behind her.
Startled, she stopped and whirled, an apology already on her lips. Expecting a guard, Chey found herself face to face with Mattias. Leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, still in his suit from the photo shoot, he smiled. It was a temperate smile, not unlike a wolf walking into a sheep's pen might wear.
“My apologies, I didn't--” she began, before Mattias cut her off.
“Why are you apologizing? I put myself in your path,” he said, sliding his gaze down to her camera and back again. “I believe we have not been properly introduced. I'm Mattias Ahtissari.”
Chey let the camera come to rest against her chest, confident the strap around her neck would hold. She searched his face, his eyes, unsure what to do, exactly. Her mind went on the fritz when the reality hit that she was sharing space with Royalty.
“You have no name?” Amusement flashed through his dark gaze. “Or has the cat got your tongue?”
“No, no—I mean yes, of course I have a name. Chey. I'm Chey Sinclair.” Remembering about the curtsy, she performed an awkward one.
He laughed, brows arching when she dipped. “Well, Miss Sinclair. Someone has been giving you instruction. I didn't think Americans went for all that pomp and circumstance.” He straightened from the wall and held out a well manicured, long fingered hand.
Licking her lips, she glanced down at his hand, then around at the hallway, positive it was a trick of some kind and the guards would rain hell down around her head for thinking to touch him.
He rumbled another laugh, still holding his hand out. “I don't bite, if that's what you're worried about. And if it's the guards—don't worry about that, either. I choose who I greet and who I do not.”
Caught out, she looked back and slid her hand into his. Chey shook with meaning, with purpose, grip firm. “We usually don't. Well, I usually don't. It's nice to meet you.”
Just when she would have pulled her hand free, he turned it over and brought it to his lips. There he brushed a kiss across her knuckles before releasing.
Chey, dumbfounded, stared like a green schoolgirl. Why was he kissing her hand? Was that another Royal custom? Why, oh why, was he even paying any attention to her? She was the lowly photographer, not worth his time. Right?
“The pleasure, Miss Sinclair, is mine.” He retained strict eye contact while gesturing to the hall. “Walk with me?”
Unnerved by the weight of his attention, Chey inclined her head and turned to walk with him along the hall.
“I thought to take some pictures of the interior. There are so many unique ways to capture the essence of your home, it's hard to know where to start,” she said, sticking to the safe subject of work.
“I suppose there are. It's a lot of ground to cover. But then, you will be here a while, which gives you plenty of time to be thorough.” He clasped his hands behind him, pacing languid as a tiger beside her. His accent rolled smooth from his tongue, raspy and cultured.
“Almost four months. It's the longest I've ever been on assignment anywhere. I'm looking forward to finding the shots no one else has yet.” She risked a glance aside. He was watching her instead of the hallway, pinning her with dark eyes that gleamed with intelligence and interest.
“Four months. A lot can happen in four months,” he said in a musing tone. “What does your family think of you being gone that long?”
Chey felt a pang at the thought of her parents. “My parents perished in a car accident almost nine months ago. I have no siblings.”
“I'm sorry to hear that. No husband, either?”
“No husband. Not even a boyfriend.”
“I find that difficult to believe. Surely there is someone you hold even a small amount of affection for?”
“Not any longer. I broke that off when I caught him on a date with not one, but two other women.” Chey snorted, forgetting herself. Covering the snort with a delicate cough, she brought a hand up to check the weight of the camera hanging around her neck. A distraction for herself if nothing else.
Mattias laughed. He had a deep, rich laugh that shook his chest and shoulders. “Well. Then I suppose he deserves what he gets.”
“What he got was a heck of a one night stand. Good riddance.” Her candor showed through speaking of her past. Chey thought she should temper her sometimes bold tongue—and then decided not to. After all, what did it matter? She was here to work, not to impress a Prince. Especially one who was so obviously involved with someone.
Another laugh greeted her candid reply. “A kitten with claws. I would have never guessed.”
“And yet your tone suggests that was exactly what you expected,” she countered. Why was she calling him out? He was a Prince for crying out loud, and here she was, baiting him. Testing his penchant for truth.
Mattias stopped walking so quickly that Chey found herself five steps ahead before she realized he wasn't at her side any longer. Just that fast, she regretted her wayward tongue. She'd offended him by talking back, or challenging him. On his own turf, no less. Stifling a cringe, she turned back to see him regarding her in that intense way he had, eyes narrowed to slits.
Don't get yourself kicked off the assignment before it even gets started, idiot, she chided herself. She'd already spent a good portion of the initial payment on rent. Chey didn't have the luxury of being fired and having to pay the money back. Before an apology could tumble from her lips, he smiled. A subtle curve of his mouth that accentuated the cleft in his chin.
“I hadn't realized just how astute you are, Miss Sinclair. Well done. That, indeed, is precisely what I was thinking. Can you guess what else is on my mind?” he asked, resuming a slow walk. He didn't take his eyes from her, even when he drew abreast.
Chey broke eye contact, exhaling in relief. She hadn't offended him. Continuing their walk, she stared ahead at the upcoming juncture in the hallway. His loaded question gave her pause. It was the kind of question men who had been trading electric looks with a woman asks when he expects her to play coy and mention something about sex or bed.
“You're hoping I'll take a few extra pictures just for you.” Because if not sex, what else would he have sought the photographer out for? Chey used deductive reasoning to come to her conclusion. It wasn't all that difficult to understand he wanted something from her. Princes probably didn't hobnob with the hired help. When he didn't immediately reply, Chey glanced aside.
He wore a devilish grin. “It's like you know my very mind. I'm impressed. I would like to request you snap some shots of Viia. By herself, if you can manage it, and when she's not aware you're doing so. Natural, candid pictures is what I'm after.”
So that's what this was all about. Chey checked a wry expression before it could take hold of her features. “Of course. It's why I'm here. Sooner than later I'll become familiar with the routine, which will give me a greater chance to catch her in unaware moments. Consider it done.”
“Excellent.” He stopped long enough at the juncture in the hallway to lay a warm hand on the back of her shoulder. “I'll check with you in a few days to see if I need to help set something up should you not be able to find her alone.”
Chey paused when he did, half turning to face him. The weight of his hand was light, yet she felt the heat from his palm through her shirt with ease.
“That sounds fine. Have a good rest of the day.” Chey decided she must be imagining the sparks between them. Except when she met his eyes, she found him watching her like he might devour her on the spot. They spent fifteen seconds searching each other's gazes before he pivoted and stalked away along the other corridor, heading god knew where.
Chey watched him go, the feel of his hand lingering long after he was gone.
It was high time to put some distance between herself and the castle. She headed for the stairs, trotting down to the lower level with the intent on finding the stables.
Perhaps a ride would clear her head.
. . .
A hundred and fifty photographs later, distracted by the beauty and serenity of the stables and horses, Chey finally decided to mount up and ride. She left her camera safely with the stable master, assured it would come to no harm. Swinging up over the back of a buckskin mare, she took hold of the reins and guided the equine toward a section of forest that the stable master suggested. He spoke of riding trails, a sparkling creek, stunning vistas and a small lake nestled in the greenery.
Leaving the stables at a trot, Chey allowed herself to enjoy an old hobby that had fallen by the wayside back in Seattle. She had ridden often before her parents passed, taking to winding trails through stunning scenery that never failed to calm her mind.
Here, too, was the promise of spectacular terrain. She found the trail easy enough, sinking from the first kiss of dusk into the dappled shadow of enormous trees. The branches and leaves tangled overhead, whispering and creaking in a gentle breeze. Slowing the mare to a brisk walk, Chey let her pick her way along the trail. One hand rested comfortably on her thigh.
She found the meandering creek and eventually, the lake. Already she mourned the loss of her camera and promised herself she would return the following day. Maybe in the morning to catch the sunrise and in the evening to take pictures as burnt orange rays slanted across the sparkling surface of the water. Astride, facing the lake, Chey breathed in the scent of bark, earth and damp foliage.
It really was a gorgeous spot. She loved how the trees crowded close to the lake on the far end, and how boulders the size of small cars took over half way around, lending rugged beauty to the scene. Out in the middle of the lake, several fish flopped and splashed.
“What do you think, girl, should we come back tomorrow?” Chey talked to the mare, rubbing a hand along the sleek neck under the mane. The horse nickered and bobbed her head, tail swishing against her flanks.
Just as Chey decided they better head back, before the sun slipped so low she lost enough light to see by, the mare twitched to attention, ears pricked forward. It was a marked change from the lazy stance of a moment before.
“What is it? A squirrel? Maybe a raccoon?”
A snap and crack of twigs jerked Chey's attention to the left, where a cluster of trees made the shadows a little darker than everywhere else. She let the mare stay put, waiting to see if a deer hopped into sight. That's what Chey thought it was—a deer. The snap of twigs had been too solid to be something as small as a squirrel or a raccoon.
Nothing appeared.
The deer probably caught her scent and was standing there frozen, afraid to move.
Chey reined the buckskin around, kneeing her into a walk for the trail. They had diverted off of it to get a better look at the lake. Ducking a few branches, Chey stroked her hand once more along the buckskin's neck, giving her a confident pat. The animal really was a joy to ride.
Reaching the trail, the mare instinctively wandered onto it and headed in the direction of the stables, as if she knew her rider was ready to return home.
Another snap of wood swerved Chey's attention over a shoulder. She was in time to see a shadowy figure slip between trees, on horseback no less, obviously following her.
If it were one of the guards, he would have just made himself known. The guards, she'd discovered even after this short of a time, had no problem announcing themselves.
So who could it be?
Unease trickled down Chey's spine.
Urging the mare into a canter, she thought to put some distance between the shady figure and herself. A stable hand would have called out. What if someone had managed to slip onto the property to do the Royals harm?
The sound of hoof beats on the path behind her whipped Chey's attention back. To her shock, the horse charged onto the same trail, its shadowy rider bent low and half obscured by a branch and leaves.
“Yah!” She dug her heels into the startled mare's side. The buckskin surged forward, ears pricked back. Chey guided the equine along the path, fear gripping her shoulders to the point they ached.
The sun inched lower, stealing even more light from the day. Now the trees aided the advance of shadow, dipping whole sections of the trail into a gray gloom.
To her horror, the hoof beats behind her grew louder. Closer. Someone was in open pursuit. Yet they didn't call out for her to stop, or halt, like a guard should have.
Veering swiftly off the main trail, Chey took the mare overland, between the tree trunks, desperate to lose their follower. It was treacherous business, with roots, rocks and other debris poised to trip the buckskin. Bring her down, and Chey along with her.
Twilight faded, gloom pervading the forest. Between one minute and the next, Chey found it harder to see. The mare, more sure footed than Chey gave her credit for, dashed around trees and over a fallen trunk. It was low, only a foot or so off the ground, but Chey was not an experienced rider in jumping and had to hang on with both hands.
In the next second, Chey found herself falling. Falling to the right, toward the ground, with a body impacting her from the left. A heavy, strong body that knocked the breath from her lungs when they landed. Grunting, she twisted beneath the weight of the attacker and jammed her heel against his shin. One fist swung out with the intent of cracking him—or her—on the jaw.
She landed both blows, for all the good it did her. The feel of short whiskers against her knuckles let her know it was a man that she'd struck. His head snapped to the side while his body sprawled, pinning her shoulders like a wrestler might.
“Get off me!” she shouted. She knew she was too far from the stables, from help, for her yelling to do any good.
A resonant voice thick with a Latvala accent sounded above her. “Hold still. Who are you and why are you riding unaccompanied through the woods?”
“I was told I could ride this trail, if you don't mind!” Chey stilled, breathing hard. The scent of both fresh and dried leaves beneath her vied with the masculine scent of leather, oil and a light, spicy musk she would have found pleasing any other time. Finally, she got a good look at her attacker as they both stopped struggling.
Glittery blue eyes the color of a clear sky glared down at her from a face shaped by a straight nose, defined cheek bones and a chiseled jaw. Hair so light brown it was nearly blonde, cut through with golden streaks from time in the sun, hung to the top of his shoulders. Half the front had been scraped back into a tiny ponytail that somehow made him seem all the more male. He wore a navy, thin ribbed sweater that outlined the hard muscles of his shoulders and chest.
Chey rarely thought of men as beautiful—but this one was.
He got up and pulled her with him, hardly out of breath for the chase and tumble to the ground.
“By who? Start talking before I arrest you and haul you to jail.” He didn't bother to brush clinging bits of debris from his navy dockers. Putting his hands on his narrow hips, he glared down at her from a height of at least six-three.
Shaking with anger, Chey acted before she thought. As if her hand had a mind of its own, she cracked her palm against his face. “I'm a guest of the Royal family, you ass. No one mentioned any escort when they said I was allowed to use the stables!”
His head barely twitched for the slap. Absorbing the impact, he narrowed his eyes and took a threatening step closer. “Visitors don't roam the lands without escort. I think I know the rules.”
Chey held her ground, chest rising and falling rapidly. How dare he. “Then I guess you need to check in with your superiors more often. Because I was given leeway to ride and explore as I please.”
“And just which member of the family are you a guest of?” he asked in a silky voice, like he didn't believe her. “Viia? Aurora? Can't be Natalia.”
“They flew me here from the United States to take pictures of the family and the grounds. I'm a guest here for the next four months,” she spat, wiping the side of her wrist against her mouth.
The rude man barked a laugh. “Is that so? A photographer, eh? What's the old man trying to do, capture the 'essence' of the Royal family and their holdings?”
Taken aback by his sarcasm, Chey narrowed her eyes. “Are you always this cynical about your employer?”
He pulled a cell phone from the front pocket of his trousers and took a few steps back. The man had the gall to smirk. “Sweetheart, if I find out you're the paparazzi, you're going to have a lot more to worry about than how cynical I am.”
“I'm telling you, I'm their guest--”
“So you've said. We'll find out soon enough, hm?” He pressed his thumb over the screen of his phone and put it to his ear. A rapid stream of his mother tongue hit the air, none of which Chey understood.
In between his conversation, he whistled toward the horses, both which stood nearby between two trees. The creatures wandered back, hooves clopping over leaves and other debris.
As full dark descended, Chey fretted about finding her way back to the stables. The last thing she wanted to do was ask this man for anything, directions included.
Lowering the phone, he slid it into his pocket. “Chey Sinclair, photographer for hire. Looks like your story pans out. Next time you go riding, do so before dark and stay out of the woods.”
“But I plan to come back here tomorrow morning and take pictures by the lake. After all, I'm here to catch the essence of Latvala, lakes and landscape included.” If it took her all night to find her way back to the castle, then it was well worth the satisfaction she felt at not allowing him to order her around. Turning away, she brushed at her clothing and approached the buckskin mare.
“You're going to get yourself hurt, that's what. Do you even know your way home, little lady?” He strode up to his steed and swung up into the saddle with effortless ease.
“If I don't know the way home, surely the mare does.” Chey, sore from the tumble, refused to acknowledge it. Setting her foot in the stirrup, she mounted up and settled into the saddle. One look around confirmed her worst fear; she had no idea which way to go. Everything looked the same with the tall trees blocking sight of the castle and the darkness obliterating any trail she might have left in her headlong rush to evade him.
“I won't have more serious injuries on my conscious because you're too stubborn to ask for help. Follow me back to the main trail.” He reined his horse around and let it pick its way through the underbrush.
“And why should I ask anything from a man who sees fit to tackle innocent women to the ground?” Reluctantly, Chey gave her mare lead to follow.
“If you don't, you'll get lost out here. There are worse creatures to run across out here than myself,” he said with a laugh.
“Ugh.”
“What was that?”
“I had a bug in my throat.”
“Of course you did.”
“What was your name again?” she asked, feeling truculent and impatient to be away from his presence.
“Sander. That's S a n d--”
“I think I know how to spell it.”
“Sander Fisk, in case you need my last name when you turn me in to the proper authorities.”
Chey was grateful for the shadows that hid the stain on her cheeks. That had been precisely why she'd wanted to know his name. “That's funny. I thought you were the proper authorities.”
“I'm the head of security. That doesn't mean I'm exempt from reprimand. Watch the low branch.” He ducked under a heavy bough.
Chey did the same. “And how long have you worked for the Royal family?”
“All my life. I was raised here. My mother was a chef up until her death a few years back.”
No wonder he didn't seem worried over his job. Even if she mentioned his actions to Allar or Urmas, it was unlikely Sander would get so much as a dressing down. It was his job to protect the Royal family no matter what. She'd been a trespasser for all he knew.
Still. The entire ordeal irritated her.
“So quiet all of a sudden,” he said.
“I'm thinking.”
“It takes that much effort?” His voice was rife with laughter.
Chey glared at the back of his head. Or what she could see of it in the gloom. He was impossible. Refusing to be baited, she said nothing as they re-entered the main trail and turned toward the castle. She presumed, anyway. It was hidden behind the forest they rode through. Picking pieces of leaves and twigs from her clothing, she flicked them onto the ground. Then she gave the hem of the sweater a neat tug.
At the head of the path, where the meadow broke open away from the trees, Sander brought his horse to a halt. Chey drew alongside, breathing a sigh of relief to see the enormous castle in the near distance. Lights illuminated the surrounding wall and spilled out windows from many rooms and towers. It was beautiful even at night.
“I'm sure you can find your way from here,” he said, apparently not going any further.
“Of course I can. The stables are just over there.” She kneed her mare into a walk, anxious to put distance between them.
“You're welcome,” he said to her departing back, for gratitude she hadn't given him in leading her back to open ground. “Maybe next time you'll actually remember to bring your camera.”