Chapter Five
Chey stood in the big garden, or the King's Garden, as dusk fell across the landscape. She studied the angle she'd set the camera up to capture, a picturesque view of a square arch overflowing with small, climbing roses. Greenery surrounded it and not far beyond, a fountain of cherubs burbled merrily. It would make a great backdrop for a family photo.
Since her return to the castle, security had been tightened even more than usual. Men and military stood guard in the halls, at the doors, and around the courtyards and perimeter of the grounds. Allar had no new information to give her. He reassured her everything was being done to track down the perpetrator and left it at that.
Not that Chey expected regular updates. She was sure she probably wouldn't ever hear what became of the incident in the woods. The security didn't owe her any explanations.
She had her equipment back in one piece and for that she was grateful. While she waited for the family, she found her phone among the bags and entered Sander's number into the short contact list. She sent a text as promised.
Back safe and sound. Look forward to canoeing. C.
Putting the phone away just as she heard a mild commotion at the doors to the garden, Chey smoothed her palm over the new suit she'd changed into. Dove gray with a pink shirt beneath, it made her feel businesslike and professional. For this assignment, she knew she needed to dress appropriately and had brought every suit she owned.
Into the King's Garden swept Viia, heels cracking over the stone walkway. She looked smart and sharp in a black skirt suit with white accents. Pulled back into a sleek chignon, the severe style of her blonde hair accentuated the high perfection of her cheekbones and the lush shape of her red painted mouth. She glanced briefly at Chey on the way by, dismissing her just as fast.
Remembering Mattias' request, Chey stepped behind the camera and snapped a few shots without the flash. She caught Viia looking somewhat perturbed—which was, as far as Chey could tell, a normal expression for her—and impatient.
It wasn't her fault the woman was constantly in a sour mood.
Aurora entered the garden next, subdued in a fragile peach dress that swished around her calves.
“It would have made for a better portrait, Aurora, if you'd worn something less...frilly,” Viia said with a skeptical look at Aurora's dress.
“Paavo wanted me to wear this one. He's in his gray suit.” Aurora didn't glance at Chey as she approached Viia and the rose covered arch. “Besides. You're not quite of the family yet. If and when you are, then you'll be wearing more appropriate clothing.”
The stinging words caught Chey by surprise. She straightened behind the camera just as Viia leveled a scathing look on Aurora.
“Need I remind you, Aurora, that should I become his wife, you'll be ranked lower than me?” Viia said. “And then I'll be setting the standard for what's proper and what's not.”
The complications of being involved in a Royal setting became clear to Chey in less than two days on the property. A fight for power and position reigned, with the lower ranking women squabbling over who would set trends and standards. The hierarchy was tedious, tenuous. She wondered how many more secrets the family harbored besides a possibly alcoholic Princess.
“Frankly, Viia, if you haven't secured a ring and a proposal by now, I'd wonder over his intentions. Are you sure he's not using you to keep his mother from setting up another situation, like what she's done with Dare? Trying to force him into marriage?” Aurora faced Viia down, flicking the floating hem of her peach dress around her calves.
Any other time, Chey would have loved to capture some of the looks these women were trading on camera. It added a whole new sphere to understanding the intricacies of the Royals. Things not seen by the general public.
She didn't dare, however. If either woman caught her at it they would throw fits, she was sure of it. As it was, she pretended like she wasn't paying any attention to the tension, fiddling with the camera instead.
“Did you catch any of that?” a masculine voice said near her ear.
Chey twitched in surprise and straightened. Mattias stood at her side, so close she could smell his masculine cologne. She hadn't heard him enter the garden, too caught up in the melodrama with the girls.
“I...no. I didn't think it wise.” Chey whispered, as if that might help keep her and Mattias's conversation under the radar. It did not. A hush fell over the garden, broken only by the trickle of water from the fountains and the chirp of birds. In periphery, she saw Viia and Aurora both staring their way. The guards at the doors stared, too. Fidgeting, Chey glanced from Mattias's chin to his eyes. He looked both devious and mischievous, like he knew very well the scene he was creating. Chey widened her own eyes a little, as if to say, What the hell are you doing?
He touched her shoulder with his palm. “You're doing a fantastic job. Keep up the good work.”
“Thank you, your Highness.” Chey matched the slight raise in volume to allow everyone else to hear what they were saying.
Mattias winked and stepped away, strolling with familiar leonine grace toward the formerly arguing women. “Ladies.”
Chey caught an absolutely feral look from Viia. Refusing to show any kind of emotion or response, she went back to adjusting her gear, preparing for the session.
A round of greetings ensued with the group, in their own tongue, and shortly after, Paavo joined them. He passed a cordial, distracted smile to Chey and gathered Aurora into the circle of his arm.
Mattias's voice sharpened enough to draw Chey's attention back to the quartet in time to see Viia's expression falter. Whatever he said must have been withering for her to lose her austere poise.
“It will just be us this afternoon, Miss Sinclair. Commence when ready,” Mattias said after turning away from Viia.
And so the session began. Chey knew ahead of time what the Royals wanted in general terms for photos. The women alone, with their man, the brothers both together and separate. She had been informed that the King and Queen would not be attending as originally planned, probably due to the shooting though no one confirmed it. Allar and Urmas hovered in periphery, ready to go between should it be necessary.
Once, when Chey made eye contact with Viia, she recognized a clear warning in the other woman's gaze. What did Viia think she was going to do...make a try for Mattias? The thought was laughable. Mattias flirted with Chey because he had an agenda. He wanted private pictures of Viia, that was all. Maybe it was in his nature to be a rogue as well as a Royal.
At least he didn't have a stick lodged up his backside, like some of the women.
Finishing the session just before dark, Chey began breaking down her equipment. As the Royals filed out of the King's garden, Chey caught Mattias's gaze.
He smiled with his eyes instead of his mouth before escorting a haughty, openly irritated Viia into the castle proper. Bemused, Chey carried the camera and the tripod back toward her room. An aid assigned to help Chey with her equipment followed in her wake with the rest.
Arriving at her bedroom, Chey discovered the door open and a cart sitting outside in the hallway. Ingel, the head of the household staff, was inside with another, younger woman with fresh towels folded in her arms.
“Miss Sinclair, we will be out of your way shortly,” Ingel said with a friendly smile. She wore her silver streaked brown hair secured into a tight knot at the back of her head, one hand smoothing the strands near her nape.
“No rush, Ingel. Take your time.” Chey, who had several interactions with Ingel already, returned her smile with a sincere one of her own. The woman, who exuded professionalism from top to bottom, also had a motherly air Chey found appealing. Ingel's eyes warmed with affection often and the faint wrinkles around the sides of her mouth only made her look sweeter, instead of older.
The younger woman, black haired and brown eyed, bobbed a nod before taking the new towels into the expansive bathroom to replace the old ones that had been already removed.
Chey set down her camera and the tripod, mouthing a hello to the young woman, and gestured for the aid to leave the rest of the equipment by the door.
“Thanks, I'll get it from here,” Chey said.
He gave Chey a curt nod and departed.
“You have finished another session?” Ingel inquired, straightening the corner of the coverlet on the bed.
“Yes. My second full shoot since I've been here.” Chey moved the equipment closer to the wall out of their way. The young woman swept past on her way to the cart, bringing in a few little bottles of body oil and lotion, among other things. It was almost, Chey thought, like being in an upscale hotel.
“Very good,” Ingel said, walking over to pick up a duster off the dresser. “If you need anything else, please ring down.”
“I will. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, darling.” Ingel shooed the younger woman out ahead of her and closed the door in her wake.
Left alone with her thoughts, Chey exhaled. What a long, complicated day. The staff and the Royals functioned as if there hadn't been an unknown shooter in the woods—maybe the perpetrator had been caught, or someone came forth to admit they'd been shooting when they weren't supposed to be. It drove Chey a little crazy to be just enough out of the loop that she wouldn't be told that kind of information. And why should she? She was a stranger here, brought in to work, not get embroiled into Royal affairs.
And yet that's exactly where she found herself after the confrontation with Natalia in the Queen's garden.
Catching sight of her equipment by the door, Chey remembered the text she'd sent to Sander earlier. Walking over, she crouched down and fished her phone from one of the bags. Set to vibrate so it wouldn't disturb her session, she turned it on and checked her messages.
There, as promised, was a text from Sander: Day after tomorrow. Meet me at the lake. 6 a.m. sharp.
Chey didn't have a session that day at all, as far as she knew. Getting her fingers on the screen, she typed in a reply: Perfect. See you then. C.
Ready to call it a day, suffering another bout of jet lag, Chey slipped the phone away and got ready for bed.
Tomorrow was a private photo shoot with the King and Queen. She wanted to be well rested and prepared for anything.
. . .
The only warning Chey had for the impending attack was a prickle at the back of her mind. That faint inner alert that kicked in as if the subconscious knew that danger was imminent. Caught in a dream, it took her too long to rise out of the haze and respond to the threat.
Two things happened simultaneously; a knee jammed itself into her diaphragm and a strong pair of hands pinned her head to the pillow with a blindfold stretched between them. The pressure of the knee made it difficult to breathe, much less scream.
“Listen,” a voice whispered near Chey's cheek. It was rough, like the person spoke through a mask or some other muffling device.
Chey grabbed the intruder's gloved wrists and yanked to no avail. The attacker had the advantage of leverage, which they used with merciless precision.
“Stop moving and listen or you won't like what happens next.”
Unable to make out whether the voice was male or female, Chey ceased struggling. Breath short in her throat, she could do nothing but what the attacker wanted. The knee in her stomach made every respiration burn.
“There will be no more midnight forays through the castle taking pictures. No more clandestine visits to the garden. That is not a part of your job.”
Chey wanted to argue that it was her job to wander the castle at any hour, the walled garden excluded, to take as many pictures as she deemed fit.
“Do you understand?” the voice hissed, applying more pressure with their knee.
Chey wheezed, squirming uncomfortably on the mattress. “Yes, yes.”
“And there will be no more dallying with the Royal heir, Mattias, when you think no one else is watching. Someone here is always watching.”
“All right, all right.” Was this Natalia? Viia? Chey couldn't see the latter woman going to this extreme to press a point home. Then again, desperate people did desperate things and if she thought her position was threatened by a mere photographer, then there was no guarantee she wouldn't stoop to this.
“It would be most unfortunate for Allar or Urmas or someone else to find a precious artifact belonging to the Royals tucked away in your room.”
“I would never steal--”
“And if that is not enough incentive, then you should realize how easy it is to fall from the top of the stairs or a balcony to your death. It's happened before in this house.” The intruder grated out their threats with eerie confidence.
Had it really come to this in a matter of three days? Was her presence so threatening, so unwanted? She believed every word the attacker said. This was no random show of petulance or irritation. They would follow through if she did not do as they asked.
“I understand.” Chey, forced to shape the words more than speak them, groaned at the pain in her stomach. It was approaching intolerable.
“That is not good enough.” The attacker added more pressure with their knee.
“I said okay!” Little stars winked in and out at the edge of Chey's vision. She felt dizzy, nauseated.
The hands pinning the blindfold drew away with abrupt swiftness. Before Chey could sit up, take a swing or call out, the attacker struck with the back of their hand. A violent blow with enough force to knock her into the pillows. Stunned, temple throbbing, she saw the attacker's retreat as a flicker of shadow through a haze like dream. The snick of the closing door was the only sound the person made upon their exit.
It took Chey a full sixty seconds to blink away the fuzz and the nausea. Staggering out of bed, she propped herself up against the nightstand and concentrated on getting her breath back. Furious that someone had the audacity to attack her in her own bedroom, she shuffled to the door and threw it open. She wouldn't let them get away with this. Sticking her head out, she looked left and right along the broad, long hallway.
Nothing.
No shadow moving away.
It took Chey a second to realize why it was so hard to see; someone had doused all the lights along the walls. The only available illumination was what fell in the tall window panes at the far end of the hallway, which didn't reach all the way to her bedroom. Easing back, Chey closed her door. Leaning against it, she fought off another wave of dizziness and engaged the locks. That was something she hadn't done in her time here yet, but she would do so from now on.
Leaving the door, she made her way to the bathroom and flipped on the light. The long, gilt framed mirror above the clamshell sink reflected newly pale skin, a blush of color on her temple and eyes that looked haunted, even to Chey. Touching fingertips to what would become a bruise by morning, she winced and picked up the washcloth she'd used earlier to scrub her face. Rinsing it under the water, she dabbed it over the abrasion and braced the other hand against the edge of the counter.
She wasn't sure whether to get on her phone and call Allar or Urmas right now, or wait until morning. This couldn't go unreported. She wouldn't allow the intruder to threaten her, keep her from doing what she wanted to do in the off hours. If she wanted to walk the halls at night, taking pictures, or speak to Mattias, then she would.
For all her belligerence and rebellion, however, a little voice niggled in the back of her head. What if they follow through and plant false evidence in your room? The Royals will kick you out, possibly even have you arrested. At the very least, they'll ship you home and demand their money back. Money you've already spent. Some of it, anyway. Several thousand dollars that she couldn't replace.
And in no way shape or form did she want to end up in a foreign jail.
She also didn't want to end up dead.
Somehow, some way, her presence here was a threat to someone else. It threw new light on the shooting incident and for the first time, Chey felt certain it had been aimed toward her. A warning, perhaps, to go with the one she'd received tonight. It would explain the absence of anyone being apprehended for the shooting after a thorough search. Anyone in the castle from the guards to the staff to the drivers to the military to security could have shot that gun and not been caught. All they had to do was sink back into their position and go unnoticed as the search began.
Viia and Natalia both, the people with the most motive in Chey's mind, had the power and money to make it happen. They could have hired anyone and paid handsomely for the shooter to keep their mouth shut. Setting the washcloth down, Chey turned out the light and made her way back to bed. Unsettled, she crawled between the sheets and pulled the covers to her chin.
Any thoughts of sleep had been vanquished with the attack. All she could do now was wait until morning.