White.

White.

So cold.

Nothingness.

Cold again.

Bone-jarring, teeth-chattering cold.

The kind that gripped a man at his core and threatened to squeeze breath and life from his body.

Yet a fire burned within, battling against the frigid chill. An all-consuming fire that felt like it was trying to turn his insides to lava. Hot, cold. Cold, hot.

So cold.

Darkness.

A jolt woke Sander from his delirious slumber. Something bounced beneath him, jarring his spine. Slitting his eyes open, he saw white.

Nothing but white.

Memories surfaced of white-cold-hot. In some distant part of his mind, he realized he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while. How long, he didn’t know.

A loud buzz intruded, muffled by a fur-fringed hood half covering his head.

Snowmobiles.

The buzz was the engines of the snowmobiles.

Sander tried to lift his head. Couldn’t.

He tried to talk. Couldn’t do that either.

Curses rang through his head at his inability to shape words that someone might hear.

They made a break from the farmhouse.

Mattias, Gunnar, Leander. The guards? He didn’t know.

He wasn’t sitting up, but lying down, as if they’d found some kind of sled to pull him in. Tightness around his arms and thighs suggested he’d been strapped down.

Thoughts of Chey and his children snapped him into a higher realm of awareness. How many days had he been out? Were Chey and his unborn baby all right? Panic welled in his chest.

“Mattias!”

The snowmobile jarred over uneven terrain, engine buzzing steadily.

“Gunnar! Leander!”

Sander couldn’t tell if he was shouting or whispering. His teeth chattered relentlessly.

Struggling against the bonds, he attempted to free his arms. Whoever had strapped him in had done a bang-up job, because he could only move a few inches in any direction.

Exhaustion rose up, edging his vision in darkness. Obliterating the white-white world around him.

No.

He wouldn’t give in again. There was a way to get their attention and he would, even if it killed him.

Darkness crept closer. Sander closed his eyes and concentrated on remaining coherent. He had to get back to Chey and his kids. That was the most important thing.

He had to stay awake.

Had to get Mattias or Gunnar or Leander’s attention.

Cold.

So cold.

Chey paced the gloomy parlor with one hand braced low on her back. She couldn’t sit still. The mild exercise had helped to ease the pain in her belly and so she’d walked unhurried circles around the room, immensely relieved that no serious harm seemed to have come to her or her child. She sported minor bumps and bruises, a cut here or there, but nothing felt broken. Tomorrow she knew she would be sore as hell.

The lack of a fire in the fireplace meant the parlor was bone-chillingly cold; at least the incessant circuits she made from one end to the other kept the worst of the chill away. A single candle flickered atop an end table near the sofa, providing the only light to see by.

She needed to figure out what to do next. How to free herself from the parlor and take back control of the castle.

She should have sent Helina away immediately after discovering the witch had forced so many others into a whiteout. Having underestimated Helina’s ability and influence, Chey decided that was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

Chey turned when the parlor door opened and ceased pacing as Helina walked in. The former queen leaned heavily on a cane, her chin tilted at a regal angle. Someone had found the old bag a gray pair of slacks and two layers of sweaters to replace the dirty yellow outfit she’d arrived in.

A hundred words rushed to the end of Chey’s tongue, some biting and rude, some scathing and demeaning. Cautioning herself not to sink to that level, she chose the high road and addressed Helina cordially in a neutral voice.

“What do you intend to do?” Chey asked.

Helina did not immediately reply. Standing near the half-open door with two guards lurking in the hallway behind her, the former queen stared Chey down.

Refusing to buckle under the pressure, Chey returned Helina’s regard. This woman wasn’t Sander’s biological mother. Had, once upon a time, tried to have her killed. Now the former queen stood between her and her children, a grievous mistake as far as Chey was concerned.

“I find myself in a most fortunate, unexpected position,” Helina said. “I never dreamed Sander would leave your side, not while pregnant, and certainly not in these circumstances.” She waved a hand absently in the air, as if indicating the brutal weather that had befallen the kingdom. “You’ve been in Latvala long enough to know that power is everything. Control of Latvala should rightfully go to the real heir to the throne—my son, Mattias. I thought the prospect long dead. Not anymore.”

“He has a long line of people before him. Three living heirs, plus the one I’m carrying,” Chey countered.

Helina stared at Chey as if she found the girl amusingly slow.

The blatant silence spoke to Chey’s gut instinct. Trepidation and the first stirrings of fear left goose bumps on her skin. She said, “What about your attempted coercion with Elias? Thinking you would finish raising him and take control of the kingdom through him? What about those plans?”

“That was before I realized just what an opportunity sat before me. Elias is not of my blood, but Mattias is. I would rather see my own offspring on the throne than heirs from a bastard son.” A smile better suited to a snake curved Helina’s wrinkled lips. “I discovered I still have quite a loyal following among the advisors. The decision from there was not a difficult one. A wise queen flows with the changing tide, using everything to her advantage.”

“Mattias will never agree to it,” Chey said. She knew Mattias well. She understood his thought process and his feelings about Sander’s role as king. Mattias would never, in a million years, attempt to willingly overthrow his brother.

“He won’t have to agree to anything. You’re still missing the point, which justifies my position all along that an American, a foreigner, has no business making decisions for this country,” Helina said.

“Yet you’re a foreigner,” Chey pointed out. “That makes you a hypocrite in my eyes.”

“Except I know this world, Chey. You do not. You were not born into royalty, have never carried a title of any kind until you married Sander. You’ll bring this country to ruin with your naivety, have very nearly obliterated the royal line as it is by accepting hundreds of citizens into Kallaster. Your sole concern should be your children’s survival, but it is not. And that’s no one’s fault but your own. So now someone wiser and stronger and smarter has stepped in. This is the way it goes in monarchies, Chey. The weak falter, the strong survive.” Helina balanced one hand over the other on the head of her cane. “Mattias, son of Aksel and Helina, will take the throne. His children will rightfully inherit.”

Bristling at the mere suggestion she hadn’t put her children first, Chey said, “As usual, Helina, you’ve failed to see the bigger picture. You don’t know your children half as well as you think. Mattias is more loyal to Sander than he will ever be to you, and while he loves this country, and would do anything for it, he wouldn’t dream of usurping the title from his brother. You’ve wildly underestimated him.”

Helina exhaled a long-suffering sound. “Let me ask you a question, darling.” The condescending emphasis on the endearment rang loud and clear. “Since you seem to know Mattias so much better than I, what would Mattias do if all the heirs before him were dead?”

The sinister question had its intended effect. Chey marched across the room, furious and outraged, hands curled into painful fists at her side. Both guards stepped into the room at a quiet noise from Helina, putting themselves between Chey and the former queen.

Chey barged into one guard, uncaring that he wrapped a staying arm around her middle to prevent her from getting too physically close to Helina. “You cannot murder babies in cold blood! Even you are not that low, Helina. Look me in the eye and tell me that anyone in this castle would follow an order like that from you. Regardless of your treason, of your idea that your son will take the throne, everyone knows that Mattias would have their head if they so much as blinked twice at his niece and nephews. Never mind what he would do to you if he found out you had Sander killed.”

Out of breath with fury, Chey struggled against the strong arm that held her.

Helina clicked her tongue in apparent disappointment. “What makes you think I’ll have anyone murdered? Tsk. Have you not seen the weather outside? None of us have to do anything at all. Mother Nature will run its course. It’ll be a terrible tragedy, of course. All over the news once this weather breaks. I can’t decide if you and the children made a desperate break for the docks and the mainland, or if you misjudged your food rations and starved to death in the castle.”

Gasping at the sheer wickedness falling from Helina’s lips, Chey slapped the guard’s arm away from her body and took a step back. She was incredulous that Helina would plot such a devious end to Sander’s line. “You’re as much of a monster as you ever were, Helina. You won’t get away with it. Just like you didn’t get away with trying to have me killed in the beginning. Besides that, Sander is on his way here and he won’t let you hurt anyone. I promise you that.”

“I guess I forgot to mention that little detail,” Helina said in a thoughtful voice. The corner of her mouth quirked. “We intercepted a static-filled message on the satellite phone after Raune was locked up for insubordination. Joska has informed us that Sander didn’t make it. So no, Your Highness. Sander will not be riding to anyone’s rescue ever again. Make your peace, Chey. I’ll decide your fate tomorrow.”

“Liar! He is not dead!” Chey shouted. “These are more of your head games. He’s alive and he’s coming. But he’s not the one you should fear most, Helina. It’s me.”

Helina paused at the threshold of the doorway to look back. “Seeing as how you’re the one under lock and key, Chey, I doubt that.”

The guards retreated after Helina and shut the door. A rattle of the lock assured Chey no one had forgotten to secure her prison.

Dizzy with anger, and refusing to believe that Sander was dead, Chey swiveled around and scanned the parlor for weapons or ideas.

Helina only thought she had the upper hand here.

Pregnant or not, Chey wouldn’t give up without a fight.