On his way to confront Helina, Sander stopped long enough to speak with one of the military members. He got right to the point. “What’s the weather look like?”

“A lot of clouds. Looks like it might snow,” the man reported, mouth quirking unhappily.

“But it’s not snowing yet?” Sander asked.

“Not yet, Your Majesty.”

“Keep me apprised.” Sander left the man there and stalked through the gloomy hallways. Traversing the layout by memory, not needing extra light to see by, he approached the room where Helina was being kept and waited while the guard unlocked the door. Then he swept inside without warning, and the door closed behind him with a quiet click instead of a satisfying slam.

Helina sat on a sofa, haggard face half lit by a single, low-burning candle. She looked much older than Sander remembered, her wrinkles deeper, eyes slightly sunk into their sockets.

“Mmm.” It was the only sound Helina made.

“Disappointed Joska didn’t get the job done?” Sander took a shot in the dark. He assumed that Helina had prearranged the actions of the guard, that she’d somehow paid Joska off or blackmailed him to do her bidding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Helina said. Her voice had a crackly, brittle sound to it.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Sander paced opposite the sofa, his regard steady on the former queen. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised that she denied it, or had inwardly expected it all along. Helina didn’t need to be told that she was in a vast amount of trouble, and if she could spare herself a harsher sentence, she would.

“Of course you don’t. But we do, because Joska apparently didn’t appreciate the thought of having his fingernails ripped out one at a time, and squealed like a pig,” Sander said. He wasn’t above bluffing to try and force a confession from Helina. Torture was not Sander’s style, however, and Helina likely knew it.

The sickly, knowing smile that crossed Helina’s mouth moments later confirmed she didn’t believe him. “I may be old, Dare, but I have not forgotten your weak constitution toward things like torture. You forget that I raised you from birth, even though you were not of my own blood.”

“And thank God for that,” Sander said. “I can’t imagine a worse fate.”

Helina’s eyes narrowed.

Finally, Sander thought. He’d struck a nerve. “What matters is that I know Joska was involved in your scheme and, therefore, it adds to the already egregious counts against you. Deny involvement all you want, Helina. It will not change my mind or change the outcome of what I’m about to do.”

Helina scoffed. “And what is that, pray? Sending me to Macor to die, as you did my son?”

So Helina still burned with hate over Paavo’s death. Perhaps that was part of the reason she was here now, attempting a coup. Sander’s mouth curved into an unkind smile. There was no humor there, no benevolence. Paavo had taken his own life, and they both knew it. “That would be too kind, Helina. No, I think your sentence should be one fitting the crime of sending an innocent woman and her children to die in a snowstorm. Of attempting to overthrow a sitting sovereign. You need time to think long and hard about your actions, a place befitting someone gone mad with the need for vengeance.”

“Speak clearly, Sander Darrion, of your intentions for me,” Helina said. She was beginning to look concerned. Nervous.

“I believe my only option is to remand you to an asylum, in a nice room with padded walls so that you cannot ever hurt anyone else again. Or yourself, for that matter,” he said.

Gasping in outrage, Helina grasped the arm of the sofa and rose to her feet. If glares could shoot daggers, he would have been full of a thousand sharp knives.

“You would not dare!” she exclaimed. “I am the queen!”

“The former queen, sent into exile in disgrace,” Sander reminded her. “You deserve to live what remains of your life in a place where you have no control. Where others control you. What you eat, what you wear, what activities you are allowed to do. No more exile in luxurious castles with staff waiting on you hand and—”

“I will not allow such a breach of protocol! I—”

“You have no choice. I have already informed Mattias and Gunnar of my intentions, and they agree. As soon as it is possible to remove you from Kallaster, you will go straight to your new holdings.”

Helina’s body trembled as if the knowledge that her own sons had not stood to defend her made her literally weak in the knees. She lifted her chin, eyes glittering with hatred, clearly taken aback at the verdict he’d lain forth.

In a quiet voice, Sander said, “There are other kinds of torture, Helina, that do not involve one ounce of physical pain. I may not rejoice in it, but I’m well versed in its uses. You have long underestimated me, and it appears I have made the grave mistake of underestimating you. I am happy to say it is a mistake I will never make again. I hope you said your goodbyes to anyone you ever loved, because that was the last time you will see them.”

He turned toward the door.

“Sander! Sander, wait!” Helina cried, cane thumping against the floor.

He did not look back. Exiting the room, he strode down the hallway, spine stiff with resolution.

Pulled from sleep by a tickle against her cheek, Chey lifted a hand to brush at what she thought was an errant strand of hair. When she came into contact with a solid object, she opened her eyes to see Sander staring down. The back of his knuckle was the culprit of the tickle, and she grasped lightly onto his fingers, giving a squeeze.

“How long was I out?” she asked, blinking away the cobwebs of slumber. Fire crackled low in the fireplace, giving off more than enough illumination for her to see that Sander had shaved and changed.

“A few hours. Do you feel a little more rested?” he asked, gently easing her up from the chair.

Chey felt like she’d been mowed over by a bulldozer. The aches and soreness from her stairway fall were coming into full effect. It was not unmanageable pain, however, only annoying discomfort.

She’d dealt with worse.

“I do, yes. What happened?” she asked, swaying closer to press a kiss against his smooth jaw.

“What happened is that our military was able to make contact with Somero and Imatra. They were both hit hard by the same storms, but not quite as hard as we were. Somero has three more helicopters en route with supplies,” he said.

Although Chey was thrilled to hear about more aid, she’d actually been speaking of Helina and Urmas. She suspected Sander knew it, too. “Is it safe for them to fly?”

“They’re flying in bursts. Landing when or if they need to. It’s an act of desperation, much needed both here and on the mainland. Somero and Imatra, along with several other countries around the world, have pledged to send help as soon as travel allows,” Sander replied.

“And what about the weather?” she asked, lacing her fingers with his. She couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t stop breathing in the masculine scent that she’d missed so badly.

“The same. Cloudy, but no snow. It’s cold as hell, so the ground isn’t thawing at all, but we’re not under blizzard conditions and that’s a first step forward.” He squeezed her hand. “We’re going to make it.”

A tremulous smile curved Chey’s mouth. “I’ll feel better when the next round of supplies arrives, and when we don’t get another storm for at least two weeks. It seems like we might be at the beginning of the end, though, so I’m hopeful.”

“I hope so, too. Unless we’re entering a bizarre ice age, it has to end sometime,” Sander said, stroking his thumb across her skin. “I have something for you, though. Come on.”

Chey rose to her feet with his help. She kept two blankets wrapped around her shoulders. “What is it?”

“Something we both need.” He led her slowly from the room, navigating effortlessly toward the door.

“The sun is what we both need. About fifty days of ninety degree weather,” she said.

“It rarely ever reaches ninety degrees here, you know,” he reminded her, sounding amused.

“I know, but a girl can dream.” Curling her fingers tighter around his hand, Chey followed Sander from the room into the hallway. She expected him to guide her toward some other place on the main floor, and cocked a brow in surprise when he led her upstairs. He said nothing more as he walked her to the master suite and inside. There, an enormous fire crackled in the fireplace and a small table had been set for two. Several candles burned in tall iron holders, providing a little extra light.

“What’s this?” Chey asked, although the tableau spoke for itself.

Sander led her to a chair and settled her there. “It’s called dinner.”

“But . . .”

“No buts,” he said, seating himself opposite her.

Had the circumstances been different, she could have believed this was any other night, with Sander looking rakish and masculine while he wooed her over a meal. He looked the part, even if that hadn’t been his intention. The circumstances weren’t different, however, and her incessant concern over supplies rushed to the fore.

“I see that look on your face, and I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “A little bird told me that you haven’t been eating enough, and that’s my child you’re carrying, so you’re going to indulge for my sake.”

“Is that little bird’s name Wynn?” she retorted.

“Of course not. Never. Not even close to Wynn,” he said.

Chey snorted.

“I’ve been having as much as everyone else. Are you sure it’s a good idea to do this? Won’t it breed resentment when word gets around?” she asked. There was no plate in front of her yet, though Chey didn’t need for there to be one to mention the obvious.

“No. Because everyone else is having dinner, too.” Sander shirked decorum and rested his elbows on the small table.

Chey’s eyes widened. Before she could protest, Chef swooped in through the open doorway, arms laden with a tray. Like everyone else in the castle, the normally robust chef had thinned down over the course of the harsh winter. Her cheekbones stood more prominently beneath her skin and her apron strings had to be wrapped and tightened an extra time. Carrying the tray to Chey’s desk, Chef—who did not like to be called by her first name, Sondra—set it down and picked up a covered dish.

“For you, Your Highness,” she said, placing the dish before Chey.

“Thank you.” Chey didn’t look away from Sander’s eyes.

Chef delivered Sander a covered plate as well, along with a tall glass of water for each of them. After removing the tray from the desk, Chef bowed and exited the room, closing the door gently in her wake.

Lured by the smell of hot food despite her reservations, Chey lifted the cover and glanced down at the plate. It was simple fare: seasoned chicken, rice pilaf, and a side of instant potatoes. Although the portions were not enormous by regular restaurant standards, it looked like a huge amount of food to Chey. Far more than she was used to having at one time.

Her mouth watered.

“Don’t overthink it,” Sander said in a quiet voice, setting the cover to his own plate aside. He unrolled utensils from a napkin Chef had left atop the cover, picked up a fork, and stabbed a bite-sized piece of chicken. He ate with the voracious appetite of a starving man, chewing quick after lingering a moment to savor flavors and texture.

Chey decided to follow his lead. Suddenly, she felt hungrier than she had in months—ravenous, as if the entire plate of food wouldn’t be enough. She didn’t care that the rice or potatoes had come from a stash of instant packaging.

It was excellent.

Halfway through the meal, Chey set her fork down and smiled across the small table at Sander. “You were right. I needed this. I feel almost human again.”

“Good. We’ll probably need our strength in the coming days.” He reached across to lay his hand over hers and squeezed.

Chey loved feeling the rough calluses on his palm, and enjoyed the renewed spark she saw in his eyes.

She squeezed his fingers, then let go and got back to her food.

As she tucked the last bite between her lips, a knock came at the door.

“Come in,” Sander called, leaning back in his chair.

The door opened.

Mattias lingered on the threshold, his expression one of discontent. “It’s snowing. The wind’s picking up. Looks like it’ll be a blizzard before long.”

The warm, satisfying meal threatened to turn sour in Chey’s stomach. She glanced from Mattias to Sander, noting the flex of muscle in her husband’s jaw.

“That means all aid headed our way will be delayed,” Sander said. “Tell everyone to prepare as usual.”

Mattias nodded and closed the door upon his exit.