The man really had lost his mind. Chey's mouth fell open in shock. “You want me to what?”

“You heard me. The longer we stand here debating, the more likely I am to be found out.”

“You want me to pack--”

“Yes. The sooner the better. Get everything you'll need that you can't live without. Pictures, scrapbooks, whatever. You can call Wynn when we get there and ask her to put the rest in storage, or send you packages through the mail.” Sander set the empty glass on the side bar. He still hadn't removed his coat.

“There is no way I'm going to Latvala with you. Your father will have me knocked off before we can even get to the castle. I--”

“I'm not taking you to the castle. Well, not that castle. I'm taking you to my castle, which sits on one of the islands just off the coast of Latvala. It's my holding, procured under pressure and duress with my marriage to Valentina.”

“No.”

“Chey...”

“No. I will not go to Latvala to be your mistress while you and that whore go about the business of securing heirs for the good of the kingdom and--”

“Chey,” Sander said, a warning edge to his voice.

“Don't Chey me! You're asking me to commit adultery! I won't do it, I shouldn't have to.” Her fury knew no bounds. The nerve of him!

Sander glanced at his watch and exhaled a frustrated breath. He spat a curse, or what sounded like a curse, in his own language. “We're going to be late! I can put off leaving for maybe another twenty minutes, but that's it.”

“No.”

He broke away from the couch he was standing next to and strode toward her, expression determined.

One thing Chey had never been was afraid of Sander, and she wasn't afraid of him now. He wouldn't hurt her, at least not physically. Emotionally, well. He'd already done that. She stood her ground, chin lifting with just as much determination as he.

Once he was right in front of her, he placed both hands on the outsides of her shoulders and stared down into her eyes, pressing his point home with quiet urgency. “Do you trust me?”

“Sander, I--”

“Do you?”

She exhaled in frustration. “I did before you said I Do.”

“No, I mean do you trust me. Can you overlook what you think you know, judging by what you've seen, and have enough faith to just do what I ask, so I can explain it all later? Time is a real issue right now. I need you to trust me.” His words were sincere, his gaze pleading.

It threw Chey off to see him so intent. She smacked her hands on the outsides of her thighs. “So you're asking me, really, to move to Latvala. With the clothes on my back, so to speak.”

“Yes. At this point, you might have to ask Wynn to send you clothes or your personal things. We can't miss the take off window.”

“Sander, you're making this very difficult. I'm banned from your count--”

“Chey, we don't have time. Don't you think I know all that already? What do you think I've been doing since I left? Now come on.” He slid his hands down to hers and took a step back. There was vague desperation in his eyes, along with a sliver of hope.

She knew this was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Why was she even considering it all of a sudden? It would lead nowhere good. He was married. Married. Or was he trying to tell her that he'd set the whole thing up? And if so, did it still change the base fact that he was now spoken for? He'd said vows. He was even now wearing a ring. Valentina's ring. She took a step forward when their arms couldn't stretch any longer without breaking the clasp of their hands.

“Trust me. I'll explain everything on the plane,” he repeated, taking another step back. His hands, warm and strong, tugged hers.

With reluctance and warning bells going off in her head, she closed the distance by a foot. Then another.

“Good. Come on. Get your purse and let's go.” Sander laced his fingers with hers, turned, and gestured toward her bag on the way to the door.

Chey balked at first, digging her feet in. A thousand questions and worries plagued her mind. She snatched at her purse as they passed it, and followed him to the door.

This wasn't a good idea. Something awful was going to happen, like her head nailed to a spike outside the Ahtissari family seat when Aksel found out she was back.

The desperation she'd seen in Sander's eyes, however, worked magic on her. She found it, and him, hard to resist. Especially with him spouting all these things about trust. She did, didn't she? Trust him.

Yes.

Against her better judgment, she allowed him to hustle her out the door of the suite and down the hallway of the hotel.

Once she got on the plane, there would be no turning back.

---

---

Chey engaged in a staring contest with Sander as the plane leveled off and hit cruising altitude. He lounged in the luxurious seat across from her like a lion.

“Any time would be good, Sander,” she finally said, attempting to prompt him into some kind of explanation. She still felt mildly hostile and every mile that the plane put between her and Seattle only increased the sensation. To prompt him, she started with a point of curiosity. “What happened to the King?”

He made a sound between a scoff and a grunt, then raked a hand back through his hair. “He used what amounted to a sprained ankle to set his incredible plans into motion. None of us saw it coming.”

“So you're not King,” she said, stating the obvious.

“No. But what I've been doing the last week and a half or so will cement my right to take the throne once I overthrow him.”

“And that involved getting married to a woman you clearly seemed against marrying not so long ago?” She arched a brow and wished she had a stiff drink to help her through this conversation.

“Yes. You see, the King had been quite busy in the interim, behind all of our backs. Remember when Valentina said that our 'people' had made an agreement, one I distinctly said I had not agreed to?” He didn't wait for her to answer. “Not just an agreement, but plans, including dates and press releases that went out while I was gone. They released news of the wedding without my knowledge. Valentina had to have been aware. In fact, she was as complicit in all this as my father and mother.”

Chey frowned and decided not to interrupt with questions while he got rolling with details.

“Everyone but Mattias had been sucked into the ruse. The King called an official meeting, including all four brothers and Natalia along with the council and the highest legislators. During the night, unbeknownst to us, the King made a decree that unless I honored the strategic marriage set between Latvala and Weithan Isle, a marriage already announced in both countries, he would bequeath Kallaster Castle to Paavo. Paavo, of all people. Aksel went so far as to skip Mattias after me, which is beyond incredible.” Sander's expression took a dark turn.

“I'm not sure what that means,” she admitted, though she could tell by the look on Sander's face that it wasn't good news. Not for him, not for Mattias.

“Historically speaking, no heir has ever ascended the throne without Kallaster Castle being one of their holdings. Kallaster has been considered mine for the past four years. I've filled it with my belongings and staff, though I don't live there full time. So for him to strip me of what everyone has accepted as mine, my birthright, was shocking to say the least. See, ascension starts long before a King assumes the seat of power. There are a hundred small steps before the big one. Unofficially giving me Kallaster is one—doing it officially is another step altogether. What it all amounts to is the King flexing his muscle. Suggesting I might be overlooked for the throne didn't work. I ignored his threat. No one believed he would actually take action, least of all me.” Sander gestured with a hand; the stewardess arrived and he ordered vodka for him, a Tequila Sunrise for her.

Chey considered everything Sander said so far. Once the stewardess was gone, she said, “So this was his way of forcing you down the aisle. It's pretty blatant and ugly of him, I agree.” She leaned forward a few inches, holding his eyes. “It still doesn't change the fact that you're married.”

“What matters more to me—and the King is aware, because all Kings and Queens care about this—is public perception. He didn't just throw down an ace, he threatened to undermine the trust I've spent my whole life building with the people of our country. If I would have balked, or backed out, the King would have made it seem like I didn't have my countrymen's best interest at heart. Everyone is convinced this 'match' with Weithan Isle is necessary. There was no way I could have gracefully bowed out. Not with Valentina doing her part, playing as if this were already a done deal and that she knew I would follow through for the love of Latvala. I can't tell you how pissed off I was. Am,” he amended. He paused when the stewardess returned with their drinks.

Chey murmured her thanks and had a sip right away. Then another. “That's understandable. I saw the way the people responded to you in Vogeva. Without your security around and things.”

Sander, on the other hand, swigged half his tumbler down.

Between the hotel drinks and this one, it was the most Chey had ever seen Sander imbibe.

“Yes,” he said. “We—Mattias and I—had very little time to come up with a plan. A workable plan. Because I couldn't risk Kallaster falling into Paavo's hands, nor risk my reputation undergoing a thorough tarnishing thanks to the King, I agreed to the marriage while the council was still in session. I had to give them something. Anyway, once the meeting was over, I scrambled to set my plan in motion. Part of my condition was that I wanted to arrange the man who would marry us and our agenda after the ceremony. The council, the King and Valentina agreed. So I flew to London in the middle of the night and hired a stage actor I'm very good friends with. I knew I could trust him to keep his mouth shut about the act of treason he was about to perpetrate.”

Chey choked on her drink. “You hired an actor? That man wasn't really a Priest?”

“No.” He smiled, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. “While I was doing that, Mattias had a fake marriage certificate created. The scribe wrote it in a pretty but hard to read hand so that no one would be able to make out the words unless they sat down with it and scanned it personally. What Valentina signed was a confession of duplicity, not a marriage contract. Her people were so busy planning all the frivolous frippery regarding her trousseau—or whatever the hell it's called—no one bothered to read the fine print, as it were.”

Stunned to her core, Chey studied Sander's features in disbelief. “So wait, are you saying you're not actually married?”

“Not technically, no. I said vows, I went through the motions, but I was acting right along with the Priest. I meant none of it. But I covered my ass publicly, and I also obtained this.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a digital recorder. After a moment of pressing a button or two on the screen, Valentina's cultured voice came through amidst faint laughter in the background.

“Well, Prince Dare didn't have a choice. Who knew that such a man could be manipulated with a few well placed decisions and limitations. I guess I know what to do when we're man and wife.”

A titter of feminine laughter followed, as if a group of women hid their amusement behind their hands.

“I am surprised to hear he's threatening to pass it to Paavo, though. Mattias is now one of the ten most eligible bachelors thanks to you finagling Dare off the market,” one woman said.

Valentina replied, “Paavo has the ambition. He's already engaged to a woman approved by the Crown. There won't be any bucking of the system. Dare should have known he couldn't get his way.”

Another woman asked, “Don't you feel the least bit guilty about going behind Dare's back with the King?”

“Would you, if it brought you the title of Queen?” Valentina replied. “I would have done a lot more than twist his arm to gain that. I'll never rule Weithan Isle—but ruling Latvala will be so much better.” Valentina muffled another laugh with the women. It sounded like they were at some sort of gathering.

Sander clicked the recorder off.

Chey glanced between the device and Sander's eyes.

“This is just a small part of the conversation. There's more. A lot more. She gloated about her success at a party I arranged and had infiltrated with people whose mission it was to get this very thing. I turned the tables on Valentina and the King both,” he said, sliding the recorder away.

“But how will you use it?” Chey asked, more than a little amazed at the intrigue and deception going on with both sides. Not that she blamed Sander after what almost happened.

“Blackmail, of course. Valentina will not like the idea of her name being tarnished in all the high circles, which is exactly how I'll work the whole thing back in my favor. She has a big secret to hide, which I will expose when the time is right.” Sander gestured to the stewardess for a refill. She came to claim his glass and stepped away.

“What secret is that?” Chey asked, settling back in her seat. The whole thing was much more complex than she would have ever imagined. Sander hadn't just gone home and forgotten her. He'd gone home and been under siege as he called it, fighting for his political—and personal—life.

Sander accepted the new drink, took a measured sip, then said, “She's pregnant.”