By five a.m. the next morning, news of Sander's public address had spread worldwide. From a borrowed laptop, sitting in bed, Chey surfed the internet to see what people were saying. She found it incredible that there could be so many articles published in such a short amount of time. Most of the opinion pieces slanted in Sander's favor, stating in general that any woman who would try and trap a man with someone else's child, especially a member of Royalty, got what she deserved.

In this case, the criticism of Valentina was harsh. There were a few photos of the Princess skulking from a helicopter to a waiting sedan, head buried inside the hood of a coat so that her features were obscured by shadow. Weithan Isle itself suffered scathing commentary, and some reporters conjectured whether this incident would put a dent in the status of allies between the two countries.

A handful of reporters came down hard on Sander for choosing such a public delivery to end his marriage. Overall, it appeared most had sympathy in spades for the upcoming King. The attempt for a foreigner to try and seat a bastard on the throne was not looked kindly upon.

Later in the day, Aksel sent a written speech to the television stations where it was read by the anchors on the evening news. As everyone close to the event suspected, Aksel pretended to be shocked that Valentina would stoop to that level, and more, that he had supported her while she betrayed him and lied about her pregnancy. He expressed his pride in his son for ferreting out the truth and preventing someone not of their bloodline to ascend the throne.

All in all, Chey wasn't that surprised. She nibbled toast and fruit for breakfast while Sander flew across to the mainland to attend emergency meetings with legislators and advisers.

After lunch, she shut off all television, closed the laptop, and got to work unpacking the first of three boxes that had arrived from Seattle. Wynn had enclosed a note with Chey's most precious belongings.

C,

I hope you know what you're doing. If you need anything at all, call me. I'm dying to know what's going on, so let me know asap. Okay? Don't worry about your stuff. I know what to send and what to put away in storage. Soon as we can exchange email or phone numbers, contact me.

W.

Chey smiled and folded the note away with her things.

If she had her way, the only time she would be returning to Seattle was for random visits.

Latvala was her home now and this is where she intended to stay.

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The weeks between the announcement and the Christmas Holiday passed in a blur. Chey filled her down time learning every nook and cranny of Kallaster Castle, decorating for the season, and taking pictures as winter gripped the landscape. She thoroughly enjoyed walking the half moon bay in snow boots and a heavy parka, camera around her neck, snapping shots of whitecaps over a slate gray sea with snow laden trees stretching inland from the shore.

While Sander was home, she spent her time with him. They ate late dinners before the fireplace, talked about his day on the mainland, and lost themselves in each other when desire flared bright and hot between them. Sander's affections were as intense as they had ever been, with bursts of possession that left her gasping his name.

Five days before Christmas, during a lull in storms, Sander stole Chey away from the castle and flew them to Estonia for a whirlwind shopping trip. They took only two security members who dressed down like they did, all the better to blend in with the crowds.

From a huge mall to smaller shops, Sander whisked her around a decadent commercial district until, exhausted and loaded with bags, they returned to the island. Sander had encouraged her to stock up on things she might need, from clothes to shoes to dresses and heavier winter clothes than she currently owned.

She did not disappoint. It had been fun, even, to shop with abandon, although she discreetly checked price tags because it was ingrained in her DNA to search out sales. Several items were for Sander for Christmas, one for Mattias and still another for Mira. Something small but useful.

On Christmas Eve, Chey dressed carefully in a red gown that hugged her curves through the torso and flared out around her ankles. Wearing the diamonds Sander had bought what felt like a lifetime ago, she styled her hair into a coif of messy curls, leaving several strands to brush against her shoulders. Make up made her eyes dramatic, accentuated her cheekbones, and highlighted her lips.

She left the suite with a small gift in her hands, the one gift they promised each other they would open after a mysterious dinner Sander had arranged. The halls, banisters, ledges, tables and floors all sported some kind of decoration: ornamental swags, lighted garland strands, twinkle-lights, pine wreaths, figurines, Santas and an enormous tree that Sander brought in and placed in the center of the foyer. Chey had decorated it all, with Mira's help, and the effect was pleasing against the medieval castle backdrop.

Descending the stairs, she veered through the foyer, of which the lights had all been set to dim, and followed the archway into the large dining hall. She stopped when she saw Sander standing next to the elaborately laid table. He wore his military uniform, the navy blue with a silver and red sash, silver metal buttons and the belt with a sword attached.

What was going on? Was he leaving for some tour of duty, and chose tonight to tell her?

Stomach clenching uncomfortably, Chey approached the table, gaining his attention when she cleared her throat.

Sander glanced away from the window and raked her with a bold stare. His eyes lingered on the low cut of the bodice, the narrow nip of her waist, and the swirling hem at her feet.

“You look lovely,” he said, stepping away from the table. Two settings of China with gold inlay were positioned over Christmas themed mats of green with gold leafing around the edges. Candles flickered next to crystal glasses and a bucket of wine chilled to the side. The scent of food protected by covered silver platters wafted through the air, vying with pine and that of Sander's masculine cologne.

“Thank you. You're...in your uniform,” she pointed out needlessly. Chey set his gift down at the corner of the table, out of the way of the dinner arrangement.

“Yes, I am.” He stepped closer, one hand resting on the curve of her hip.

Chey looked up into his eyes, attempting to figure out what he was about to tell her. The hair prickled on the back of her neck when a fit of nerves hit. Did he have bad news? Was it his father? Had Aksel regained the upper hand?

Good grief—was she going back to Seattle?

“Are you being sent off somewhere?” she blurted, unable to keep quiet any longer. If it was bad news, she wanted it now.

Sander only curled a faint half smile for her question, which sent alarm bells clanging in Chey's head. Oh no. Just when she'd come to terms with Royalty, when she'd decided she would do anything and everything to stay. Now that she was in love, had moved across the world in secret, he was about to drop a bomb that would shatter her.

Taking her by the hand, Sander led her away from the dinner table back to the foyer. He walked slow, pacing himself, which just made Chey's heart trip hammer in her chest.

Near the eight foot Christmas tree, he paused. Only the glow from the tree lights and the lighted garland provided illumination, casting the scene into a surreal Holiday setting, reminiscent of a romantic painting.

“You're scaring me,” she whispered, staring up at his face.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” he said in a low voice. “I'll be here to protect you, keep you from harm. I have so far, have I not?”

Chey considered it. She was having a hard time concentrating thanks to the fear he was about to depart on some mission in another part of the world. “Yes. Even to the point of tackling me to the ground a time or two.”

A rumbling laugh spilled from his lips. “Exactly. So the only other thing,” he said, lowering to a knee. He held one of her hands, and produced a box in the other. “Is whether you will do me the honor of becoming my wife. Will you marry me, Chey Sinclair?”

Chey, who had just started to frown when he sank to a knee, suddenly gasped in shock. Her eyes flew from his face to the ornate little box of red and gold. A proposal was the very last thing she expected.

Sander released her fingers and opened the box. Nestled inside, a four carat Princess cut diamond in a platinum setting awaited. Smaller channel set diamonds decorated the band as well as a separate wedding ring to be worn along with it. The stones sparkled and shined in the flickering lights from the tree.

Chey's mind went on the fritz. What a bad time to blank out.

He was asking her to marry him. Marry him. Even though she knew it might one day be a possibility, this made everything real. She would sit at his side once he took the throne as his Queen.

It was overwhelming. Awe inspiring. Scary.

Sander knelt there with all the confidence in the world, a Prince on his knees, waiting patiently for her reply.

Chey stuttered, then said, “Yes. Yes, I'll marry you, Sander Darrion Ahtissari.”

He cut her a roguish grin, took the engagement ring out of the box, and slid it onto her left ring finger. Closing the box, he slid it into his jacket pocket and rose to his feet, wrapping an arm around her waist to bring her against him.

Chey laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “I can't believe we're engaged. How long have you known? When did you plan this?”

He kissed her long and hard, preventing any more questions or answers for several intense minutes. Once he broke the seal of their mouths, he stared down with a gloating kind of expression.

“That's for me to know and you never to find out. A man has to keep some secrets,” he retorted.

Dazed from the kiss, Chey touched her fingertips to her mouth, then looked at the ring in disbelief. What would the King and Queen say?

“Just how many more secrets do you have?” Chey asked, not above sassing Sander just because he'd proposed on Christmas Eve.

“Probably as many as you,” he said with a laugh. He kissed her again, silencing her scoff.

“I don't have any secrets. You know everything about me,” she said once she came up for air.

“Oh, I think there is quite a bit more about you I need to learn.” He leered playfully.

Chey blushed, getting the hint loud and clear. “You're incorrigible. It's impolite to talk about intimate things right after a proposal.”

“Then I guess it's downright inappropriate to do this, too,” he said, before swooping down to haul her, in all her finery, into his arms. He carried her like a groom might on his wedding night.

“Sander! What are you—put me down!” A pin fell out of Chey's hair. It landed on the floor. Another fell, and another.

“Afraid you'll lose a glass slipper?” Sander snorted, ignoring her protests. He also ignored the dinner waiting on the table and turned for the stairs instead.

Chey laughed despite herself. “I guess that makes you Prince Charming.”

“I guess it does. We have a handful of hours before midnight. Trust that I plan to put them all to good use.”

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