King and Kingdom (3 page)

“Sorry. Sometimes all this doesn't seem real.”

“Don't apologize. Your deer in the headlight look is amusing.” He closed his door and immediately slung an arm up behind her along the back of the seat, grinning like the devil himself.

“Stop being so smug.” She pinched his ribs.

Laughing, he curved his body away and set his hand on the armrest, where several buttons sat at his disposal. He depressed one that raised the privacy divider between the back of the car and the front.

Chey noted that this limousine was more lavish than the previous ones she'd ridden in. The seats were ivory leather, with steel gray carpeting on the floor and lighter gray around the rest of the interior. Thin strips of gold added accent around the small bar and the base of the seats. The family crest was present in gold as well on each door.

With an SUV in front and one following behind, the limousine pulled away from the castle and cruised through the tunnel toward the gate.

“What do you think?” he asked, settling in. Sander draped himself comfortably on the seat, knees tipped out, jacket open down the front.

Chey sought to get as comfortable as Sander looked. Resting her hands on her lap, she glanced out the windows, then across the seat.

“I won't lie. A part of me misses the cabin days,” she said. When Sander had been just the head of security and she had just been the photographer. Which she still was—and yet not. Everything had changed as she knew it. “The other part of me doesn't know what to do with all...this.” She gestured toward the interior of the limousine, indicating his lifestyle in general.

“There will always be cabin days. We can go back any time you want.” Sander tipped his gaze over the interior of the vehicle in the way a man did when he was immune to the luxury. “I suppose it is a little overwhelming.”

“A
little?”
Chey puffed a quiet laugh. “It's more than overwhelming. I'm just not used to it. I keep forgetting that someone else gets the door, and brings breakfast, and takes the luggage.”

“I have no problem with you carrying your own things. Except in the presence of foreign dignitaries or other people of importance. You'll be expected to accept it.” He studied her with an amused look.

The limousine cruised along the open road, picking up speed. On her left, the ocean glimmered like liquid satin under the moon. To the right, the meadows of Ahtissari land stretched into the darkness.

“And I'm guessing that's common. Meeting up with important people.” Chey was still trying to wrap her head around the reality of it all.

“Yes. Balls, formal dinners, soirees, luncheons, honorary ceremonies—you name it. It slows down in winter, but doesn't come to a complete stop. Then it gets crazy in spring and summer. I'll tell you a little secret though. I slip out often, like the Sander you got to know in the woods, and go among the people. Visit pastry shops, buy a paper, stop and talk. It makes security crazy because I insist they can't go with me. But the citizens of Latvala love it. I think they've come to expect my visits without all the guards. I was thinking maybe one day you'd like to go with me.”

Chey could see Sander doing exactly that. Dressing down, wandering from one shop to another, being normal like everyone else. It was one more thing that endeared him to her. “I'd really like that, yes.”

“Excellent,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased at her reply.

Considering all that, she looked out the windows. She wasn't sure, exactly, but she thought they were heading toward the private landing strip. Interesting. Where was he taking her? Getting back to the topic of soirees, she said, “The party I attended with Mattias was interesting. The little I got to see of it, anyway. Oh—who was that guy? Prince Severian or something?”

Sander's silence drew Chey's attention back across the car.

A pensive expression crossed his features. “He's third in line to the throne on Weithan Isle. Brother to the woman I'm supposed to marry.”

. . .

The transition from limo to private plane disrupted any retort Chey might have made about 'the woman I'm supposed to marry'. At least until they were ensconced in the familiar, plush seats, buckled in, and taxiing down the runway. This was another luxury she would never get used to: simply flying wherever on a whim, with no bother about reservations, long lines or busy terminals.

Finally, she pinned a look on Sander after the stewardess delivered a bottle of chilled water for her and a glass of some sort of liquor or another for him.

He eyed her like he knew what was coming and had his first drink.

“Just how serious is it?” she asked.

“How serious am I about her, or how serious is the situation regarding the marriage itself? I have no plans to walk down the aisle with her, but the King and Queen, along with their advisers and council members, have begun making private arrangements.”

Chey felt a stirring of anger. She straightened the leather piece over the arm of her chair, then straightened it again. Fidgeting. “And there is nothing you can do about that? I mean, if you say no, that should mean no, right?”

“They're making political arrangements, not wedding arrangements. One eventually leads to the other, however, and it won't be long until they apply pressure for a commitment.” He had another drink.

“It all seems very pointless to me. You won't do it, yet they're going ahead anyway. Why bother if they know you won't agree?” Chey didn't understand. She needed him to spell it out for her.

“Because they think I'll eventually change my mind. There have been,” he paused, then continued, “persuasions put in place.”

“What kind of persuasions?”

“The kind that remove me from my position in line to the throne.”

Chey gasped. “What? You can't be serious.”

“I'm absolutely serious. Valentina Novak is second in line to the throne in her country, quite powerful in her own right, and is well appointed in Royal circles. She's made all the right connections and knows how to use them. In short, she's a force to be reckoned with.”

“I suppose she supports this whole arranged marriage idea, too.” Chey couldn't see many women in their right mind turning down Sander for anything.

“She does.”

“How long have they been attempting to foist her off on you?”

“Mm...three years now, I guess?”

“
Three
years? I thought this was something relatively new.” Incredulous, Chey stared hard at Sander's profile. The blazer spread open wider when he raked a hand back through his hair and she had a difficult time not looking at his chest.

“No. I have resisted making anything serious, although I have spent time in her company.”

A spike of white-hot jealousy raged through Chey. What an unusual sensation. She wasn't used to feeling it. “Really.”

He glanced at her eyes. “Yes. Several times, I was duped into meeting her. Meaning the King's people made plans with her people and I arrived at a place thinking I was doing one thing, when in reality, I was doing another.”

“That's unbelievably forward,” she pointed out.

He laughed. “This is the way of it, Chey. I'm sorry if it sounds cold, but this is minor compared to some of the things that go on. Get used to it.” With an indifferent arch of his brows, he finished off his drink.

Chey leaned sideways in her seat, peering at his eyes.

He frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the Sander that tackled me off a horse. Because you must be an impostor. The Sander I got to know canoeing and in the old ruin of a castle wouldn't put up with tactics like that.”

“I never said I
stayed.
Why do you think they keep setting up meetings? Once I know what's going on, I usually take my leave.”

“Usually?”

“Every once in a while, I'm not in a position to depart.”

“What kind of position would that be?”

“Did you take classes on interrogation?” he asked with a laugh.

Relenting in the face of his humor—it was difficult to stay annoyed with him for long—Chey took a drink from her bottle. Then she said, “I'm waiting.”

“I can see that.”

Silence.

“The kind of position where other, important people were present and to simply walk away would have painted me in a bad light. Things I do in public will be remembered.”

“So really, she's a perfect match for you. Politically speaking.” Chey reclined into her seat once more. It bothered her on many levels to know that others in the Royal family wanted this match badly enough to resort to clandestine machinations.

“Politically speaking.”

Chey considered his tone. The implication was that although Valentina might be a good match politically, he wasn't interested on a personal level. She supposed she could take heart that Sander wasn't intent on seeing the charade through. He wasn't like Mattias, who would follow his orders regardless of his own personal feelings.

Or would he?

“And if they remove your right to ascend the throne?” She fiddled with the cap on the bottle then set it in the holder to the side of the chair.

“That's where it gets tricky. Right now, it's all just threats. The people of Latvala want me as their eventual King, and their voice is strong. Never mind it has been centuries since one heir was skipped to put another in his place.”

“But it
has
been done.”

“Yes.” He lidded his eyes and accepted a refreshed glass from the stewardess.

Chey watched him take a drink. The muscles of his throat contracted as he swallowed, bringing to mind several times when she'd had her mouth there.

“What?” he asked, before meeting her gaze. Like he'd felt her staring.

“Nothing. It's all very complicated and confusing for someone like me who isn't used to how this all works.” After giving him a small smile, she looked out the oval window at her shoulder. There wasn't anything to see, not even a glimmer of lights far below. Maybe they were still over water.

“I know it is. But you're handling it well so far.”

The warm praise turned Chey's attention back to Sander. “Really? Because I feel completely out of my depth here.”

“Of course you do. But back to a moment ago—you weren't thinking about complications. You were looking at my throat.”

“Yes. Yes, I was.” Why deny it? Sander knew her well.

“I bet I know what you were thinking, too.” His tone took a devilish turn.

Chey contained a smile with effort, but she knew her eyes were gleaming with intrigue and interest. “I bet you don't.”

He tilted his shoulders closer and mock whispered. “Come with me, and I'll tell you in private.”

“In private?” She couldn't see over the high back of the seat, but Chey had seen a short hall at the back of the plane and several doors.

“Yes.” He set his glass down and stood. Holding a hand out for her to take, he watched her eyes.

There was just no way she would pass this up. Removing her buckle, she took his hand and let him lead her through the plane. It was situated more like a luxury living room than not, with sofas facing each other, leather chairs at angles to one another, and a television screen tacked to a wall. She thought forty people could comfortably reside in the available seating. Passing a smaller door that proved to be a bathroom as well as the galley, Sander led her straight back and into a decadent bedroom that boasted a king sized bed, two dressers, one thick chair and two small closets. The color scheme matched the rest of the plane, lavish and expensive.

The door closed with a decisive click.

“But the stewardess will know--” Chey didn't get far with her surprised protest.

Sander stepped close and cupped her jaw in his hands. “Of course she'll know. It's hard to hide on a plane. So let me tell you what you were thinking, and then I'll open the door.”

Chey wasn't sure she wanted him to open the door. She all but melted in his hands, face tipped up to his. Another one of those surreal moments hit her broadside; she couldn't believe she was on a plane, in a Prince's arms, on the way to some exotic locale. “Okay. Tell me.”

“You were thinking about those times in bed when you almost left marks on my neck. And you weren't just thinking about leaving the marks, but the rest of it, too.” He cut her a knowing grin.

Chey rested her hands on his hips and basked in his attention. “I won't lie. That's exactly what I was thinking about. Good thing we didn't bet for real.”

Without warning, he kissed her. Hard and full, tongue searching out all the secret places of her mouth. Arching into him, she slid her hands around his back under the coat, following the shape of the muscle along his spine. He was built solid and sturdy, shoulders temporarily blocking out the room. The kiss changed angles and depth and became something more serious when she slipped a groan past his lips. Then it was a matter of shedding clothes along with her modesty; there would be no hiding what they'd done when they returned to their seats.