Heir in Exile (Royals Book 3) Read online

  A few minutes later, when doubt began to surface again and fear niggled at her that she might be lost, Chey spied a five way stop ahead.

  “Yes! I remember that for sure.” Driving up to it, Chey put the SUV in park, engine idling, and leaned forward to stare out the windshield. This was an unmistakeable landmark. She was in the right place, on the right road.

  The only problem now was that she couldn't remember if she'd driven straight through, or had come in at one of the slight, angling roads. Chey hadn't bothered to look for road signs, and even if she had, there were none to be seen. No names, no other identifying marks to denote one path from another.

  “Okay, just think. Did you drive straight through, or did you veer off?” Imagining herself back in the driver's seat coming from the other direction, Chey attempted to figure out whether she turned or not.

  Putting the SUV in gear, she went straight through the intersection. To the best she could recall, Chey thought she hadn't swerved from the stop sign. At least she had a new starting point to work from if this road proved a dead end.

  Marking the mileage, she decided she'd give this one ten miles, then she would turn back.

  Just before she hit five miles, another road cut away to the right. Chey eased the car to a stop. In the distance, through a sparse stand of trees on the other side of a long meadow, she could just make out lights. The dark mass behind what she assumed was a structure suggested forest.

  “Bingo. Gotcha.” She cut the headlights. Turning down the smaller road, Chey inched forward, looking for a good place to pull off. She didn't want to park too far from the building, nor too close. If she needed a quick getaway, she didn't want to run a half mile to reach the vehicle.

  Judging she was about a quarter mile away, she pulled onto the shoulder, shut the engine off, and opened her door. She left the keys in the ignition. Climbing to the ground, she eased the door closed and broke into a jog. Ahead, the trees clustered together near the wall surrounding the building, providing extra cover when she cut overland from the road. Shoes crunching through the snow, Chey paced herself, breath coming in white puffs past her lips. It was rough going where the snow covered fist sized rocks that tripped her up when she stepped on them instead of over them.

  Reaching the trees, she ducked into the canopy and followed the line around toward the back of the property. This was the point she began hoping no one had found the broken basement door. If so, she imagined it would set off a chain reaction much like she'd written for her journal.

  Slowing to a walk, she paced herself. It wouldn't be a good idea to use all her energy this early.

  Following the trees to the back, she set her sights on the big bramble bush and the iron gate. Cutting into the open, obscured from the lower level by the wall, she jogged toward the gate, wary of dogs, guards and anything else that might suddenly jump out at her from the gloom.

  To her surprise, she found the gate as she had the last time, latched but not locked. Opening it a fraction, she checked the flat ground between the wall and the building. No dogs. At least none in sight. No sentinel, either. Steadying her breathing, she slipped inside, closed the gate, and crouched to run the rest of the way to the basement stairs. Slinking down those, careful not to slip on ice, she came upon the door.

  She saw the crack between the door itself and the frame, suggesting it was sitting just as it was when she'd closed it last. The latch wouldn't fasten thanks to splintered wood, meaning the door would remain open a couple inches until someone fixed it.

  Entering just enough to get a good look at the basement, she discerned no one was down there gathering wood or anything else. Closing the door as it had been, she stepped over to the wall and eased along the stone toward the stairway to the main level. Pausing at the base, she opened her coat and unzipped the fanny pack to allow for quicker, quieter access. She wouldn't know if she needed the tweezers or needle until she saw whether the man was awake or how many clothes he had on.

  Creeping up the stairs, she came to the landing and opened the door.

  This was it. There was no changing her mind now.

  As before, the lower level remained dimly lit. Chey could see both directions down the hall. No guards lurked at either end, or anyone else for that matter, making it easier for Chey to skulk through the shadows, up the staircase leading to the second floor, and along another main hall with many doors opening off into private bedrooms.

  Feeling exposed, she sought a dark, empty room that allowed her to get out of the hallway where anyone might see her. The man could be anywhere. Chey had counted no less than eight doors she would have to search behind in order to track him down. She didn't want to consider what the odds were that someone would still be awake this late and catch her at her game.

  Determined to continue, she plotted her course and exited the bedroom, choosing the door directly across from the room she hid in. Not giving herself time to think, she grasped the knob and went in. Stealth was imperative. Meager light from the hall slanted into the bedroom, highlighting several things at once: a pretty bed against the far wall, fluffy stuffed animals lined up on a decidedly feminine dresser and a girly lampshade with little sparkly crystals dangling off the edge. The shape of a slim body could be seen under the covers, a blonde swath of hair spilling across a pillow.

  Chey took in all those minute details in a heartbeat. Backing out of the room, she eased the door closed and moved to the next. No one needed to tell her that was not the place she would find who she sought.

  The next room also had feminine trappings, and the one after that. Chey stifled frustration while at the same time thanking her lucky stars that all the occupants had been asleep. Entering the fourth room, Chey peered into the gloom. Right away she discerned the masculine furniture and color scheme. While it appeared to be a well situated space, the décor was nothing befitting a Royal, abandoned or not. Unlike the others, the bed proved to be empty.

  Chey wondered if this was the brother's room. If so, where was he? She had not heard the strains of a violin, so the likelihood of him playing in the music room was slim. The longer she stood there, the more Chey believed a teenage boy lived here rather than a grown man. It had that feel to it.

  Backing out, she closed the door and went to the next, bracing herself before swinging it open. A startled gasp greeted Chey immediately. From the bed, a woman flipped over on the mattress and angrily broke into the language of Latvala, gesturing 'get out' with one hand.

  This is it. You've done it now, Chey girl. She's going to call the guards and you're going to wind up behind bars. Even while the mantra ran through her mind, Chey retreated, closing the door. She stood there, right there, while pinpricks of shock raced along her arms and legs. Crap. Although she'd known this would happen eventually, and prepared herself for coming face to face with someone who wasn't the man she needed, it was still a bigger surprise than she thought it would be.

  It occurred to Chey that the woman, who did not call out for guards or chase her into the hall, probably hadn't been able to see Chey very well. Backlit by light, all that woman had made out was Chey's silhouette. Perhaps she thought it was one of the other girls, someone coming in to play a prank or bother her.

  Chey looked up and down the hall. She knew she needed to move. Unfreeze her feet. This was a bad time to blank.

  Galvanized into motion, she hit the following door, the last in this row on this side of the hall. She went in a little too fast, albeit quiet, and scanned the space while her mind raced.

  Straddling a chair backwards, a man sat near his window, the glow of the moon bathing his disfigured features. Arms laced across the back of the seat, he stared pensively out the panes, spine relaxed into a slight curve, feet on the ground. He was fully clothed, from a flannel over a tee-shirt to heavy tread boots.

  The split second glimpse of the man in repose vanished when he popped up straight and looked at the door. At her. Chey knew this was the man she needed. Struck again by just how much he
resembled Sander, she had no time to dwell on it before the man frowned and clipped out a word in his native tongue.

  Questioning her, no doubt, over why she'd just barged in his room with no knock, no warning.

  Chey hadn't expected to find him fully coherent and alert. Panic made it hard to think. Rushing him would end up badly for her, she knew that without being told. He would overpower her in a second. Just like Sander. Chey was no physical match for this man.

  He cut another word out, sitting up even straighter.

  You're lingering too long! Think, think, think! Do something! Make a plan. Figure it out.

  While she ranted at herself, the man pushed up out of the chair.

  That was all it took. Chey pivoted and ran down the hallway, looking ahead to the dark doorway on her right where she'd hidden the first time. If she could duck in there, maybe he would run by, give up searching eventually, and she could sneak back when he went to sleep—eventually—and get her sample.

  He was quick. Too quick. Chey felt him closing the distance and gave up on the idea of hiding. She hit the stairs and went down as fast as she dared. Panting terrified breaths, she didn't give up on a plan, was too determined to get answers for Sander. There had to be a way to salvage the situation.

  At least the man hadn't called out for guards.

  Hitting the first floor at a run, she veered down the hallway toward the door to the basement. She felt fingers graze her shoulder and almost screamed.

  He was right behind her. She wouldn't make it to the basement without him catching her. Darting to the stairwell, she wrenched the door open. He grasped her elbow with another curt word on his tongue.

  Chey wrenched free, grappling with him, nearly losing her footing as she went down the basement stairs.

  And then she did lose her footing, balance going askew as she flew forward, hands out to brace her fall.

  No one had to tell her this was going to be a hard, devastating landing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The steel band of an arm caught her around the ribs and prevented Chey from taking a header to the cement floor. Surprised at the almost gentle way he handled her, she regained her feet with his help, bumbled down the final steps and turned around when he released her.

  This close, she could see the sunken eye socket, the caved in part of his forehead. His cheek on that side also looked a little funny, though his mouth was fine, as was his jaw and chin on both sides.

  Regardless of all that, she still had the impression that it was Sander bearing down on her instead of a strange man.

  He cut another few curt words into the air, appearing puzzled.

  Chey couldn't believe he wasn't calling down guards or attacking her for trespassing. Get the sample! Get pieces of hair, or prick his arm and gather the blood!

  “I'm not here to hurt anyone, I promise, I just--” Chey's explanation died when the man darted a look past her shoulder. His prominent eye gleamed, narrowed.

  Someone was behind her.

  Chey knew it because her sixth sense had also kicked in, sending chills over her skin and the hair up on the back of her neck. She yelped when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her.

  “You're in more trouble than you can even imagine,” Sander said at her ear. Then he broke into his mother tongue, addressing the stranger.

  Gasping, Chey looked back and up. Sander's distinct scent swamped her even as the familiar shape of his body imprinted itself on her back. She glanced between the men, easing in Sander's arms until she stood on her own merit.

  “I thought you were in Barbados!” Chey couldn't believe Sander was standing there in the basement with her. Had he been lying about his location the whole time? He gave her a brief, withering look that sent hackles of anger up in place of the chills. Any other time, Chey would have lit into him.

  Face to face, there was no denying these men were related. They stared at each other while the stranger returned a calm, somewhat bemused sounding reply to Sander.

  “Do you speak English?” Sander asked.

  “Yes,” the man replied. His accent was heavier than Sander's, voice raspy and low.

  Chey tugged at the hem of her jacket while attempting to calm the frantic pace of her heart.

  “I am Sander--”

  “I know who you are,” the man said. “I am called Laur.”

  “Good, Laur. Then you must realize we are somehow related,” Sander said, extending his hand.

  The stranger clasped it and shook, still staring hard at Sander's face. “I have known a long while, even though they try to hide it from me.”

  Sander shook and released. “Yes, they have hidden it from...everyone. This is Chey—who is not supposed to be here.”

  Chey tightened her lips and glared at Sander a moment before turning a tentative smile on Laur. “Sorry about all this skulking around. I believed it necessary.”

  Laur extended a hand to shake with her as well. He seemed so much like a gentle giant, capable of doing mass damage if you rubbed him the wrong way.

  “Chey,” he said. “I take no offense.”

  Chey shook his hand. “Laur. You might have if I'd had time to pluck some hairs out of your head or pricked you to take a blood sample.”

  At least she was honest. Chey felt Sander's ire grow by leaps and bounds. She refused to look at him.

  “For what reason?” Laur asked.

  “We don't have a lot of time. To make a long story short—we would like to find out if you are Queen Helina and King Aksel's son. Their real firstborn. For that, we need a hair or blood sample--”

  “Or saliva. That would be easiest,” Chey interjected. She sensed Sander boring a look into the side of her head, and she returned a haughty, irritated glare of her own.

  The gleam of his blue eyes promised retribution.

  “I am willing,” Laur said, inadvertently interrupting the stare down.

  “Thank you,” Sander said, returning his attention to his likely brother. “Once we find out for certain and deal with other problems arising from all this, perhaps you would do me the honor of visiting my house for a longer, less clandestine conversation.”

  “I have everything we need.” Chey fished out the swabs and the baggie.

  “I would be pleased, and I will say nothing of your visit here this evening,” Laur replied.

  Chey was struck by how cultured he seemed despite everything else. She extended two swabs. “Just take each one and smear the tip along the underside of your lip.”

  “Thank you,” Sander said. “Discretion is imperative for everyone's safety.”

  Chey knew without being told that Sander was gently warning Laur that he could be in danger as well. If the King and Queen thought news would get out over Laur's birthright, would they take steps to eliminate him? She shuddered at the thought.

  Laur took the swabs from her fingers and followed her directions exactly. Chey opened the baggie for Laur to drop the swabs in. Once he did, she sealed the baggie, rolled it up around the swabs, and stuck it back into the fanny pack.

  This entire ordeal was turning out much different than Chey expected.

  “I understand.” The gravity in Laur's reply suggested he understood what Sander said, and also what Sander did not say.

  “Excellent. As much as I would like to stay, I know there are guards here. We must be away before the alarm is raised,” Sander said, hooking his fingers under the crook of Chey's elbow. “I look forward to the next time, Laur.”

  “As I. Should the guards rise, I will distract them,” he said, following Sander and Chey to the busted basement door. He touched the splintered edge and glanced at Chey.

  She gave him a contrite little smile that vanished the second Sander 'escorted' her outside.

  The men traded a few more words in their own tongue. Then Sander hustled her by the elbow to the outer wall, through the iron gate and away from the building. They went low and fast, coming upon Mattias and another two guards waiting in the trees.
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  Well. That was just fabulous. The whole lot of them were in on it. Chey withheld any blistering diatribe while they jogged overland in the direction of the parked SUV. A cramp developed low in her stomach halfway there, but she refused to stop or even pause. Hell would have to freeze over before she would show one ounce of weakness.

  She wasn't surprised to see another SUV from Mattias's house parked behind the one she'd borrowed. It inflamed her further to know they must have realized she would make an attempt and simply followed her here or however it was they found her. She opened the back door when Sander reached to do the same and climbed in without his help. Just before the door closed, she heard him snarl a low noise of discontent and frustration.

  Good. Now he knew how she felt.

  A few minutes later, with guards driving both SUVs, they were on the road back to Mattias's.

  . . .

  “What were you thinking?” Sander thundered the second they entered the house through the side garage door.

  Chey's mouth opened in disbelief that he didn't wait for Mattias and the guards to properly disperse—which they did immediately following the bellow—before shouting at her.

  “Why did you lie? How dare you--”

  “Yet, it was all right for you to lie to Mattias?” Sander made quotation marks with his fingers in lieu of trying to mimic her voice. “I'm tired, I think I'll go up to bed.” He dropped the finger quotes. “Was that not what you said? Which was a lie, when you were planning to leave all along.”

  Furious, Chey yanked off her coat and the blasted fanny pack. Mattias had possession of the swabs in preparation for having them sent to a lab for testing. She tossed her things onto an extra chair sitting against a wall as they stormed through the house. “You should have taken me more seriously, then! I'm not completely helpless--”