Free Heir in Exile by Danielle Bourdon Page B

thought.
    “What I want to know more than that, even, is why Helina agreed to accept me as her own. If this is all true, I would have imagined her to simply shun the maid and the baby, turning them both away from castle life to live elsewhere. Why did she choose to raise me as her own?” Sander asked.
    “That, brother, might be the million dollar question.” Mattias lifted his gaze and stared at Sander.
    “I have to agree. She doesn't seem the type to graciously accept her husband's child from another woman unless she was forced to,” Chey said.
    “Aksel specifically stated that Helina 'had no choice',” Sander added. “Under what circumstances would that be, I wonder?”
    “Unless it's all the lie we believe it to be, and she wasn't forced to do anything. She really is your mother, and all they want is an easy fix for your exile. He's pulling out all the stops,” Mattias said.
    “He's also stalling. I can't figure out why. He tried to refuse to see me when I arrived, claiming illness. He was not ill,” Sander said with a snort.
    “Now he wants you to come back tomorrow,” Mattias said in agreement. “Yes, he's stalling. It bothers me.”
    “Yeah, it bothers me, too. He's up to something.” Sander shoved off the mantle and went to pour himself a drink. The crystal decanter clinked against a tumbler as amber liquor sloshed inside.
    “All we can do is wait until tomorrow. I will endeavor to be there for this little meeting, playing up my part if I can,” Mattias said. He stepped toward the door. “For now, I will return to the castle and sleep there. Perhaps he will summon me tonight if he drinks enough or decides he wants to speak with me about my 'interception' of his plans in Dubai.”
    “Good. If you find anything of immediate importance, make sure you get word here,” Sander said. He lifted his glass to Mattias in silent salute.
    “Be careful, Mattias,” Chey said, mind spinning with implications and conjecture. Already she felt a headache coming on.
    “You two as well. I believe you're safe enough here, but keep an eye and ear open, just in case.” Mattias bade them goodbye and let himself out through the front door.
    Chey followed behind and snapped the bolt into place. Turning her spine to the wood, she leaned against it and regarded Sander across the room.
    He finished off a first glass, watching her eyes, then poured a second. After a moment, he said, “If Helina does produce irrefutable proof, what then? Do I become the hypocrite he suggests if I fight for the throne, or do I bow out and let Mattias take over?”
    “I don't know, Sander. I just don't know.”
     
    . . .
     
    The complications of the situation seemed insurmountable to Chey. Every twist became more gut wrenching than the last. She crossed the room after Sander downed his third drink, took him by the hand, and led him through the home to one of the bedrooms. She paused to douse the only burning light and to bring the gun along with them.
    Sander put up no resistance or argument. He paced at her flank, silent, and allowed her to begin stripping his suit and shirt from his shoulders.
    Chey let her gentle touches and the whisper of her fingertips do the talking right now. Too paranoid to strip him totally naked, she only removed the clothes on his torso, leaving the pants intact. If they needed to move fast, she wanted them both to be at least half dressed.
    Leading him to the bed in the dim room, she guided him to lay on his stomach. He did so with a grunt, sinking his considerable bulk into the mattress. Chey set the gun on the nightstand and straddled his hips. She could see the knots of tension across his shoulders, along with angry red lines running parallel under his skin.
    He stretched his arms above his head, giving her unimpeded access to his entire back. Chey set her palms right on either side of his spine and began massaging languid circles over the muscles, attempting to ease some of his discomfort. She could tell he