The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (24 page)

He wasn't making it easy to play by the rules.

Wynn, Krislin and Esta received a diamond tennis bracelet and each staff member a simple diamond pendant nestled in royal blue velvet.

An hour before they were due to board the plane for the mainland, with the mood high and spirits soaring, the stylist began the painstaking process of curling Chey's hair and pinning it in an artful updo with a few strands left to wisp around her shoulders. She placed the tiara just so, a perfect accent against Chey's dark hair.

Wynn disappeared on a wine hunting mission, glee in her eyes and a bubble of laughter on her lips.

Who was Chey to deny her?

And then came time for the dress. Hanging from a hook in the corner, the pretty white-white concoction awaited its wearer bathed in late afternoon sunlight. Hanna slipped the dress from the velvet hanger and opened the back for Chey to step in. A commotion at the door drew Chey's attention.

There was Wynn, lugging a garment bag that was twice as big as she was.

“You know you want this one, Chey! Do it! He wants you to wear the one you love.” Grunting, Wynn hauled the bag toward the dais and mirrors. Hanna hurriedly placed the traditional white-white dress back on its hanger.

“I think you should wear it, too, Chey,” Krislin added. “You won't want to look back on today with any regrets or second thoughts.”

Chey regarded the garment bag with
her
gown in it. Krislin had a point. She had one chance, one day, to have the wedding she wanted.

Cheered on by the staff, Wynn—with Hanna's help—placed the hook over the other and unzipped the bag. As if she were Vanna White, Wynn made ridiculous gestures to the stunning champagne gown with her hand, grinning girlishly the whole time. Chey glanced at the faces of the women gathered around. Each encouraged her with nods and murmurs, eyes bright.

Chey wished she didn't feel such a sense of responsibility to start off her marriage the right way, which meant not bucking the system. Yet Sander had openly encouraged her to wear the dress of her choice, which meant she had his approval. If it was all right with him, then how much trouble could she get in?

“Okay! Let's do it.” Chey made the decision with a laugh and a helpless lift of her shoulders.

It wasn't every day a girl got to marry a King.

. . .

Wracked with nerves, Chey watched the terrain flicker past the limousine window. Only small remnants of a harsh winter could be glimpsed in the niches and shadows nature provided. Tufts of snow had melted away barring strips clinging here and there. Bits of green popped up in random spots, with bursts of wildflowers making an appearance along the roadside. Luck was with them today: no storms or wild weather had been forecast. Only a clear sky and abundant sunshine.

Hanna, Wynn, Krislin and Esta rode with her, dressed and ready, bouquets on their laps. An endless array of assistants followed behind in one of four Hummers, along with guards providing escort to the church. The guests were already at the location, transferred in an earlier exodus from the family seat.

Taking a few deep breaths, Chey smoothed out the front of the gown, attempting to keep wrinkling to a minimum. Hanna fixed wisps of Chey's hair that had fallen from the pins, though the general style weathered the traveling well.

The other girls chatted like old friends while music played low in the background, the scent of flowers and airy perfume filling the interior of the limousine. Drawing on elbow length, white kid gloves, Chey pulled them snug over her hands then reached up to feel her ears and head for the new jewelry and tiara Sander sent her. Everything was accounted for. Hanna helped her secure the matching bracelet over the glove and checked the clasp twice.

This was it.

Another twenty miles until she embarked on the walk that would change her life forever. Any lingering ambivalence she'd harbored about becoming Queen evaporated with the rising sun. Today, she felt deserving the title, that she could—and would—do it justice. She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment her mentality changed, or what incident altered her perception. All she knew was that she doubted her ability no longer.

As if time had wings, the church came into view, made stunning by the backdrop of slanting sunlight against the stained glass windows and floral sprays lining the drive leading to the doors. No less than a hundred photographers and cameramen lined the grass on either side, held at bay by velvet ropes and military dressed specially for the occasion. Thousands of people had gathered beyond the media, cheering, holding signs, some even throwing white rose petals when the limousine passed by.

“Oh wow, look at that,” Wynn whispered, staring out the tinted window. “So many people. I hope I don't trip over my own feet.”

“You won't. Don't jinx us.” Chey nudged Wynn with her elbow.

The limousine came to a stop before the walkway to the steps and Chey waited while the other women got out before she accepted a hand from Mattias, resplendent in his uniform, boots polished to a high shine. He had been kind enough to accept Chey's proposal that he walk her down the aisle.

A roar from the crowd drew Chey's attention their way. She waved and smiled, none of it contrived or feigned. She was genuinely happy to see them.

“You look stunning,” Mattias said with a polite bow of his head.

“Thank you.” Chey smoothed out the skirts while Hanna fanned them out from behind, making a straighter line.

“I knew you'd choose this one,” he murmured, bending his head closer.

Chey muffled a laugh behind her teeth. “Sander did, too. The rascal.”

Mattias smiled a knowing smile, winked, then stood in place while Wynn, Krislin and Esta entered the church.

Somewhere down at the front near the altar, Chey imagined Gunnar and Sander waiting for the procession to begin. Sweet and lilting, a wedding melody played by a live string quartet floated through the air, announcing the start of the ceremony.

Taking a deep breath, careful to keep her features neutral with all the photographers snapping endless pictures, Chey accepted the bouquet from Hanna and stood still while the assistant fixed Chey's veil, the modest train and any other minute detail that caught her eye.

The coordinator at the door gestured Chey and Mattias inside the foyer while another attendant closed the second pair of doors, so Sander couldn't see her yet. Chey ascended the steps and entered the foyer on Mattias's arm, concentrating on breathing and not tripping on her dress.

A photographer hired just for the wedding stepped forward and snapped several shots of Chey and the Prince from alternate angles, capturing these moments just before the doors opened. Chey knew there were other photographers, too, placed around the interior of the chapel to get different perspectives. Somewhere, a video camera rolled to capture it all on film.

The music faded, then began again. A wedding march as sweet as the last melody had been.

That was her cue.

“On three,” the coordinator said, hand on the doorknob. “Three, two, one...”

The doors opened. Chey got her first look at the chapel in all its decorated glory. Each pew sported small bouquets of white lilies while larger sprays stood at the head of the room, made colorful by added greenery and the large Stargazer lilies as the main focal flower. White petals scattered over a red carpet led the way to the front, where Sander stood waiting, broad shoulders filling out his uniform.

Chey's breath caught at the sight. Hair combed back into a low tail, jaw shaven clean of whiskers, he looked even more handsome than any of her imaginings. A red sash cut across the navy blue of his uniform, setting him apart from the rest. At his hip, a sword rested secure in its sheath, gleaming against his thigh. As ever, he commanded the entire room with his presence—at least until every single eye swiveled her way as Mattias made the first step forward.

Holding Sander's gaze, she paced Mattias with careful steps. The admiration and appreciation she saw in Sander's eyes sent a blossom of warmth spiraling through her chest. In that moment, she knew she'd made the right choice of dress. She smiled, sudden and stunning—and then she saw something in periphery that would have made her stumble had Mattias not been the rock that he was.

Near the bridesmaids, on a high easel facing the podium and the aisle both, was a large, gilt framed picture of her parents. Their beloved faces watched over the proceedings, faint smiles on their mouths, a picture Chey herself had taken at their house in their library near a window with a garden blurred past the panes.

As if he sensed her surprise, Mattias tightened his elbow, trapping her hand more firmly against his body.

By the time Chey tore her gaze off the thoughtful gift, there were tears in her eyes. Finding Sander, her smile wobbled in gratitude for his foresight. He winked, watching her like a hawk. Gunnar, also in uniform, stood at Sander's side.

A familiar face lining the pews near the front captured Chey's attention, just for a moment. She met Natalia's eyes, surprised to see her in the crowd. Chey hadn't expected her or Paavo to show. But there she was, inclining her head with what Chey thought was a show of support. Chey smiled, pleased Natalia had come this far. Put at least some of the bad blood behind them. Paavo's absence, notable and regrettable, couldn't be helped. The former Queen Helina, still in mourning, was also not in attendance. Chey doubted anyone expected her to be there considering the recent history between the family.

And then they were there, Mattias handing Chey off to Sander. Mattias eased the veil up over her head, careful not to snag the fine netting on the tiara. After a quick grin, Mattias took his place between Sander and Gunnar as best man.

Sander helped Chey up the shallow step to stand opposite, blue eyes glittering while he regarded her features, the front of the gown. “You look stunningly beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Chey didn't realize her hands were shaking until he gently squeezed the one not holding her bouquet. “You look every inch a King.”

He bowed his head a fraction. “Ready to become my Queen?”

Chey smiled. “I've been ready my whole life.”

. . .

“I didn't prepare anything ahead of time. I figured it would come to me naturally once we were up here, about to become man and wife—and it did.” Sander paused, staring into Chey's eyes. Then he continued with his vows. “You're everything I need. Everything I've ever wanted. You don't let me get away with anything, you call me on it when I'm wrong, and you're never afraid to stand up for what you believe in. I always thought marriage should be a give and take, and that's what we've got together. I know I can lean on you, trust you, confide in you. I like that you lean on me when you need to. I've never felt about anyone like I feel about you. That's how I know we'll last a lifetime.” He paused, then said, “The sassy streak? We'll work on that.”

Laughter threaded through the crowd.

“Your turn,” Sander said with a rogue's grin, throwing the ball in her court.

Chey waited until the trembling ceased from her silent laughter. Eyes bright with unshed tears, she scoured her mind for the things she wanted to say. Sander obliterated everything with his vows. Finally, the words came.

“I'm grateful that you tackled me off my horse the first time I met you. It got things off to an interesting, dynamic start. And it hasn't faded since. I've been furious with you, enamored, amused and a host of other emotions too complicated to name. Love? Loving you was never complicated, though. You made it easy pursuing me across the world, showing me things I'd never seen, introducing me to all the facets that make you, you. Even when you cheat at Scrabble.
Floray
is
not
a word.”

Sander erupted into laughter, along with the room.

“So. I win.” Chey meant in more than just the game. In love, in life. Sander's eyes gleamed, conveying he understood exactly what she meant. He took a step closer, like he might kiss her before it was time.

The priest cleared his throat. “Rings?”

Wynn stepped forward, as did Mattias.

Sander didn't immediately release Chey. He held her gaze, enigmatic and roguish, glancing between her eyes and her mouth.

“You better not,” she whispered, muffling a laugh behind her teeth.

Titters of amusement flickered through the crowd.

Wynn pressed Sander's ring into Chey's palm whether Sander released her or not. Mattias waited with brotherly patience, a curl of mirth lurking at the corner of his mouth. Finally, Sander eased back two inches and took the rings from Mattias.

“Do you, Sander Darrion Ahtissari, take Chey Marie Sinclair to be your wedded wife?” the priest asked.

“I do,” he replied in a clear, strong voice. He slid both rings on Chey's finger over the glove.

“Do you, Chey Marie Sinclair, take Sander Darrion Ahtissari to be your wedded husband?”

Chey smiled and said, “I do.” She eased Sander's ring on his finger, admiring the gleam of platinum against his skin.

“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife.
Now
you may kiss the bride,” the priest said with a smile.

Amidst a round of applause and cheers, Sander cupped Chey's jaw and bent down to place a firm kiss against her lips.

Light-headed, Chey lingered there just a moment more. Drawing back, she stared into his eyes, dazzled and dazed. This man was now her husband. What a rush.

“I love you,” Sander whispered.

“And I love
you.”

. . .

There she was, staring down another aisle. The red carpet led straight to the front of the room where two thrones waited, one empty, the other hosting the King. Sander, replete in uniform, cape and staff, watched with sharp eyes along with the rest of the witnesses tucked into seats on either side.

The click and snap of cameras caught every moment, every expression. Chey felt the pressure in the tightness of her shoulders, in the prickling heat on the back of her neck. Gestured forward by several official looking councilmen flanking the throne chairs, Chey made her way along the red carpet, holding tight to Sander's gaze to help keep her centered.