The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) by Danielle Bourdon Page A

cut that part out. Sander, she knew, wouldn't be dancing with Helina either.
    “Miss Sinclair,” Mister Urmas said, coming up on the women without warning. In his fine suit, hair combed away from his face, he sported his usual austere facade while he got right to the point. “I wanted to inform you that several guests will be arriving this evening, much sooner than expected.”
    Chey glanced away from the hovering Hanna to Urmas. She had no idea if she was supposed to do something different than she'd already done or not. “All right. Is there anything extra we'll need to do?”
    Urmas shifted weight on his feet. “It's common courtesy to leave something in the rooms for the guests. Baskets of wine and fruit and cheese, perhaps. Also, I need to know which rooms you wish to have certain guests stay in. Regarding their status, yes?”
    In her time at the family seat, Chey had investigated most of the suites along with her tour of the rest of the rooms. Some, according to architecture and design, were her favorites. She had not, however, sat down to decide who might go into what suite. Did it really matter that much? It did, according to Urmas's expectant look.
    “You have a list, I'm sure, of the most important guests. Put them in the best suites according to where they sit on the list and have the wine, fruit and cheese baskets prepared for their arrival.” Chey arched a brow when Urmas paused as if he might counter her requests.
    He inclined his head, expression shifting to one of practiced tolerance. “As you wish, Miss Sinclair.”
    Chey watched Urmas retreat with his notebook. It didn't take a genius to realize he was annoyed with her answer.
    “Miss Sinclair? Also, did you want smaller floral sprays attached to the railing outside the church? Or just inside, on the pews?” Hanna asked.
    “Just on the—no, actually, yes. Outside on the railing, too. Thank you.” Chey turned away from Hanna even as the woman started to blurt more questions.
    “I'm sorry, Hanna. I've got to attend a meeting.” She gave the woman an apologetic look over her shoulder before striding on toward the media room where she knew Sander was preparing to make his speech. She didn't want to miss it dawdling over ridiculous details for the wedding. It wasn't that she didn't want their day to be perfect—there was just so much going on.
    Chey entered the media room from a side door that would put her closer to the podium where Sander would be speaking. Unprepared for the number of people crowding the room, she stopped some distance from Sander when she felt the attention of the reporters shift her way.
    Cameras snapped, lights flashed and a general buzz swept through the gathered. Chey didn't know if she was supposed to smile or not. If she smiled, would it be construed that she didn't take the news of the Latvala split seriously? Or that she didn't care? She settled for a small, cordial smile.
    A moment later, Sander called for their attention. Flanked by Mattias and Gunnar, each dressed to the nines in immaculate suits and ties, he began his public address. Chey noted the sharp glint in Sander's eyes, the flex of a muscle in his jaw. Those signs indicated to her that he was keeping his temper at bay. She kept up with the conversation via a feed in English on the bottom of a television screen.
    Sander went slow, enunciating each word. He had a general dismissive air about him, as if this ordeal was such a non-issue he shouldn't have to discuss it.
    “As you may know, there has been a photo circulating through the papers this morning. It depicts Latvala split into separate regions. I'm here to lay any rumors or fears to rest—that photo did not come from my office, nor was it any idea of mine, Prince Mattias, or Prince Gunnar.” He paused, then continued. “It was the suggestion of Prince Paavo, one that my brothers and I reject. To divide the country is not in the best interest of Latvala and a concept we strongly disapprove of. I'm