Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,78

asked questions. The King and Queen's personal guard, decked out in military uniforms, flanked the hall outside the doors.

Sander and Mattias sat at the other end of the table, alternately answering questions and asking them, as well as studying her with astute, keen glances. They couldn't look more different, one with dark hair, dark eyes, the other blonde and blue. Mattias had the slimmer build of the two, though he was still built and honed.

“Are you positive, Miss Sinclair, that there is nothing else you recall that might lead you to believe this man did not act alone?” Allar asked.

Chey rubbed her temple with her fingers. She considered the question, a repeat of one before, so that they knew she was cooperating fully.

“No. I—well. Once, Sander asked me--”

“Prince Dare, please,” Allar said, politely interrupting her.

Chey cleared her throat. “Prince Dare asked me once about the person who attacked me in bed. I told him that I didn't have the sense that the person was large, as in as big as the man in the tower. I can definitely say it was not him that pinned me down that night.”

“Things can seem different in the dark, when you're woken by surprise. Are you certain, one hundred percent, Miss Sinclair, that it was not the man?” Allar asked.

“Yes.”

“That statement means the man acted with another, leaving no room for doubt,” Allar clarified. “Which also means that not just one, but two people wanted you dead almost as soon as you arrived here.”

Chey, not one for shrugging, lifted a shoulder helplessly. What could she say? She had no more clues why someone would want her dead barring her job.

“I checked and double checked every photo I've taken since arriving. I can't find anything in any of them that seem compromising to someone else. Then again, maybe I just don't know what I'm looking at. That's the only thing I can think of. He and whoever he's working with thought I caught something on camera, or thought I might.” That was the best Chey could do.

The men in the room fell to silence.

“In the tower, he used the term 'we', you said,” Allar mentioned.

“Yes. I heard that distinctly,” Chey replied.

“I think we should have her stay on castle grounds here until we have more information,” Sander said.

“I agree, Your Highness.” Allar set down the pen he'd been holding and glanced from Sander to Chey. “Within sight of the guards when you're outside at all times, yes Miss Sinclair?”

“Of course.” Chey wouldn't bring up quitting again right now. Not after all this. Sander and Mattias, as far as she knew, were the only ones who knew she intended to leave. And she still did, once the investigation was over. Nothing had changed about that.

“All right. Let's convene for now. Thank you for your time, Miss Sinclair.” Allar stood from his chair. Sander and Mattias followed suit.

Chey rose and inclined her head to the group. Her gaze touched on Sander's for a split second before she exited the office.

What a tangled mess she was in.

. . .

“We need to talk.” Sander grasped her elbow and guided her into a darker parlor before Chey ever reached the stairs.

“I suppose we do.” Rounding into the room, with the cold fireplace and vague light spilling in three tall windows from lamps outside, Chey walked across to a lush sofa and leaned the back of her hips against it. Folding her arms over her chest, she watched Sander close the door, dousing them into gloom. Dressed in sleek black slacks and a snowy white button down, he looked less like the rugged Sander she was used to and more like first in line to the throne.

Coming to a stop ten feet from where she leaned, he mimicked her stance and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Tell me what's on your mind,” he said, inviting her to begin.

Chey didn't say anything at first. She stared, taking in the smooth line of his strong jaw, the gleam of his blue eyes. He'd left his hair tied back into a low tail, which only enhanced the handsome angles of his face. The cut just above his eye from the fight had stopped bleeding some time ago. A faint bruise was forming on one cheek as well, sure to be darker by morning. Finally, the pent up rush of emotion couldn't be stayed any longer.

“You. You're on my mind. I'm pissed off at you for negating to tell me who you were, and while