Heir in Exile Read Online Free PDF

Tasting blood, she choked, swallowed and went silent. Fuzzy bees blurred the edge of her vision, swarming in and out in a dizzying pattern. She blinked them away, desperate to regain full control of her senses.
    The shape of Sander, arms wrenched behind his back, came into sharper focus when the assailants shoved him into the suite from the foyer. Blood spattered the once pristine white vest, shirt and tie. It took four men to subdue him. Several more staggered in wearing split lips, wounded arms or legs, and abrasions to their faces.
    The man in charge yanked his sunglasses off his eyes and kicked the penthouse doors closed with his boot.
    “Now then,” he said with a heavy mid-eastern accent. “That will be enough of that.”
    Each member of the unit had sun-dark skin that placed their heritage in the nearby vicinity and thick black mustaches that Chey might have thought were fake if only because they all looked exactly the same. The men wore goatees as well, trimmed precisely alike. The crazy thought that the tans and accents were part of a disguise stubbornly persisted.
    Shoved down into a chair adjacent to Chey, Sander said nothing. He glared, however, gaze raking over the men while he tongued his swollen lip.
    Chey knew he was assessing, calculating, looking for weakness and openings. Waiting for one person to slip up so he could make a move. She knew it as well as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow. Sander, not of pampered gentry, was able to fend for himself. Skilled and cunning, he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty in a fight. The only question was—would the men shoot to kill? Chey thought the motive here was clear; the King, after warning Sander something else was coming, had made a major move. What befalls you from here is your own doing.
    Surely he wouldn't kill his own son. Not the firstborn, heir to the throne. It was too radical a step even for Aksel. Wasn't it?
    She was another matter. Chey had no illusions that Aksel would do away with her for good this time. It made her stomach queasy, made her light headed. They had taken a chance by confessing their relationship to the King and Queen and now they would pay.
    The leader of the group approached Sander, gun held down at his side. He tucked his sunglasses into a front pocket on his shirt.
    “I will make this as short and painless as possible,” the man said, making eye contact with Sander.
    Sander still said nothing. His face was set into stoic, neutral lines, eyes cold and flinty.
    “You will return to Latvala as soon as we are finished here. There is a meeting arranged between you and the King, where he will immediately, and permanently, send you into exile,” the leader said.
    Chey stifled a gasp of shock. Exile? Aksel was willing to give up his first born, the natural heir, because of all this? Killing, as she suspected, was too extreme. Permanent exile was not.
    Sander showed no reaction. He didn't scowl, or snort, or argue.
    The leader arched his brows. “You do hear me, yes?”
    Sander remained stoic. No agreement, no nod.
    “I know you are not deaf,” the leader said. “You will accept the exile and leave Latvala for a distant holding in another country. The point is, you will be stripped of your ranking, your privileges and your title, along with your money. For all intents and purposes, you will become a commoner, forced to live under the protection of the ruling family if for no other reason than they wish not to deal with ransom situations.”
    Silence met the leader's mocking announcement. The man looked briefly annoyed and gestured at Sander with his gun hand.
    “To press the point home, in case you are thinking of an escape, or that you might somehow salvage the situation, know that should you fail to do exactly as I have said, she will become a casualty of the human trafficking trade.” The leader gestured Chey's direction while he paced closer to her chair. “She will be absorbed into a system that, as you well know, tends