Read Online Heir in Exile by Danielle Bourdon - Free Book Online

of the King sitting in his throne-like chair, waiting, Sander found a suited security member standing next to the seat.
    “The King?” Sander asked, cutting to the chase. He subdued an initial flash of annoyance at the delay, surely planned by Aksel to get under his skin.
    “Apologies, Prince Dare. The King has asked for a morning meeting. He took ill an hour before your arrival.”
    Sander's lips thinned. Ill his ass. He about faced, stalked out of the parlor, and marched down the hallway toward the private Royal rooms. Two guards stood on either side of the King's chamber doors. Both men stepped away from the wall and blocked Sander's path.
    “The King is currently--”
    “Step aside, or I'll move you aside,” Sander said, giving each guard a threatening glance.
    One guard set a hand out, jarring Sander's shoulder. The other reached for a weapon.
    Sander cocked his shoulder back out of reach and brought a foot up to shatter the knee of one guard, while snaring the wrist of the other. Wails of pain filled the hallway. He brought a hand down hard enough to crack bone across the second guard's arm; the gun flew to the floor and skittered away. Shoving the guard from the door, ignoring the shouts of agony, Sander grabbed the handle and entered.
    The private domain of the King was a glut of luxury. Gold trimmed every piece of furniture, veined the floors and accented paintings on the walls. The chamber was the size of a small house, with other rooms and halls branching off the main area.
    Aksel swiveled around from his spot near the roaring fireplace, frowning. He yanked the pipe out of his mouth.
    “You look recovered enough to receive me, father,” Sander said with a mocking bow. He halted near the edge of a divan as the guards, groaning in the hallway, called for back up. “Worthless are the guards who can't protect you from one simple man.”
    “I don't figure they expected my own son to strike them. How dare you, Sander. But that is your preference of late, is it not? To defy me?” Aksel said. He tapped out the contents of the pipe and set it on the fireplace mantel.
    “Save your speech and let's get down to business. We both know that's why I'm here.” Sander crossed his arms over his chest. He had little patience for games. It took a wealth of willpower not to rain hell down upon Aksel's head for what he'd done in Dubai.
    In his own domain, the King wore black slacks and a white shirt with the first three buttons undone. He appeared to be in between meetings, paring the suit down to its thinnest layers until he was required to present himself once more.
    As other guards and military arrived, Aksel held up a staying hand. “Retreat until I call for you,” he said.
    The security members, wary and alert, receded into the hallway.
    Sander never glanced back. He continued to regard the King with a confrontational air. “Well?”
    “I have had the papers drawn up for your official exile,” the King said. “More details than that I am not prepared to give you. As my man said...I am under the weather and will go through everything with you in the morning.”
    “The hell you will,” Sander snarled. “You'll do it now--”
    “Do not take that tone with me!” Aksel shouted. “Who do you think you are, ordering your King to do anything, boy?”
    Sander laughed. A derisive sound lacking respect for authority. He glared into his father's eyes. “The man who will snitch that throne right out from under you, my liege.”
    Aksel strode around the divan and came toe to toe with Sander. “Those are a traitor's words, punishable by death. You're very lucky you are of my blood. It will see you into exile instead.”
    Sander, with a few inch height advantage, closed the distance by half. Close enough to see the striations in Aksel's eyes. “So I've heard. But I've seen the blood on your hands, I know some of the secrets you keep. What a pity if those nasty things ever came to light.”
    Aksel's face paled. His lips