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

into labor with you, Helina went into fake labor and shut herself away for the better part of a day until the baby could be smuggled in through the hidden passageways to her room.” Aksel straightened his shoulders and faced Sander, chin lifted as if in defense of his actions. As if, somehow, he believed he had done Sander a great honor by not proclaiming him a bastard.
    “I've seen my birth certificate,” Sander said with a snarl. “It was signed by witnesses that I am the rightful heir. The firstborn.”
    Aksel laughed. Another of those unnatural laughs born of a man forced to keep secrets that weighed down his soul. “Bought off. The 'official' witness, the head nurse who supposedly birthed you. She and a second nurse knew, and both readily agreed to keep their mouths shut.”
    “I want proof. I want a meeting with each one--”
    “They're dead,” Aksel said, using a tone that chided Sander for not knowing better.
    “Dead?” Sander, hands clenched into fists at his sides, stared at Aksel with renewed disgust. “You again.”
    “No, they were made to look as accidents—have you not been paying any attention, or were the snow jobs just that good?” He chuckled, a mocking sound of bemusement.
    “A boy—for I must have been that when you decided to take their lives—would hardly suspect such games,” Sander growled. He thrust a hand through his hair and paced through the room. Agitated. He didn't know whether to believe Aksel or not. There was a certain dark truth to his father's confession, blithely cavalier, that made his gut instinct sit up and take notice. On the other hand, Aksel was an accomplished liar, both by habit and necessity.
    “Helina will tell you. Or will you not believe her, either?” Aksel paused, then rocked back and forth on his shoes. “What will be interesting now, is whether you keep this information to yourself or whether, in the best interest of the country, you go into exile and allow the proper heir to take over.”
    Sander shot a look of utter loathing across the room. Thirty-three years he had been groomed for this role. To become King. Having his whole existence and the reason for it brought into question after all this time made him sick. Would he believe Helina? He didn't know.
    Aksel faced down the stare, finding a calmer facade to present at this stage of the conversation. “That is what you threatened me with, yes? To yank the throne out from under me for the good of Latvala? Hm? So now what, Sander? To continue on makes you look like a hypocrite for dumping Valentina because in taking the throne yourself, you are doing exactly what you accused her of. Putting a bastard in to rule.”
    “I am still your son,” Sander shouted. “The Ahtissari name belongs to me.”
    “It just makes you half a bastard.” Aksel gestured toward the side table. “Drink? You're looking a little peaked.”
    Sander spat an ugly curse that wrought a laugh out of Aksel.
    “It sucks to have the tables turned, does it not?” Aksel asked.
    Sander paced, hands flexing through a series of clenches. He argued with himself, pitting what his heart told him to do against the reality that Aksel might be telling the truth. How convenient the timing was, though. That Aksel could yank his bloodline right out from underneath him when it suited him most. Finally, he prowled to a stop near the fireplace and faced the King. “I'll need more than your word. More than Helina's. At this point, to prevent yourself from being ousted off the throne, I wouldn't put anything past you.”
    “There is no one left! Don't you see? We have covered our—and your—tracks well!” Aksel turned to pour himself another drink. His hand shook less than last time.
    “Convenient,” Sander said. “Too convenient. I will not be going into exile--”
    “Yes, you will,” Aksel said. His voice lowered, grew soft. Sure. He took a drink.
    “You would have to announce this to all of Latvala to strip me of the title of Heir,