Chapter 15
Chance
Chance wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but he didn’t stop when he realized that he was, either.
He stood near the breakroom counter at TimeOff and poured coffee into his mug.
He only half-listened to the low hum of morning conversations that drifted through the open workspace.
It was the usual soundtrack with keyboards clacking, someone laughing too loudly, and a printer that groaned like it resented its existence.
Normal and routine.
“…yeah, Randi thought someone was actually in there,” Josh’s voice carried from a few desks over.
Chance stilled. He didn’t turn around or move. He just stood there with his mug halfway to full as something in his chest tightened.
“Storm must’ve blown the window open,” Josh went on, casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. “But she was freaked out for a minute. I stayed on the phone with her while she was checking the place. I texted Marissa to call the police so I didn’t have to hang up with Randi.”
Chance set the coffee pot down a little too carefully. His jaw tightened as he stared into the dark surface of his drink.
Of course she called Josh. Why wouldn’t she?
Still, something sharp and immediate flared up in his chest before he could stop it, something hot, irrational, and uncomfortably close to jealousy.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, like he could push it back down where it belonged. It wasn’t his business, except it felt like it was.
“She okay now?” someone asked.
“Yeah,” Josh said. “Embarrassed more than anything. But she was prepared to defend herself. I stayed with her for a bit after the police left just to be sure she was okay.”
Chance’s grip tightened slightly around his mug. Just to be sure. Right.
Because Josh showed up. That was kind of his thing, to be easy, steady, and dependable. The guy who answered the phone and who didn’t hesitate to rush to protect.
Chance shut his eyes briefly. Josh was the kind of guy who didn’t walk away.
The memory hit whether he wanted it to or not. He had left Randi standing there in the dark building. He just turned his back and walked away from her.
He’d made sure she wouldn’t call him.
Chance picked up his coffee and walked down the corridor like he’d just wandered into the conversation instead of mentally replaying his own mistakes.
Josh looked entirely too relaxed for someone who had apparently been on late-night “possible intruder” duty.
“She’s fine, though?” Chance asked and managed to keep his tone even.
Josh glanced up. “Yeah. Just a window. Storm must’ve rattled it loose.”
Chance nodded once, like that was all the information he needed. Like his chest hadn’t been tight for the last thirty seconds.
“Good,” he said simply. “That storm was rough.”
“Yeah,” Josh said. “Knocked out power in a few places. She got lucky.”
Chance nodded again, but his mind was already somewhere else running through solutions instead of what-ifs.
Open windows. Old locks. Storms that rattled things loose. Randi, alone.
“Doesn’t she have an alarm system?”
Josh shook his head. “Nah, she lives in an older building that doesn’t have the newer upgrades.”
Chance’s jaw set slightly as he made a decision to take his mind off his own guilt. Next time he saw her, he’d bring it up. No pressure. No overstepping. Just… an option.
It would at least be a topic of conversation to start with.
His assistant handed him a message as he walked toward his office. All he saw was the name Sven and he tossed it in the trash can. Nothing he wanted to deal with.
He closed his door and stood looking out the windows.
He had built his life in Florida on the careful illusion that distance could become permanent if he enforced it hard enough.
He thought that oceans, time zones and deliberate silence could turn obligation into something theoretical rather than inevitable, and for long enough to almost believe it, he had succeeded.
An hour later, the door to his office opened without warning. He didn’t look up immediately to give himself a moment to mentally prepare to address whoever had decided to break the rule of not disturbing him when his door was closed.
“Chauncey.”
The voice was enough to send a chill up his spine especially when it spoke a name that didn’t belong in his office, or even in Tampa. His head snapped up and just like that, any illusion he had about distance shattered.
King Sven of Stagholt stood just inside the doorway. His broad-shoulders and unyielding posture filled the room as much as his presence with a quiet authority that made the carefully curated modern space feel suddenly too small
Beside him, no less imposing in his own way, was King Jakob of Onyxheim, his expression sharper. His eyes were already taking in everything with the kind of measured assessment that suggested he had expected resistance and was prepared to dismantle it.
Chance rose slowly, not so much out of respect but because sitting suddenly felt like a disadvantage.
“You’re a long way from home,” he said, his tone even, though something cold and certain had already begun to settle beneath it. “And my name is Chance now.”
“We wouldn’t be here if you would have the courtesy of a response,” Jakob replied in a voice that left little room for interpretation. “And regardless of what you call yourself, you are still Prince Chauncey of Noriveille whether you like it or not.”
“I left you a message that we were on our way.” Sven’s gaze held his, steady and familiar in a way that carried history whether Chance wanted it to or not. They had attended university together and while they hadn’t been close friends, they had at least been acquaintances.
Chance didn’t tell him that he had tossed the message without reading it.
“Your father grows worse,” Sven continued. “More volatile. More abusive of his position and power.”
Chance’s jaw tightened. “That’s not new. I’d call executing my brother a major abuse of power.”
“True,” Jakob agreed and stepped further into the room.
He had also been a classmate but Chance had never particularly cared for him.
“But what is new is how quickly the rest of the territories are losing patience with it. Your father sends his army into areas that are not his to claim, but he does so anyhow.”
Sven sighed. “Even the different factions of the Skelvors are complaining, and they’re actually the enemy.”
The implication settled heavily in the space between the three men. They were speaking of a war, even if they didn’t speak the word outright.
“And you think I can do something about that.” It wasn’t quite a question, though the edge in his voice made it clear exactly how he felt about the assumption.
Sven didn’t hesitate. “We think you’re the only one who can.”
A short, humorless breath left Chance as he turned away briefly. One hand braced against the edge of his desk as he considered the sheer audacity of that statement.
“My father doesn’t listen to anyone,” he said and looked back at them. “Least of all me.”
“That’s precisely the problem,” Jakob countered. “And precisely why you need to return. When your father is overthrown, you are the one who must be there to take the throne.”
And there it was. The very thing he had spent years avoiding wrapped neatly in expectation and inevitability.
“You’re asking me to walk back into a situation I left for a reason,” Chance said. His voice lowered slightly and tension threaded through it now. “Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed,” Sven corrected, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve changed.”
Chance almost laughed at that. “Have I? You don’t even know me.”
“You’ve built something here, proved that you could be your own man,” Sven continued and gestured vaguely to the office. “You should be proud. But this, my friend,” his gaze sharpened slightly, “was never meant to be permanent.”
The words gutted Chance but he was careful not to show it on his face. Some part of him had always known that and he had simply chosen to ignore it.
“You must return,” Jakob said, more bluntly now. “Take your place. Take the throne before your father burns everything to the ground in his refusal to yield it.”
“And you should know,” Sven began in a tight voice, “that there are rumors that your father has been recruiting people here in the states.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He executed your brother. You’re his only living heir. The last thing he needs is for you to come back.” Jakob was direct and to the point.
“Hitmen? You think he’ll hire hitmen to come after me?” It sounded like some kind of movie.
“Wouldn’t that be a necessary move if you fear losing your throne?”
Sven’s words hit hard not because they were unexpected but because they were true. Chance felt the weight of something larger than himself pressing in and demanding acknowledgment.
His life here that he had so carefully constructed was about to tumble and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop it.
Randi suddenly appeared at the open door focused on her clipboard. “Chance, when you get a minute, I need you to…”
Her voice trailed off as she stepped into the room and realized he wasn’t alone. She froze for half a second before her face broke out into a huge smile
Before he could interpret her expression of job, she dropped her clipboard. “Sven! What are you doing here?”
The name left her in a rush of recognition and disbelief, and before Chance could process what was happening, she crossed the room and threw her arms around the King of Stagholt like he was nothing more than an old friend she hadn’t seen in years.
Sven laughed, a rare, genuine sound that broke through the tension like it had no business being there. He wrapped his arms around her in a huge hug and spun her around.
“Randi,” he said as he pulled back just enough to look at her. “I didn’t know this is where you were working.”
Chance didn’t move. He couldn’t speak. His brain had stalled somewhere between recognition and recalibration, trying to reconcile two completely incompatible realities, one being Randi and the other being Sven.
Things got even more complicated when she turned. “Jakob, it’s good to see you again.” She gave him a big hug, too.
“You all know each other,” he said finally. The words were flatter than he intended and his gaze flickered between them as something sharp and complicated twisted low in his chest.
Randi turned back toward him, something like surprise crossing her face as if she had only just remembered he was there.
“Know each other?” she echoed. “Chance, Sven is my brother-in-law.”
“Your brother-in-law,” he started and tried to force his brain to make the connection.
“He’s married to my sister.”
Relief hit Chance first. Her sister. Sven was family. That was why she had the Stagholt crest tattooed on her wrist.
Randi, meanwhile, had turned back to Sven, and he saw her expression shift into something more confused. Chance knew she was going to ask why they were there, and he was positive he didn’t want to hear the answer.