Lone Prince by Lilian Monroe
Wolfe
Chief whineswhen I bring him to my chambers, but I can’t let him go to Rowan’s room. Not again.
“Either we both sleep next to her, or neither of us does,” I say. My dog tilts his head, then makes a slow circle on the rug in front of the fireplace and plops himself down. I let out a long breath, lifting my eyes to the ceiling. This is bad. I actually meant that. I don’t want anyone sleeping next to Rowan—not even my fucking dog.
A knock on the door snaps me out of my mind and I open it to see Eyvar on the other side. He nods. “Sir.”
“Everything okay?”
“The girl checks out. Architect. Got the job through official channels and planned this visit with Mrs. Reed.”
I open the door wider for Eyvar to step in. Taking a seat on a chair, I motion for him to sit. He stays standing, clasping his hands behind his back.
My bodyguard widens his stance, his big boulder shoulders flexing. “She’s made a reputation for herself as an architect. Started her own firm when she was only twenty-seven. Won multiple awards. Not surprised she got this contract. Has a nice house, a boyfriend—”
“Boyfriend?” I straighten up. Rowan didn’t mention a boyfriend.
Eyvar dips his chin. “Gerry Sanders. Been dating him for at least two years, according to our intelligence reports, although he’s been seen with other women in the past few months, and it looks like they may have split.”
“She didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend.” My tone is curt. I stare at Chief, who sleeps on the rug, unbothered by this new information.
Eyvar grunts. “I think you should be careful around her.”
“Why?”
“This time of year is always…difficult.” He clears his throat, staring at a spot on the floor.
Yes, it is. I’m reminded of the most painful moment of my life. When everything changed, and my future didn’t seem so bright. When I realized that I’m not a hero. Not some great protector. I’m just a weak man who can’t even cry for help when his fiancée collapses in his arms.
Maybe Eyvar’s right. My attraction to Rowan is only a distraction from my true feelings. I let out a long sigh, nodding at my bodyguard. “Thanks, Eyvar. Get some rest.”
He nods, handing me a file that he put together on Rowan. Then, Eyvar backs out of the room and closes the door behind him. For a large man, Eyvar moves as softly as a cat. I don’t hear a single footstep on the hard stone floor as he makes his way back down the hall.
I read the file six times, front to back. I inhale every scrap of information he was able to find on Rowan, but by the time I’m done, I don’t know how I feel. Jealous? Intrigued?
Rowan Reed’s mother was from Nord. Father is unknown. Moved to Farcliff when she was a baby. This is her first time in Nord that we know of. Has had strong ties with her grandmother, but Mrs. Reed always went down to Farcliff to visit Rowan, and not the other way around.
Tossing the file aside, I climb into bed. For the next few hours, sleep doesn’t come. I lie in bed, twisting and turning, and finally push myself to my feet and let out a breath. I give up. Putting on a sweater to guard against the chill, I slip some shoes on and head for the door. Chief sleeps soundly, so I leave the door ajar and walk away. Passing through the lower levels of the palace, I listen to the silence. Everyone’s sleeping.
Well, everyone except me.
I like the solitude of the Summer Palace, especially in winter. Is that some sort of sick symbolism? I don’t enjoy things the way they’re meant to be enjoyed. I prefer the opposite. When the wildflowers are months away from blooming. When the bears are hibernating, and the caribou have migrated to warmer ranges. When the wind howls and the snow blankets the world.
When everything’s dead, just like my heart.
My feet carry me to the library. Embers are dying in the fireplace, and the room is starting to cool down. The door to the archives is closed, and I wonder what time Rowan went to bed. Is she sleeping soundly right now? Dreaming of glass houses and turrets and new designs? Maybe even dreaming of me?
Or, is she like me—awake. Troubled. Wondering who to trust.
I step farther into the library, making my way to the comfortable sofas in the deepest part of the room. My eyebrows jump.
Rowan didn’t go to bed at all. She’s curled up in a little ball on the sofa, with books strewn across the floor and a thick blanket piled over her sleeping form.
Her lips are parted, eyes closed, breath steady. She looks innocent and angelic, her pale skin against the dark fabric of the sofa. Long hair like spun copper strands splayed out around her head in a halo.
My heart hasn’t clenched like this in years. Truth be told, I haven’t even felt my heart beating since Abby died. I’ve been living in a dream. But now…something inside me is waking up. Everything is coming into sharp focus—mostly Rowan.
When I take a step toward her, she stirs. Her eyes flutter open and a frown pulls her brows together. Blinking two or three times, she looks at me. “What are you doing here?” Her voice is muffled and sleepy. It tugs at something deep in my chest.
“Came looking for you,” I answer truthfully.
She tucks her legs in closer to her body, and I sit down where her feet used to be. The residual heat of her body still warms the cushions, and I lean back, staring at the black sky outside.
“You have a boyfriend,” I say.
“Had,” she answers, straightening up and combing her delicate fingers through her long hair. “Past tense.”
“You broke up?”
“Why do you care?”
“Humor me.”
Rowan stares at me for a long moment, then lets out a breath. “He told me it was him or the job. The company I’ve spent more than half a decade building.” With a bitter snort, she shakes her head. “And, well, I’m here, aren’t I? But judging by your comments, maybe I shouldn’t have chosen work, after all.”
“You’ve been with him for a while,” I say. “You gave up that relationship for one contract?”
Rowan’s eyes narrow. “You seem to know a lot about me and my relationships.”
“Plural?” My eyebrow arches.
Rowan huffs, and I hide a smile. She pushes her hair over her shoulder and stares out the window. The storm is hitting us hard now, throwing its weight against the palace walls. Snow climbs up the bottom of the windows as the wind pushes it against the building.
Finally, Rowan glances at me. “Yes, I chose the contract. I’m an architect, Your Highness. This is my dream. How could I pass up an opportunity to design a royal residence?” She snorts. “Even if it is in the middle of nowhere.”
“You don’t like it up here.”
“Can you blame me?” Rowan sweeps her hand toward the window. The storm rages in response. “This place is about as hospitable as the bottom of the ocean.”
“How can you think to redesign this castle if you don’t understand the landscape?” There’s an edge to my voice. Why do I care? Why do I want her to see the beauty of this place? Why do I want her to like it here?
Rowan swings her eyes to meet mine. She drops her gaze, letting out a long breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I spent the evening reading about Nord and the history of the Summer Palace. I had no idea about any of it before I started working on the design.” She bites her lip. “I should have done more research. Grandma told me stories and I knew the broad strokes of the history, but there’s so much I didn’t realize.”
“My ancestors united dozens of small villages and tribes that lived in this area,” I say. “I think what my sister meant, when she said she wanted to retain the historic details of this castle, is that she wants to honor all the people who have come together to create Nord. There’s been…unrest in Nord lately. My sister needs unity.”
Rowan doesn’t understand that. She doesn’t understand that changing this palace into a destination, as she called it earlier, won’t honor the fractured relationships and century-long resentments that have festered within certain groups. She doesn’t see this palace as a symbol of the kingdom’s harmony.
But as Rowan reaches for a book, flipping to a bookmark, her smile makes me still. She shows me an image of the visitor’s cottage how it was when it was first built. A true palace, where court was held and relationships were formed. Nord was born in that cottage, centuries ago.
“I’d like to restore the visitor’s cottage, too. I was thinking we could commission artwork from every tribe and village that came together there. We could engage local artists. Celebrate the history of each individual community.” Her eyes lift to mine, deep blue hitting me like a lightning bolt to the chest.
Maybe she’s not clueless.
I nod. “You’re learning.”
Rowan gives me a soft smile. “I should have come up here as soon as I got the contract.”
“Yes.” I hold her gaze. “You should have.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. I stifle a groan. She blinks, taking a deep breath. “I understand your comments about my design. I’m starting over from scratch.”
I rest my hand on top of the blanket, feeling her ankle beneath it. Why does it feel so comfortable being here beside her? Why does my heart beat easier when she’s near?
Eyvar says I shouldn’t get too close to her, but here, in the silence of the night, it’s easy to forget his words.
Rowan looks away from me, her cheeks turning pink. “I heard about your fiancée. I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Her gaze finds mine as silence stretches between us. In the darkness of the library, it feels intimate. More intimate than I’ve felt in a long time.
“Is that why you’re here? To get away?”
I stare at the howling storm outside before answering. “The memorials and vigils remind me of everything I lost. October has always been difficult.” As I turn my head to look at Rowan, though, my words feel empty. The sting of my emotions has lessened, and my loss doesn’t seem so painful anymore.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s not a secret.” I shrug. My gaze drifts back to watch the storm, but every other sense is tuned into Rowan’s frequency. She shifts on the couch, letting out a long sigh. When I swing my gaze to meet hers, though, I see no pity in her eyes. Empathy, yes. Understanding.
But no pity.
It’s…refreshing. A lump forms in my throat and I glance away. Pushing myself up to my feet, I glance down at Rowan, who’s still curled on the couch. “You should go to your room. It gets cold in here without a fire burning.”
Then I walk away, feeling Rowan’s wide-eyed stare on my back.
