But then I remember the way his eyes drifted to my lips. How his gaze sent warmth spiraling through my core when he let me know he’d undressed me. How for the first time in a long time, I feel alive.
Maybe it’s the after-effects of a near-death experience. It’s what happens when someone is severely hypothermic and comes back to life. You start imagining things that aren’t there. You imagine heat that doesn’t exist. You get confused and your mind plays tricks on you.
That’s what’s happening. My body is responding to delusions.
I turn away from the window, slumping back down on the sofa. The doctor places a bundle of warm clothes on the seat next to me. “Put those on. As soon as you’re strong enough, we’ll move you to the castle. The staff has prepared your room.”
I stare at the clothes, then shift my gaze to the window. Excitement pierces my gut, and I know it’s not from the near-death experience.
This is real. The Prince is here.
And I’m stuck at the palace whether I like it or not.
5
Wolfe
On my computer screen is yet another speech identical to every other royal statement I’ve ever given or heard. I give it a cursory glance, approving it with zero comments. When I close my laptop, I lean back in my chair and glance out the window.
The doctor’s car is making its way from the security lodge to the main castle. I lean closer, watching the vehicle approach.
She’s in there. Rowan Reed. Probably sitting in the back seat, her perky little ass being warmed by heated leather seats. Maybe she’s wrapping her arms around her torso, staring out the window at the white expanse that surrounds us.
The woman who almost died. The red-haired beauty who looks like she’s not quite human. Part fairy, part elf, and one hundred percent delicious. I want to eat her.
I grunt, turning away from the window.
The last thing I should be doing is thinking of her. I’ll stay in my wing of the castle and let her do her design work. I’ll hole myself up in here and wait for October to pass. I might even stay the winter—being here on my own doesn’t sound so bad.
Wasn’t that the plan? Hide away here, far from misplaced sympathy and pity-filled stares? Lick the wounds that never heal, or at the very least, grit my teeth and make it through this month.
My eyes drift to the wall, where a photo of Abby and me hangs. I frown, tightness squeezing my chest.
I’d never met anyone like her. An angel with golden hair and a bright smile. Able to pull me out of my darkest depths and show me the beauty of life. The woman I was supposed to cherish and protect.
The woman I failed.
Bitterness overwhelms me. Resentment tastes like ash. Pushing my chair back, I stand and walk to the wall. I stand in front of the photo, staring at the image of my own face. A huge smile stretches across my lips, and my arm is slung around her slim waist. I don’t even know that person. Abby’s hand rests on my chest, and she tilts her head back, a coquettish smile gracing her red lips.
She always knew how to take a good photo—but then again, it’s hard to take a bad one when you’re beautiful. The media adored her, and she gave them smiles and waves and pictures they could sell newspapers with.
Nord’s darling. Our princess. My future wife.
We’d been back from our first official trip abroad when that photo was taken. I’d just asked her to marry me. Life was bright and hopeful and good.
Gingerly, I unhook the photo from the wall, staring at our smiling faces. My thumbs brush the glass of the picture frame, pressing hard enough to feel the cool smoothness of the material beneath my fingertips.
I guess I’m not getting away from these memories, even at the Summer Palace.
My thumbs press harder, the pads of my fingers leaving imprints on the glass. Anger swells inside me as I stare at Abby’s smiling face, her soft, blond curls falling down to her waist. I stare at the hand resting on my chest. At the glittering ring that always caught the light just so. My eyes drift down to her flat stomach, which still hid the secret that her death would reveal.
I failed her. When the time came for me to act, I froze, and she was gone.
Dropping my shoulders, I toss the picture, frame and all, into a drawer and slam it closed. I stalk out of the room without looking back.
My feet take me across the palace to the south wing. I pass oil paintings of my ancestors and intricate sculptures that Mother and Father commissioned when they were newlyweds. Before they had the four of us kids. Before they, too, died—at least I was too young to really remember much. The sting of that particular grief doesn’t send me to the edge of the arctic for months at a time.
I walk by huge windows that, in the summertime, reveal vast meadows of wildflowers and swaying grasses. Now, all I see is white snow and a dark, starless sky.
Pausing at one of the windows in a formal sitting room, I run my fingers through my thick, black hair. The snow is beautiful, in its own way. It muffles the world, as if giving you permission to be sleepy and warm and safe inside. Its harshness appeals to the primal parts of me. The bite of the cold reminds me of my own heart. The whip of the wind across the barren landscape reminds me what it feels like to be alone. The isolation is comforting.
There are no reporters here, following me everywhere to catch a glimpse of my misery.
Turning away from the window, I continue walking through the castle. I thought I’d hate it here this winter. I didn’t like the idea of being hemmed in here for weeks, but it was better than the assault of Abby’s memorials.
This palace is meant to be enjoyed in summertime, when the arctic is lit by the sun nearly twenty-four hours a day. When the meadows are teeming with life, and caribou bound across the landscape.
Now, it’s dead and cold and sleepy, and I like it. It feels like home.
Throwing on a thick jacket, boots, and all the warm accessories I need to brave the cold, I make my way through the big brown doors to the kennels. It’s cooler in here, but still sheltered from the worst of the elements. The warm smell of dogs greets me, followed by a few soft whinnies and cold snouts pressed against kennel gates.
Harvey, the kennel master, looks up from his crouch at the far end of the kennels. His eyebrows jump. “Your Highness.” He straightens up, giving me a low bow.
“Harvey.” I nod. “How are they?” I move to a kennel in the corner, opening the gate for the big husky with eyes like crushed ice.
“Daisy had her litter. They’re all healthy. AJ’s asthma is still bothering him, but the vet said he’d be okay if we take it easy on him this winter.” Harvey glances at the huge husky exiting the kennel beside me. “Ah. And Chief missed you.”
The beast lets out a low huff, nuzzling my leg. I reach over to scratch the back of his head, sighing. The tension between my shoulder blades finally eases, and I kneel down to rub my cheek against Chief’s fur.
“Hey, buddy,” I whisper, turning my head as he licks my face with his rough, pink tongue. I chuckle, scrubbing his neck. “I missed you too.”
When I stand up, Chief stays by my side. The warmth of his body radiates through my pant leg and sends a calming pulse through me. I forget about the picture in the office and the cold loneliness clinging to my spirit. I forget about why I’m here, and how life would have been different if I hadn’t failed Abby when she needed me most.
I’m just here with my dog, and I finally feel like I’m home.
Harvey gives me a pinched smile. “He’s been antsy since you left last time. Hard to tame.”
“Look at him, as gentle as a baby.” I give Chief another scratch.
Harvey snorts. “With you, he is. Damn near chewed my fingers off when I fed him ten minutes late last Wednesday. Snapped at AJ, too. I think he can sense the weakness.”
“That’s why we like each other. Come on, boy,” I say, knowing Chief will follow me. I nod to Harvey. “He’ll sleep in my chambers tonight.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Harvey bows, and I walk
back through the kennel doors into the warmth of the palace.
Chief’s claws click on the stone floor as he pads ahead of me. I strip my jacket and boots off, laying them on a bench left out for that purpose. My dog glances back at me, his big head dipping down ever so slightly before turning back toward the hallway.
I frown, following.
“Slow down, Chief,” I say, but the dog ignores me. He walks through the empty hallways, pausing every few seconds to let me catch up. A smile teases at my lips. This dog has a mind of his own, and he doesn’t care that I’m a prince. We understand each other on a primal level.
So, I follow him.
What else am I going to do? Wallow in my own misery and think of my failures? Look at old pictures of things that will never happen? Wonder if Rowan’s sweet blue eyes are nothing but another lie, an opportunity for me to fail her, too?
Chief pauses at the base of the main staircase, then gives a low bark. He climbs the stairs two at a time, stopping again at the top to let me catch up. I grin. He leads me all the way down the long hallway to the north wing and pauses outside a guestroom door. Finally, I frown.
“What do you want in there, boy?”
He whinnies, scraping his paw over the door. I scratch his head, burying my fingers in his thick fur. It feels good to have Chief by my side again. He stays at the Summer Palace year-round with his brothers and sisters, but whenever I come here, we’re inseparable.
Except right now, when I push the guest bedroom door open. Chief rushes through the opening as soon as it’s wide enough for him, then leaps onto the bed. With a huff, he drops down and nuzzles beside a sleeping form.
“Chief!” My voice is a hoarse whisper caught halfway through my throat.
That sleeping form has long, coppery hair and a soft, pink mouth. Rowan is fast asleep, covered by two extra blankets with a fire just dying down in the hearth. My dog stretches out so he’s lying along the length of Rowan’s body, his snout resting against her neck.
“Chief,” I hiss again, snapping my fingers for him to come back to me.
He lets out a snort in response, his eyes closed. My shoulders drop. He’s not leaving. With one hand on the doorknob, I stare at the two of them. Something twinges in my chest at the sight of Rowan next to the dog who usually never leaves my side, and I let out a frustrated sigh.
Chief’s tail flicks, teasing me.
“Fine. Stay there. Just don’t expect any treats when you wake up.”
Chief lifts his head, blinking his eyes open to look at me over his shoulder. After a second, he turns back to Rowan and promptly falls asleep.
I pinch my lips together as heat spears my chest. Am I…am I jealous of Rowan right now?
…or am I jealous of the dog?
I back away silently, leaving the door ajar in case Chief changes his mind and comes to sleep on his spot in front of my fireplace later tonight.
He doesn’t.
6
Rowan
I wake up to something wet nudged against my cheek. Then I feel the slow rise and fall of breath beside me, and I smell the unmistakable scent of dog.
Opening my eyes, I freeze.
It’s a wolf. Holy shit, there’s a wolf in my bed. What kind of godforsaken place is this that wolves roam the hallways? My heart takes off, and the beast opens its eyes. Pale blue, with a dark rim around the edge.
A husky.
My heartbeat doesn’t slow, but the panic inside me ebbs away ever so slightly. The dog lets out a huff, his tongue sliding out to lick the edge of my ear. I flinch at the wetness, huffing out a laugh.
“Hey, puppy,” I say to the dog that most definitely isn’t a puppy anymore. But all dogs are puppies, aren’t they?
The dog makes a low noise, nudging my face with his cold, wet nose. Slowly, tentatively, I lift my arm from beneath the mass of blankets and reach for the husky’s head. I stroke his fur, letting a soft smile tug at my lips.
“Good boy,” I whisper, giving him a long scratch that earns me a rumble from the dog’s chest. “At least, I think you’re a boy.” I grin. “This is a nice surprise. Maybe this place isn’t so bad, after all.”
“I see you’ve met my dog,” a voice says from the doorway. I pause my scratches when I see the Prince of Nord leaning against my doorway. How did he get there without me even noticing?
Sitting up, I glance under the covers to make sure I’m still wearing clothing. Flannel pajamas. Phew.
My eyes crawl back up to the Prince’s, and it takes all my self-control not to gape. His crisp, white shirt has the top button open, giving me a glimpse of the muscular chest beneath it. His arms are crossed, all bulging biceps and broad hands.
Even from all the way across the room, he exudes power. Masculinity. Heat wraps around my core, reminding me that I’m a woman.
I shouldn’t be thinking this. He’s royalty. I’m not. I broke up with my boyfriend because I was determined to make it on my own—the last thing I should be doing is fantasizing about someone else.
Or maybe that’s the best thing to do?
I’m not going to be here long, anyway. What would it hurt to indulge in a few innocent thoughts?
I clear my throat. “Good morning, Your Highness.” I dip my chin. “I’m sorry. I just woke up and he was here.”
“Chief came straight here last night,” he replies, clicking his tongue at the dog. Chief stands up from my side and hops off the bed, padding on the plush carpet toward the Prince.
I miss the weight of the dog’s body next to mine, but I force a smile. “Oh. He came to me? Why?”
“Fuck if I know,” Prince Wolfe spits, shooting me a glare.
I wince.
He rests a hand on the dog’s head, and he looks like a wild, tribal king showing me who’s in charge. I’m so very keenly aware that I’m in bed. That he’s only a few steps away. That there’s heat licking the inside of my stomach in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
The Prince’s eyes sweep over me once more. He tilts his head. “Are you going to do any work today, or are you just going to lie in bed all morning?”
Heat turns to anger, flaring bright in my chest. Rude.
“I was hypothermic less than twenty-four hours ago,” I snap, then immediately blush. He’s royalty, after all. But fuck if I’ll let anyone speak to me that way. I had enough of that from my ex, and I left him behind in Farcliff. No one gets to talk to me like anything less than an equal.
“You were. I hope you learned the importance of appropriate clothing. I don’t exactly make a habit of saving damsels in distress.” His amber eyes flash, a deep well of contempt flowing just for me.
How wonderful.
“I learned that I could count on you to undress me when I’m unconscious,” I spit, meaning the words to sound like an insult—but the Prince’s lips curl into a smirk, and I draw in a sharp breath.
He chuckles gently, still stroking his dog between the ears. “Is that a request for more of my services? I’d be happy to undress you while you’re awake, if you prefer.”
“Don’t make me barf.”
Lie.
My body heats up at the thought of the Prince’s hands on me. Are they as rough as he is, I wonder? Or are his palms smooth and soft? Would he grip me tight and cage me in, showing me just how wild he can be?
The Prince stares at me like he can read my mind. “Don’t kid yourself, princess. I see the way you look at me.”
“Oh, good. You really are arrogant and rude. I was worried for a second. I thought that might have been an act last night.”
Prince Wolfe tilts his head, a playful light shining in his eyes. “You know nothing about me, do you?”
“I know you enjoy being an ass.” Ahh, shut up, Rowan! This guy is literal royalty, and I’m running my mouth. Am I drunk? Can I blame this on hypothermia?
“I’m not an ass,” the Prince says, pushing himself off the doorway. His eyes grow hard. “I’m much worse than that. Now get out of bed and get d
ressed. The office is ready for you. I have some issues to discuss with you regarding your preliminary designs for the palace.”
“You’ve looked at my designs?” My brows tug together. Then, for the first time, I notice the dark smudges under his eyes. The drawn skin. The deep tiredness that seems stitched into his very being. Did he stay up all night looking through my work?
Instead of answering, the Prince clicks his tongue for Chief to leave the room.
“Wait!” I call out. The Prince pauses, glancing over his shoulder. I motion to my phone on the nightstand. “There’s no reception on my phone. I’d like to call my grandmother.”
“The cellular network is down on account of the storm. You can use the satellite phone once we’ve talked over the design issues,” he says, his voice hard.
Ice freezes my veins as my jaw hardens. How dare he. I grit my teeth. “You’re going to use my grandmother as a bargaining chip for your stupid design ideas? I need to speak to her. Now.”
He arches an eyebrow. I cross my arms. Tension heightens between us, and I do my best to look tough. My lips pinch together, but it’s less out of anger and more to stop my bottom lip from trembling.
The Prince stares at me for a moment, then walks away.
My heart beats erratically. I feel flushed and cold and confused.
Why is he here? This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be me and Grandma for a few weeks. She said she’d take me up the mountain in a snowmobile. I’d do some research and finalize my design, then head back home.
No Prince. No royalty. No drama.
Looking at the open door, I sigh. Of course he wouldn’t close it behind him. That would be far too considerate. Big Bad Prince Wolfe doesn’t close doors when he leaves rooms. He probably has an army of minions scurrying behind him to clean up after His Royal Jerkness. He probably expects me to kiss the ground he walks on.
Screw. That.
I refuse to curtsy for that asshole. Sure, he saved my life. He brought me in when I could have died, exposed to the elements—but he’s made me feel like absolute garbage ever since. Mocked my choice of clothing, when everyone says they’ve never seen a storm like this so early in the year. And I haven’t been able to speak to my grandmother, who was a huge reason I came up here in the first place. Yet he expects me to jump out of bed and discuss the design of the castle?
Lone Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 7) Page 4