Lone Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 7)

by Lilian Monroe

  It’s hard not to feel sad about it. I liked the way she looked at me when no one was watching.

  When the plane door opens, though, there are people watching. Lots of them. The media was warned of my arrival, obviously, and have jostled their way onto the tarmac, being held back by an army of palace guards. A black car is waiting for me and Rowan at the bottom of the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” Rowan whispers as we stand at the top of the steps. Eyvar has already disembarked and is standing by the car, holding the back door open.

  “I’m not usually in the capital in October. The press must have gotten wind of it.” I lift an arm toward the crowd of photographers, painting a placid smile on my face.

  It’s only after a second that I realize my other hand is resting on Rowan’s lower back. I drop it, heart thumping at the thought of the photos that will be published online within minutes. It’ll look like we’re together—but do I really mind?

  I motion for Rowan to step down first, sensing her every movement. The wind carries a whisper of her scent toward me, and I let out a quiet sigh. We’re led to the waiting car, and once inside, Rowan releases a long breath.

  “Is your life always like this?”

  “More or less.” I grin.

  “I prefer anonymity.”

  “I wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

  Rowan’s eyebrows tug together, and for the first time, I see sadness in her eyes. Except it doesn’t bother me the way it usually would. She’s not pitying me for my loss—that, she understands. She feels sad for something I’ve never had. Privacy, anonymity.

  My fingers itch to reach over and clasp her hand in mine. I want nothing more than to feel her skin, wrap my hand around hers and show her I want her beside me. Even as we stepped off the airplane, it felt right to be with her.

  But we’re not together. She works for the palace. She’s not here to drag me out of my own doom and gloom or heal the wounds that have festered for four years.

  I instruct Eyvar to bring her to her grandmother’s place first, and we drive in silence. The distance between us is only a car seat. Just a foot of space, but it feels unsurmountable. In that space, I feel the weight of the royal expectations on my shoulders. I feel the shackles of my previous loss. I feel my failure to keep Abby safe. Why would I deserve to have another chance? Why would a woman like Rowan—who has a career, a business, and a future—want to throw all that away to be with me?

  I already know she left her boyfriend to pursue her business. Why would I be any different? She told me plainly that all she wants is independence.

  When we stop outside a small brick house a stone’s throw away from the Stirling General Hospital, Rowan finally turns to look at me. With a soft smile, she dips her head. “Thanks again for organizing this for my grandmother.”

  “She’s been loyal to the royal family for decades. It’s the least I could do.”

  “Still,” Rowan says. “I appreciate it. I...” She bites her lip. “I hope I’ll see you around.” A faint blush stains her cheeks, and I can’t quite hide my grin.

  “You will.”

  I wait until she opens the front door before nodding to Eyvar. We drive to the castle and to Eyvar’s credit, he says nothing. He knows me well enough to realize I feel something for Rowan—but he’s diplomatic enough to keep quiet about it.

  When we drive through the gates to the city castle, I immediately feel claustrophobic. There aren’t miles of space between the gates and the castle, like there are at the Summer Palace. There’s no majestic mountains and vast expanses of white snow.

  Everything is gray.

  Gray stone façades. Gray sculptural arches. Gray snow and slush pushed in great big gray snowbanks on either side of the drive. When we stop, a footman rushes to open my door. I step out, nodding to Eyvar as he drives toward the garages. I enter the main foyer of the castle, sighing when I see my sister’s lead advisor heading straight for me.

  “Your Highness,” Frederick says with a bow. “Welcome back. We weren’t expecting you for another four weeks.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Her Majesty the Queen would like to have a word.” Frederick sweeps his hand toward the door to the left, and I know I have no choice but to follow. We walk through echoing hallways toward my sister’s offices, and I feel the weight of the stone walls pressing down on me.

  I miss the Summer Palace. I miss the space.

  Or maybe I just miss Rowan.

  My sister sits behind a massive, polished desk, her back straight as a rod and her face as icy as ever. Blond hair is twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and her demure blouse does nothing to soften the harsh angles of her face.

  She’s always been as broken as me.

  “Brother,” she says, nodding to a chair, as if I need permission to sit with my own sister. Right now, though, she’s not a sister. She’s the Queen. Penelope leans back in her seat, watching as I adjust my jacket and lean back in the armchair across from her. She tilts her head, not a single wrinkle marring her skin, the youngest queen in Nord’s history. “You’re back early.”

  “I am.”

  She arches a brow. “Why?”

  “Am I not allowed to come back home when I feel like it?”

  “It’s been four years, Wolfe. You’re never here for the anniversary of Abby’s death. I’m only asking because it’s out of the ordinary.”

  “I hate calling it an anniversary. It sounds like we’re celebrating the fact that she’s dead.”

  Penelope sighs, standing up and turning to the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the wall of her office. She clasps her hands in front of her, staring at the city sprawled at her feet. My sister is a true queen—but one without an heir.

  She was Abby’s closest friend, which sometimes I forget. Where Abby was celebrated and loved by the media, Penelope hasn’t been treated so kindly. The Ice Queen. Black Widow. Cold Monarch. Vile Witch.

  They call her every name under the sun except Her Majesty the Queen of Nord.

  “You slept with the architect,” she says, still facing the window.

  My body stiffens. “How do you know that?”

  “The doctor,” my sister responds. She glances over her shoulder, her simple diamond stud glittering in her earlobe. “You didn’t use protection.”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to fuck, Penelope.”

  “I’m trying to prevent another disaster,” she snaps. Her lips pinch together as her pale skin grows even paler. The Ice Queen, indeed.

  Reality snaps back to me, and Abby’s death feels like it was yesterday. Grief hits me like a wall as I remember the secret that no one but a chosen few ever knew. One I didn’t even know until Abby’s autopsy was performed.

  “I’d hardly call Abby’s pregnancy a disaster,” I reply, my voice terse.

  For a fraction of a second, pain flashes across Penelope’s eyes. She, unlike Abby, was never able to get pregnant before her husband died. An heirless, aging queen, tipping just past thirty years old as the kingdom whispers of her failures. Her suffering is written all over her face, but in an instant, the pain is gone, and my sister’s icy demeanor is back to normal.

  My shoulders drop. “I’m sorry, Penelope. Don’t worry. Rowan isn’t pregnant.”

  “Good. I also understand you’ve been working with her on the redesign of the Summer Palace.”

  I nod. “I gave her some comments.”

  “Well, you can take the lead on that project. Silas and Jonah have expressed zero interest, and we need someone in the family to be the face of the project. You spend the most time at the Summer Palace anyway, so the natural choice is you.” My sister places her fingers on the edge of the desk, leveling me with a stare. “That is, as long as you keep your dick out of the help.”

  I grind my teeth to stop myself from biting back. Instead, I suck in a breath and give my sister a pinched smile. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Penelope arches
an eyebrow, knowing I used her title sarcastically. She’ll always be my sister, no matter what office she holds in this castle. At the end of the day, I know Penelope has suffered. She lost her husband, just as I lost Abby. Not only that, but she’s had to suffer the criticism of the media and hide her health issues from the public. She carries all that on her narrow shoulders, so it’s no wonder she’s adopted a frosty exterior. Anyone would need a defense mechanism if they’d been through what Penelope has experienced—all while ruling the kingdom.

  Still—it wouldn’t kill her to be nice to me, especially this time of year. If anyone knows loss, it’s her, but that shared suffering seems to be tearing us apart instead of bringing us closer together.

  I head to my chambers and find Eyvar waiting for me. He greets me with a quick bow of the head before combing his fingers through his beard.

  “What is it, Eyvar?” I push the door to my chambers open, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

  “Miss Reed has requested access to the new office tomorrow.”

  “Already? Doesn’t she want to spend time with her grandmother?”

  “She seems to value her work, sir.”

  I grunt. Of course she does. I know this about her. I nod to Eyvar, jerking my head to the door. “The staff should have set aside a room near the lavender sitting room. Confirm that it’s ready and tell the garages to be ready to send a car for her whenever she requests it.”

  Eyvar bows his head and disappears down the hallway. I close the bedroom door, feeling excitement curl in my gut.

  Leaving Rowan at her grandmother’s house felt like a goodbye—but what if she wants to be near me, too? Maybe she has more than just work pulling her here to the castle.

  The kiss we shared on the plane felt like more than just lust. It felt like a deeper connection growing between us. Like two souls intertwining in a way I’ve never experienced before, even with Abby.

  I just don’t know if Rowan feels it, too.

  21

  Rowan

  My grandmother is asleep when I arrive at the small three-bedroom house in the center of town. As I step inside, a nurse greets me. She introduces herself as Alice.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” Alice says. Her cheeks are round and rosy when she smiles, and she leads me down the hallway to a tidy, compact bedroom. She sweeps an arm at the small room. “This is you.”

  I smile, nodding in thanks. Gone is the luxury of the palace. There’s no four-posted bed and chrome-plated fixtures. No floor-to-ceiling windows and meadows of snow and ice.

  I’m back to reality.

  “My grandmother?” I ask.

  Alice leads me down the hall. When I poke my head inside my grandmother’s room, my heart squeezes.

  She looks older than I remembered. Deep wrinkles line her face, and her skin looks pale and clammy. I tiptoe inside and leave a soft kiss on her forehead before retreating back to my laptop. Back to my work, where life is simple. When I’m focused on my business, my emotions make sense.

  I twist and turn all night before waking up at dawn and fixing myself a cup of coffee. When I poke my head in my grandmother’s room, I walk to her bedside and curl my fingers around her icy hand.

  Grandma lets out a sigh, opening her eyes to smile at me. “Rowan,” she says. “You didn’t have to come here.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “How is everything at the palace? Did Vikki help you get settled in?”

  “It was perfect, Grandma.” I smile, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I got all the information I needed. But how are you?”

  I try to keep the concern from my face, but my grandmother lets out a soft chuckle.

  “I look that bad, do I?” She squeezes my hand, and I’m relieved at the strength in her grip. “You’re just like your mother. Worrywart. Always wanting to carry the world on your shoulders.”

  “I’d hardly say that,” I reply.

  Grandma snorts. “No? When that bastard left the two of you out in the cold, your mother straightened her shoulders and stayed in Farcliff for a better life, even when I told her to come to the Summer Palace with me. She was determined to do it on her own. Said she could provide for you without having the memory of that man tainting her future.”

  I frown. “I thought she stayed there because she wanted him to be with her.”

  Grandma shifts in her bed, sitting up with a grimace. “Hardly,” she says, fire shooting from her gaze. “He left your mother high and dry as soon as she told him about you. She got a better job in Farcliff than we could offer her at the palace, so she took the hard road of doing it on her own. She was a fighter, Rowan.” My grandmother stares at me, clear blue eyes sparkling. She shakes her head, lifting a crooked finger to stroke my cheek. “And you’re just the same. You think you have to do everything on your own.”

  “I don’t,” I say weakly.

  “No? You just built your architecture business by yourself for fun?”

  “I wanted…” I trail off. What have I been doing? What do I want? I’m not even sure anymore. Three months ago, I would have said all I want is to run a successful business. I want to be independent and have the security of a large nest egg. I want to be able to live a good life without worrying about food or electricity bills like my mother did.

  But…for what? Who am I providing for? Myself?

  As I sit beside my grandmother, realizing just how frail she’s become, the world seems to tilt on its axis. I’ve spent the better part of a decade burying myself in work and ignoring the family I still have. I’ve prioritized work and business over relationships every time I had to make a choice.

  But what if Grandma had a worse accident than a broken hip? What if she wasn’t as fit and active as she is, and her fall had more severe consequences? What if I lost her, too, without ever expecting it? Then I’d truly be alone, and being alone doesn’t feel quite the same as being independent.

  “Mom worked hard, but she wasn’t able to get ahead because she had me,” I say, my voice choking on my words. “I’m different. I don’t have a baby dragging me down.”

  “Oh, hush,” Grandma says, swatting my leg. “Dragging her down? Is that what you think you did?”

  “She could have had a better life if she hadn’t had me. She had to feed and clothe me and make sure I got a good education. She never even dated anyone after my father, and I’m pretty sure it was because she didn’t want to bring a man into my life.” My throat tightens. I stare at the floor, willing myself not to cry. “Then she died, Grandma. She gave me everything, and then it was over. If she’d been on her own, maybe…”

  “Look at me, Rowan.” My grandmother’s voice is stern.

  I close my eyes for a moment, then drag my gaze to meet hers.

  Grandma takes my face in her hands, holding me still. “You were not a burden, Rowan. You were a gift.”

  “She would have been okay without me. She might have lived—”

  “Stop it. You were the light of her life. You don’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t had you. Every time I called her, all she ever talked about was you. Your achievements. Your grades. Every time you scored a goal when you played soccer.”

  “You don’t think that’s a burden?” My voice cracks. “Everything she did was for me. She died when she was just forty, Grandma, and she didn’t even know she was sick until it was too late. She was too busy taking care of me. Always me. Never herself.”

  My grandmother intertwines her fingers around mine. She stares me in the eye, squeezing my hand. “It was not your fault your mother passed away, Rowan. Do you hear me?”

  I sigh, looking away. Grandma jerks my hand until I meet her gaze.

  “Do you understand?”

  “I understand, but I’m just not sure I agree.” I push myself to my feet, giving Grandma a pinched smile. “I should let you get some rest. I’ve got work to do.”

  “You’re more like your mother than you think,” my grandmother says, shaking her head. Sh
e closes her eyes to let me know the conversation is over, and I let out a deep sigh.

  As I walk out of the room, my head spins. There’s only one thought that steadies me—the Prince. When I think of the way I felt when I was with him, the whole world seems to come into sharp focus. Nothing felt complicated when I was with him. Nothing felt difficult.

  Yes, I’m still fighting my attraction to him. I know we have no future together, but these questions about who I am? About who my mother was? About what I really want out of life?

  None of them matter when I’m with Wolfe.

  Finding the card with the palace phone number in my purse, I take a deep breath and call. I try to put on my most professional voice as I request access to the office. They instruct me they’ll send a car right away, and I feel almost like royalty myself.

  I glance down the hallway toward my grandmother’s room, and I try to push down the unease in my gut.

  What if she’s right? What if all my work to be independent is for nothing? What if my mother didn’t see me as a burden at all? Her death wasn’t my fault, and I shouldn’t carry it on my conscience?

  What if there’s more to life than just independence, and I’ve spent the last ten years chasing something meaningless?

  As my stomach clenches, I make my way to the bathroom to take a shower, get my laptop and work things together, and I wait for the royal car to pick me up.

  When we roll through the castle gates, my eyes travel up, and up, and up. This castle is much taller than the Summer Palace. It looks like it’s been stretched toward the sky, all towers and stone, with tall, spiked fencing encapsulating it. I glance at the multitude of windows, wondering which one belongs to the Prince.

  Has he thought about me since he dropped me off? Has his world shifted as he wonders if his whole life has been a series of unfortunate decisions? Or is that just my sad self?

  A footman opens the door for me as I thank the driver, and I’m led through the grand entrance and down a winding path to the back corner of the castle. The hallway is narrow and there aren’t quite so many paintings and chandeliers at this end of the castle.