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

by Lilian Monroe

  “Oh, please. Come on.”

  His jaw tenses. “The Prince is… He’s been hurt before.”

  “You don’t think he’s ready for a relationship?”

  “That’s not my place to say.” His eyes stay on the road.

  I huff. “Eyvar.”

  “He’s not like you and me, Miss Reed.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? He’s human, isn’t he?”

  “He’s royalty.” The words come out quietly, but the weight of them makes me still. I glance out the window, watching the kingdom pass us by. It’s foreign and familiar, all at once. Like I’ll never quite belong, but I’ll miss it if I leave.

  Eyvar thinks the same thing my grandmother does—that getting involved with the Prince is trouble. And damn it, don’t I know that? What’s the end game, here? He can’t be with me. He’ll probably end up married to some princess. Maybe one of the daughters of the Farcliff royals.

  He won’t marry some lowly architect, no matter how many awards I have on my office wall.

  Chewing the inside of my lip, I push the thought aside. We pull up outside a doctor’s office, and Eyvar comes around to open the door for me. His eyes stay focused on some distant spot, and I choose not to engage him in conversation. Instead, I head inside for my appointment.

  I know I talk to the receptionist and fill out some forms, and I probably sit there for ten or twenty minutes as I wait—but the truth is, I don’t notice any of it. My mind is with the Prince. With the inevitable demise of our romance. What other possible outcome could there be? If he’d wanted to make our relationship public, wouldn’t he have said something by now? We’ve been seeing each other for over a month, but it feels like I’ve known him my whole life. It feels more than casual.

  The doctor is a tall, slim woman in her late forties or early fifties. She asks me a few questions, then instructs me to get up on the examination table. It’s not until my pants are off and my legs are up on the stirrups that I finally snap back to where I am.

  I’m doing this for him. For me, too, obviously. I want to have safe sex. But I want something more with the Prince. I want intimacy. I want to feel his skin on mine.

  I want a relationship. Not behind closed doors. Not hiding away in my office in the far corner of the castle. I want to be with Wolfe.

  What if I never get it? What if Eyvar, Grandma, and the whole rest of the world are right, and this romance will end sooner rather than later?

  The speculum is cold. I grimace as it cranks.

  Then, the doctor makes a soft noise. She pops her head up between my knees, rolling her stool back to meet my eye. “We’ll need to do a blood test as well.”

  “Why?” My voice is small. In this position, no matter how friendly the doctor is, I feel exposed and vulnerable. “Is everything okay?”

  “Miss Reed,” she says, keeping her face neutral. “Is there any chance you might be pregnant?”

  24

  Rowan

  Your cervix changes color when you’re pregnant, apparently. It gets softer, too, or so the doctor says when I ask why the heck she thinks I’m pregnant.

  A blood test confirmed it—I’m carrying the Prince’s child.

  A torrent of emotions rips through me, burning a wide swath straight through my heart. It’s the best and worst news I’ve ever heard.

  Worst, because it changes the entire course of my life. How am I going to tell the Prince? How will I take care of it? Will he even want the baby?

  And it’s the best news, because after the initial shock wears off, and I stand outside the doctor’s office with a handful of pamphlets, I finally feel like my life has a purpose.

  It hits me like a sack of rocks to the side of the head. Meaning.

  I thought work was my purpose? I thought building a business and being independent was my calling? Those things mean nothing.

  Weak sunlight warms my skin as I tilt my head up toward its rays, feeling like my whole life has changed in an instant. My heart beats erratically as my emotions wage war with each other. Panic nips at the heels of excitement, and if I look too closely at it, I fear panic will win. Fear and love and uncertainty grab their weapons and face off inside me.

  Eyvar clears his throat, nodding to the door he’s holding open. “Miss Reed?”

  Mechanically, I shuffle toward the car. I slip inside, seeing nothing. Feeling everything. My hand smooths over my stomach as Eyvar closes the door, and I jump at the sound. Everything is too loud. Too sensitive. Too warm and somehow too cold, too.

  I’m pregnant.

  I stare at my past through shards of a broken mirror, realizing that in all the years I’ve worked myself to the bone, I’ve achieved nothing. Well, nothing that really matters.

  Yes, I have a business. I have money. I have a contract to redesign a royal residence.

  For what? For who?

  In the weeks that I’ve been in Nord, I befriended Vikki. I fell in love with Wolfe, and I reconnected with my grandmother. As the car snakes through the snowy streets of Stirling, I think about that little four-letter word. Love. For the first time in my life, I’ve felt it in all its forms, all at once. Family, friendship…and Wolfe. I was a fool to think I could fight these feelings. As soon as he stepped into my life, a tidal wave was crashing into me, and I thought I could fight it off with a crude stick as a weapon. Love swept me out to sea, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

  I’m in love with Wolfe. The prince who looked at me like I amused him. The man who opened up to me, day by day, showing me that we aren’t really that different from each other at all. He makes me feel less…alone. I feel more fulfilled here than I ever did in Farcliff, no matter how big my corner office is, or how nice the view is from the top.

  Eyvar pulls up outside my house, and I let myself out of the car. I call out a breathless thank you and rush through the front door, locking it as soon as I’m inside. I listen for a beat, but the house is silent. Grandma must be resting.

  My heart hammers uncomfortably. I’m flushed and terrified and so fucking excited.

  Why am I excited? Shouldn’t panic be winning?

  Somehow, I can’t keep the smile off my face. When I catch a glimpse of myself in a hallway mirror, my eyes shine unnaturally and there’s a goofy grin on my lips. Sucking in a deep breath, I try to make sense of what’s going on. I pad down the hallway and lock myself in my room, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the carpet.

  Think, Rowan.

  I’m keeping the baby. That, I know. I already love it, even though it’s probably the size of a seed. A smile drifts over my lips as I think of my own mother. She must have felt this way about me, too. It’s the reason she went to look for my father in Farcliff. It’s the reason she worked herself to death to provide for me. It’s the reason she never complained about it.

  She loved me in a way I didn’t understand. Like only a mother can.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath. Dark, insidious thoughts creep into my frazzled mind. My past grins at me, reminding me that things don’t always turn out the way we hope. My father didn’t want me. He already had a family. Will the Prince want this baby? Am I doing exactly what my mother did with me? Subjecting myself to the kind of difficult life I saw her fight—and lose?

  I think of the past four weeks, and how the Prince’s eyes soften every time he glances at me. How his fingers drift over my skin, sending shivers flowing through my very core. The way he looks at me feels…real.

  What if he wanted this baby, too? What if royalty wasn’t a wedge between us? We could…We could have a family.

  Curling up on the bed, I tuck my knees into my chest and let out a long breath. For one night, I allow myself to hope things will work out. I hope the Prince will feel as good as I do. I hope this baby will have a father.

  For one night, I ignore my past. I ignore the blaring warning signs that tell me this isn’t a normal situation, and things might not work out for me and my child.

&
nbsp; When I get up in the morning, the sound of the doorbell strikes fear in my heart. No one comes to this house, especially not this early in the morning. Is it the Prince? Did he find out about the baby? Did Eyvar say something? Or the doctor?

  My grandmother calls out from her bedroom, “Who’s that?”

  “I’ll get it,” I shout, shuffling down the creaking wooden floors to the front door.

  I open it to an army of reporters shouting my name, cameras and microphones shoved in my face. They assault me, snarling and snapping their teeth at me like bloodthirsty beasts.

  Screaming, I slam the door. My hands tremble as I lock it, fumbling with the latch until it finally snicks. I lean against the door, sucking in a deep breath.

  What in the…?

  Do they know about me and the Prince?

  Scrambling for my phone, I type in a random string of keywords that might bring up what I’m looking for. Nord news Prince Wolfe.

  My face pops up on the screen, and my stomach falls out of my ass.

  Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, no, no, no.

  My hands tremble. My grandmother calls out from her room. My ears ring, this high-pitched whine that drowns out everything else. What the hell is going on?

  Horror ices my veins as I read article after article about myself. Exposés about my life, my history, my business. A timeline of my trip to Nord, and frighteningly accurate theories about how my romance with the Prince began.

  And, most damning of all, a picture of me outside the doctor’s office, with a zoomed-in insert of the pamphlet in my hand, the word pregnancy emblazoned on it in bold, black letters.

  They know. Everyone knows. The whole world knows that I’m pregnant with the Prince’s baby—and I didn’t even get a chance to tell the Prince myself.

  The doorbell rings again, followed by a knock on the door. Grandma shuffles to her bedroom door, poking her head out. She has a silk scarf over her head and sleep still clouding her eyes. “What’s all that about?”

  My eyes are wide with terror. I open and close my mouth. “I… I…” I stammer, shuffling toward her. “Reporters.”

  “What do they want?”

  I glance at the entrance, watching as someone’s shadow tries to peer through the skinny window beside the door. “They want me.”

  Grandma stares at me, confused. Sighing, she hobbles past me and heads for the kitchen, mumbling something about needing a cup of coffee. I follow her blindly, accepting a mug when she hands it to me. Am I even supposed to be drinking this? I feel so incredibly unprepared for pregnancy. For motherhood.

  Oh, God. Panic might win this fight, after all.

  When Grandma sits down across from me, she stares at me until I meet her gaze. Leaning back, she dips her chin. “Now, Rowan. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

  My dear, sweet, no-nonsense grandmother. She must have had this exact conversation with my mother, except the man who impregnated her wasn’t literal royalty.

  I gulp a mouthful of coffee past a lump in my throat, burning the roof of my mouth in the process. It’s bitter and hot and disgusting, but I swallow another sip down anyway. When I finally put my mug down, I glance at my grandmother and let out a sigh. “I’m pregnant with the Prince’s baby, and dozens of reporters are outside trying to ask me about it.” There. That was easy. Sort of.

  Grandma’s eyebrows twitch upward ever so slightly, but otherwise, her face doesn’t move. That tiny movement of her brow nudges me toward a full-on breakdown, but I resist.

  My hands grip the edge of the kitchen counter and I don’t trust myself to pick up the coffee cup. Taking a deep breath, I try to sort through the mess in my mind. “I… I want to keep it, but I can’t subject the baby to all that.” I wave a hand toward the door. “And the Prince… He hasn’t talked about making our relationship public. It’s always been secret. I’m not sure he wants…” I squeeze my eyes shut, cheeks burning. I’m embarrassed. Ashamed, even. Why would I allow myself to be in this position?

  Everything is confusing. Shame tastes bitter at the back of my throat, and there’s an oily coating over my skin. I don’t even know what I’m ashamed of. Not the baby. Not Wolfe. So…what?

  “Have you told him?”

  I shake my head. “I only found out last night.”

  “Will you tell him?”

  I nod. “Today.”

  “Good. Will you keep it?”

  “Of course.” My voice is strong. I grip the edge of the counter so hard I’m afraid it’ll crumble in my palms.

  Grandma makes a soft noise. “Okay, honey. You have to tell him.”

  The heady, euphoric feeling from last night turns black inside me. Reality isn’t rose-colored. Reality is dark, and I stare at the hallway leading to the front door. “What then, Grandma? What are my options? If he wants to be with me, it means I have to give up my whole life. My business. My independence. I basically choose this”—I jerk my head to the door—“as my new reality. What kind of way is that to raise a child? I’m not sure I even want that for myself. I saw the headlines—they’re all just comparing me to his dead fiancée. I’m the other woman, just like Mom was, except in my case, the first woman isn’t even alive.”

  Grandma tilts her head.

  “Say it, Grandma.”

  “Say what?” Her voice is neutral.

  “Something, something, apple, tree…” I turn to the counter and stare at the black coffee in my mug, cheeks burning. “This is exactly what happened to Mom, wasn’t it?”

  Grandma chuckles, patting my hand. “It’s slightly different, Rowan. For one, I think the Prince cares about you, and I know for a fact he doesn’t have a secret family hidden away in another kingdom.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Right. But he’s still a prince. If Wolfe doesn’t want to be involved, do I raise this kid without ever telling them who their father is?”

  “Let’s just deal with one problem at a time, Rowan.”

  “I can’t stay here.” I meet my grandmother’s eyes. “If I stay, I either get wrapped up in this whole media machine and become part of the royal family, or I’m an outcast. My child is a pariah. I can’t let that happen. I need to go back to Farcliff. I need to just do this on my own—that’s the best chance I have at giving this kid a normal, healthy upbringing.”

  “You need to tell the Prince.”

  I chew my lip, tears welling up in my eyes for the first time since I found out about the baby. Nodding, I push myself up to my feet. Then, an even scarier thought. “What if he wants it? What if he wants me to stay? What if I have to give everything up…” My eyes widen. If he doesn’t want it, fine. I can leave with my tail between my legs. I can show this baby love and devotion. But if Wolfe does want me the way I thought I wanted him…

  “Then you either stay and let him be part of the baby’s life, or you leave. It’s your choice, Rowan. You need to do what’s best for the baby.”

  “And if he doesn’t want it?” My voice is small. My heart aches.

  “Then the choice is made for you, honey.”

  I blink a tear down my cheek and wipe it away in an instant. There are no good choices. My mania from yesterday has vanished. I’m staring at a bunch of bleak options for a sad future, that oily film coating everything from my head down to my bare toes.

  If I stay, I’m subjecting the baby to media scrutiny—even worse so if the Prince doesn’t want to be a part of our lives. What kind of future is that for a child? Everyone would know who the father is, and everyone would judge me and the baby. What if it affected the baby’s future? Judging by the crush of reporters outside, they wouldn’t just forget about us. The kid would be in the newspapers for his or her whole life. They could be bullied, or judged, or stopped from getting jobs and opportunities.

  Even if Wolfe wants the kid, do I really want to take that chance? Do I want to subject my child to that kind of future?

  If I go back to Farcliff, I’m giving up my relationship with the Prince. I’m leaving the only
place I’ve ever felt at home—but I’m giving my child a chance at a normal life. I’m choosing independence and anonymity. Privacy. Normalcy.

  My life is crumbling around me and I feel so sad it makes my chest ache, but I feel like I finally understand the choices my mother made for me. I understand the pain she must have felt, and I understand the devotion. My hand slips over my stomach and I let my eyes close, knowing I’ll do anything to keep my baby safe.

  25

  Wolfe

  Every night that Rowan isn’t in bed beside me is torture. Since we’ve been in the capital, we’ve stolen secret moments together in her office, or sneaked up to my chambers, or gone for walks on the palace grounds—but it’s not the same as being together. Really together.

  A knock sounds on my bedroom door. I open it up to see Frederick, my sister’s little lapdog. His mustache is particularly thick and luscious today. “Good morning, Your Highness,” he says with a small bow that’s hardly more than a nod. “Her Majesty requests your presence.”

  I let out a sigh. It’s too early for this, but Frederick just stands there and stares at me. I pull a sweater on over my head, then motion for him to lead the way. We walk across the castle to my sister’s private chambers, where I find her sitting at a vanity, putting on her jewelry like she’s readying for battle. She glances at me through the mirror.

  “Brother,” she says, her voice cold as ice.

  “Your Majesty,” I reply with an insolent bow. I’m not in the mood for this. I don’t want her to chastise me for something or tell me I’m not doing a good enough job with the Summer Palace design. Ever since her husband died, Penelope changed. She’s not the bright, happy sister I once knew.

  I can’t judge her for that—didn’t my personality change when Abby died? Didn’t I become dark and lonely?

  But now…things are different. There’s light in my life again.

  The Queen turns around, delicately picking up a cell phone from the edge of her vanity. Tapping on the screen a few times, she turns it toward me with an arch of her brow. “Explain.”