I shrug. “Spooking him might be exactly what we need to do. If I show up in Nord while he’s there, he’ll know he has no choice but to accept our deal. He’s got nowhere else to turn.”
Father grunts in approval. “Asher’s right.” His eyes swing to me. “Go.”
Pushing myself off the chair, I throw my brother a dark glance before walking toward the door.
Father’s deep voice makes me pause. “Asher,” he calls out, and I turn. “Good work.” Satisfaction fills his eyes, and he can taste the thrill of the victory on the tip of his tongue. He knows we have Donovan on the run, and whatever I find out in Nord will make us even richer.
I nod, accepting his praise as if it were water and I’ve been walking through the desert for days. I gulp it down desperately, trying to hide how much it affects me. I turn my back on my father and brother and slip out through the door, only letting my shoulders drop when I’m well out of sight.
The Queen told me that information in a moment of weakness. She didn’t even tell me, really. She let slip that there was a mining executive trying to come to Nord. Is it wrong for me to investigate further? Is it wrong for me to use that information for my benefit?
I want to say no. We don’t owe each other anything, and it’s not like she cares what mergers I complete. All we did was fuck at a wedding when we both felt a bit too lonely and a bit too horny.
…So why does this taste in my mouth remind me of regret?
7
Penelope
Usually, when I get back to Nord after a trip abroad, I feel the relief of being home. I taste the crisp, cool air and let it fill my lungs, confident in the fact that this is where I belong. Stirling, the capital city, is the jewel of Nord. Rich with life and culture, it’s the place where I feel most at home.
But when I step off the private jet and feel the soft, summer breeze ruffle the hem of my dress, it sends a chill walking down my spine.
This homecoming isn’t so sweet. It feels…lonely.
Summer in Nord is incredible. Green and lush, it bursts into life without warning after a long, dark winter. It’s not muggy like Farcliff. Summer here is the perfect temperature, with just the right amount of breeze. The sun will be out until late tonight, past ten o’clock. People in Nord will celebrate in the streets, and the whole kingdom will be alive and outdoors until the cold weather sets in again come autumn.
Usually I love it, but right now it reminds me a bit too much of what happened in Farcliff. I’d prefer the cold.
Silas follows me off the plane. Sunglasses firmly in place all morning, my brother hasn’t said a word to me. Hungover. We’ve been traveling through Farcliff for two weeks now, and my brother has spent most of his time drinking and getting—ahem—acquainted with the local female population.
My brother’s antics never bothered me before. Sure, the Crown has had to put out a fire or two whenever a woman feels like she has the right to cause a controversy—but Silas is Silas. My little brother, the boy who was always able to make me smile. He’s been a hurricane since he was in school, so much so that he had to be homeschooled just to get him through. His antics turned to partying when he got older, and now he’s mostly mellowed out in comparison to how he was in his teens and early twenties.
Sure, he often has a few too many drinks and a different woman every night—but sometimes I think he’s just trying to fill some kind of void. I filled mine with ice, but maybe alcohol and sex would have been more effective.
My two other brothers, Wolfe and Jonah, are decidedly more serious. Wolfe has lightened up a bit since he got married last year, taking on the role of husband and father like he was born to do it. He’s moved to the Summer Palace full-time, which used to be our summer home as a family. It rests on the Arctic Circle and is an unforgiving place in winter. He and his wife seem to love it, though. The isolation suits them both.
And Jonah? Well, Jonah is level-headed. He has a good mind for politics, and I’ve relied on him heavily for years. He’s been in charge while I’ve been away with Silas.
Things would have been easier if Jonah had been born first. Or Wolfe. Maybe even Silas, if he decided to grow up sometime this century.
But the crown came to me. Little old Penelope, who just wanted to run off and catch rainbows. That little girl feels like a different person now. Like I’m staring at some distorted mirror, seeing my past through the eyes of a stranger.
I try not to let bitterness overwhelm me, especially when I think of Wolfe. We used to understand each other—he lost his fiancée, too. Neither of us thought we’d move on, but he has, and I’ve seen him become happier and healthier over the past year. I’ve always known my brothers would find wives and marry. Their happiness is important to me, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve lost something I’ll never get back.
Two weeks ago, I slept with a man for the first time in seven years. I let him run his calloused palms up my thighs, feeling lava pour into my veins. I tasted his kiss and drank in his scent. I was a woman, not the Queen, and it was glorious.
But it’s over.
I have responsibilities, and I can’t afford to cause any controversies like the ones Silas seems to attract. Plus, it’s never been something I’ve sought out. Never been something I needed. There hasn’t been a man who’s made me feel any bit of arousal.
Well, not until Asher.
As I’m led to the waiting royal car, I try to let the cool breeze blow my thoughts across the land. I try to push the memory of Asher aside, but I can still feel the roughness of his stubble against my cheek. The feel of his hard length pressed up against my stomach, and the absolute hunger in his kiss.
Our time together was…it was incredible. It felt like nothing I’ve ever had before. Explosive.
I’ve been drifting through a gray life since my husband died, and that hour with Asher was in full color. Bright, vibrant, and oh-so-wrong. I’d die happy if I got to do it again…
…but I can’t. All I can do is take that memory and lock it somewhere safe. Somewhere no one can find it but me.
When we get to the castle, it feels like I’m sliding on a familiar coat of armor. This is my home. My workplace. My kingdom. This is where I rule, and where all my responsibilities are fulfilled.
Leaving Silas to go nurse his hangover, I head for the office. No doubt there will be a huge stack of paperwork waiting for my signature. Jonah could hold down the fort while I was gone, but his signature doesn’t belong next to the royal seal. I walk through the empty hallways, listening to the echo of my shoes on the stone floors and ignoring the haughty gazes from the oil paintings of ancestors long gone.
Who will be my successor? Who will take the crown after I’m gone? Wolfe is the next oldest, and he already has a child. The newspapers are calling him and his son the heirs—as if I’m already dead. The Queen who failed to produce an heir. The end of her royal line. Up until Gabriel’s wedding, I would have agreed with them, but now…
…I feel the furthest thing from death. Asher made me feel so deliciously alive—but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ll never have an heir of my own. That particular scar is mine to bear, and mine to bear alone.
My office is a large room with big, floor-to-ceiling windows. The curtains have been opened and the bright summer sunshine pours into the room. My desk gleams, and on the left side of it, a large stack of folders awaits.
I call for the staff and ask to have them serve my lunch in the office, then take a seat behind my desk. Skimming through paperwork, I sign where I need to. Most of it is inconsequential. Daily logs of castle security, a new law passing through parliament that’s been hotly debated for months, photos to autograph for Nord’s lucky citizens who have reached their hundredth birthday.
The usual.
As I flick through the paperwork, signing where I need to, making notes where I have questions, I let out a long sigh. My thoughts crawl back to Asher and the way I felt in that room. I wonder if I could call him. I could get a
secure line and ask him if he’d like to come up to Nord.
Shaking my head, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to get a grip on myself. I’m not that desperate. It’s been two weeks, and I haven’t heard a word from Asher. He told me himself he didn’t want to see me again. Not in those words, exactly, but I’ve been around politicians long enough to know what he really meant. Being too busy to come up to Nord isn’t exactly subtle. At Gabriel’s wedding, he left just a few minutes after we returned to the reception. He got what he needed, and I can’t help feeling a bit unclean for giving it to him. Asher doesn’t want to see me again. That’s one thing I know for sure.
A soft knock pulls me out of my head. I call for the visitor to come in, and my brother Jonah pokes his head through the door. “You’re back less than a couple of hours and you’re already neck-deep in paperwork.” He flashes a smile at me as I motion for him to enter.
Behind him, two palace staff members enter with a silver tray carrying my lunch. The smell of the chef’s special chicken noodle soup wafts toward me, and I let my lips curl into a smile. The man carrying the tray stares at me, wide-eyed, and I wonder if he’s ever seen me smile before. Have I really been that cold?
Jonah takes a seat as I clear a space on my desk, and two staff members arrange my lunch, cutlery, and cloth napkins for me to eat. The daily newspaper is folded neatly on the edge of the tray. They bow and back out of the room without a word. My brother motions for me to eat. “I already had lunch earlier.”
I tuck into the soup, finally feeling like I’m home. “No problems while I was away?”
Jonah shrugs. “Protests are still happening almost daily. I’m told they’re under control, but… I don’t know. We received an application for mining rights near Roston.” Jonah’s brow darkens. “Donovan Enterprises wants to open three large diamond mines.”
“Let me guess, the parliament wants to grant it.”
“They say we need more industry. We could be entering another recession, and new mining projects opening up might just save the economy. And our reputation.”
“Every year I’ve been wearing the crown, they’ve told me we’re entering a recession.” I shake my head and take another spoonful of soup. I tilt my head, staring at my brother. “Why don’t you like Donovan?”
“I’ve seen the way Reginald Donovan does business, and I don’t like it. My contacts in Farcliff, Canada, and the States tell me he’s shady. If we grant him the mining rights, we’re almost certainly opening ourselves up to serious financial and environmental messes.”
“But he’ll provide jobs and money, so the government wants to proceed.” I shake my head, sighing. Nothing is ever simple.
Jonah grunts in agreement. Not for the first time, I’m glad to have my brother near me. With Wolfe in full-on nesting mode, and Silas still in his never-ending party years, sometimes it feels like Jonah’s the only one I can trust. Like me, he’s a responsible family member. The one who knows his duty.
After filling me in on the rest of the news from Nord, Jonah leaves me to finish my lunch in peace. He closes the door behind him, and my heart feels slightly easier. I’m not that lonely here. I have my brothers, and Wolfe’s new wife Rowan is quite nice. Life is far from bad.
I just had a wobble at Prince Gabriel’s wedding. A moment of loneliness. It’s over now, and Asher’s made it clear by his silence he feels the same way. We can both move on with our lives and go back to the way things were before—even if I feel like something inside me has shifted, and I’ll never get it to shift back.
As I push my bowl away and grab the newspaper on the edge of the silver tray, my eyes widen. I unfold the paper and it opens. A gasp escapes my lips.
There, on the front page of the Stirling Times, is none other than Asher Gerhard. The headline screams at me in big, black letters.
Farcliff Executive Bashes Nord’s Unemployment, Lack of Industry
My own words staring back at me. The things I said to him in a post-coital haze, splashed on the front page of a newspaper. Anger is too kind a word for what I feel right now. Bitter heat sweeps through my veins, turning everything inside me to dust. Thick, black smoke fills my veins as I struggle to keep my rage at bay.
I can’t read the article because my hands are trembling too much. I lay the paper flat on the desk and stand up, leaning over it. Blinking a few times, I try to clear my eyes. That fucking dog. I can’t believe I slept with him! I can’t believe I let him lead me away from the wedding and do…do…do that to me. I need a shower. I need to wash this grime out of my pores and clean my tongue from the taste of him.
The article hypothesizes about his presence in Nord and what it means about the future of Nordish industry. Gerhard, Inc. is expanding into Nord, they say. Heat rushes through my chest, spearing me straight through the heart.
Was he planning this trip when he saw me at the wedding? Why wouldn’t he mention it? Was he already intending to work in Nord?
Not once did he say anything about visiting my arctic kingdom. Not once did he say he’d want to see me again. Not once did he say anything about the possibility of a trip here—he said the opposite! He said he didn’t have time to come here. Then, two weeks later, he’s on the front page of a newspaper? He’s here?
I read through the article three times, fuming. Written by Jacinthe Crawley, a woman who has a serious abolitionist streak and would love nothing more than to see my head roll right off my shoulders, the article praises Asher’s business savvy, proclaiming him the most successful closer in his father’s company’s history. He’s the king of mergers, apparently.
I…I didn’t know that. I didn’t know anything about him when I saw him. Why wouldn’t he tell me?
Hurt and anger feel very similar, but mostly I feel embarrassed. I don’t even know why I’m angry. He had no obligation to tell me he was coming to Nord, but…I guess I wish he had. This just makes it seem like he didn’t want me to know. He didn’t want to see me again.
My fingers drift over the image on the newspaper, tracing the outline of his lips. Perfectly formed, I remember exactly how they felt to kiss.
Blinking back tears, I crumple the newspaper and toss it aside. My throat burns as I turn toward the windows. Icicles form over my heart as my eyes widen. I look over my shoulder at the crumpled paper, every cell in my body slowly stilling. Was he just using me? That special connection I felt—did it even exist?
Evidently not, if he didn’t even have the decency to mention he was planning a trip to my own damn country. He lied. Denied it. Told me he wouldn’t come here. Said he didn’t have time.
I…argh. I want to smash this window to pieces with my silver lunch tray. Smack him across the head with it. I’m too full of emotion right now, like I’m about to boil over.
After seven years of cold distance from my emotions, anger feels good. It burns through my veins like poison, and I want nothing more than to see Asher and tell him exactly what I think of him. He thinks he can use me for sex, then turn around and never speak to me again? He thinks he can expand his father’s business into Nord after tossing me aside like a used tissue?
Think again, Gerhard.
Rage is hot and bright. In a life where I’ve been cold and distant, the fiery bite of anger is almost addictive. I dive into the feeling, swimming in my own fury.
He used me. He took me into that room, turned me around, and fucked me from behind with his hand over my mouth, then sent me on my way.
How fucking dare he?
In a small, quiet corner of my mind, I think my anger might not be justified. He doesn’t need to tell me his travel plans just because he sleeps with me. He’s welcome to visit Nord, and having more companies expand into Nord would probably help the whole political situation. It would give me options other than Donovan Enterprises, for one.
But anger feels too good to ignore, and I push those rational thoughts aside.
He told me he had no time to come to Nord, and then came straight here. How am I supposed
to ignore the sting of that slap?
I jump when the door opens. A staff member curtsies and asks to remove the silver lunch tray. She’s young—barely a teen. I haven’t seen her before. Her eyes climb up to mine then dart away. “Do you need anything else, Your Majesty?” Her voice is thin. She’s afraid. She can sense the anger washing over me in waves.
I’m used to that reaction. Many people have heard stories about me. I never smile. I’m cold. Heartless.
“Get me Frederick,” I tell the trembling woman. She curtsies again and scurries out of the room. I sit down and lean against the back of my chair, feeling the sun warming my neck through the window, and I feel hot for the first time in years.
So hot I might combust. Like my whole body is on fire, and I need to fix this. Throw something. Kill someone.
Preferably Asher fucking Gerhard.
Frederick, my private secretary, enters the room. He has a thick, black mustache and equally black hair. His father served my father, and his family has been in service to the Crown for generations. He gives me a low bow. “You called, Your Majesty?”
I lift my chin. “Find Asher Gerhard and take me to him. He arrived in Nord this week.”
“Ma’am,” Frederick starts, stuttering. “You want…”
“I want you to call a car, find an address, and take me there. Is that a problem?” My voice is frosty. So cold the sunlight seems to dim.
Frederick bows. “Right away, Your Majesty.”
Standing, I pick up the crumpled newspaper article and smooth it out again. I fold it as neatly as I can and tuck it under my arm. My steps are purposeful as I walk toward the entrance of the castle. The haughty gazes of ancestors on oil paintings no longer make me bow my head, they only fuel whatever rage is simmering in my chest.
Ice Queen: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance Page 6