Lone Prince (Royally Unexpected #7) - Lilian Monroe Page 0,11

isn’t happening.

My eyes snap open again, and I do my best to square my shoulders. “I’m here to work, Your Highness. I was engaged by the royal family to redesign the Summer Palace. This is my first site visit, where I intend to take photos of important features that will be retained, and go through the palace archives for original building drawings and survey information. I need them to finalize my design before approval by the Crown. Construction starts next summer.”

By some miracle, my voice doesn’t tremble. My heart, on the other hand, is thumping so hard I think my ribs might crack.

The Prince arches a brow. I hate that I amuse him. I hate that he looks at me like I’m some little plaything sent for his entertainment. I hate that I’m not wearing any clothes and that my body still feels cold, despite the warmth of the fire and the heat in my core.

My hands tremble, and I force myself to meet his gaze. “Is my grandmother okay?”

He dips his chin, and relief washes over me. “She’ll be fine. She broke her hip, but she’s stable. No need for surgery, but she’ll have a long recovery, considering her age. They tell me she probably won’t be back to the palace until spring.”

I let out a long breath. “Okay. Can I talk to her?”

“The cell tower is down. We have no reception, and the short-wave radio doesn’t reach that far south. There’s a satellite phone at the palace, but I doubt the hospital will let you speak to her until visiting hours tomorrow.” The Prince unfolds his long body to stand up. He towers over me, his golden eyes still glued to my face. “Once you’re recovered, you’ll report to me at the palace. The staff will bring some adequate clothing for you to wear.” He takes a step, then pauses beside the sofa. Leaning down, a cruel smirk crosses over his lips. “You’re not in Farcliff anymore, princess. Welcome to Nord.”

I inhale sharply and taste his scent. Woodsy. Strong. Like whiskey and fire. It makes my head spin, and I can’t manage to make my tongue work well enough to answer.

Instead, I just dip my chin and listen to his footsteps as he walks out. The door opens, sending a cold jet of air blasting through the lodge. When I glance over my shoulder, both he and the huge man by the door are gone.

The doctor gives me a tight smile. “Don’t mind him. He’s just… Well, never mind. He’s a complicated man and October is always difficult. Not used to being this far north when the weather is this bad.”

I sip my tea in silence for a while as the doctor takes my vitals. Glancing at the older man, I tilt my head. “Do you like it here?”

The doctor nods, shifting his gaze to my IV bag. “There’s a certain kind of magic in the isolation up here. I don’t mind it. Your grandmother likes it.”

My throat feels tight as the reality of my situation closes in on me. “Will she be okay?”

“She’s strong. She’ll be fine,” Doctor Williams replies, shifting his kind eyes to mine. “She was lucky to get out when she did, so we should all be grateful for small mercies. This is going to be a big storm. We’ll be shut in for at least a week. Maybe longer.”

“A week?” My eyes widen.

“It’s safer that way. Even here, at the security lodge, we can get cut off from the main castle in whiteout conditions.” He glances out the window. “As soon as you’re strong enough to move, we’ll have to head back. Soon would be preferable. Your IV fluids should be done in ten minutes, then we’ll head back.”

I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to this job. Grandma warned me about the cold. She warned me that people get cabin fever if they don’t adapt to the loneliness and isolation. Told me to plan for a short visit, so the harshness of the arctic wouldn’t have time to get to me.

But nothing could have prepared me for this.

Wrapping the blankets around my body, and ignoring the doctor’s protests, I wheel my IV pole to the window and glance out. Even through thick, double-glazed panes, the cold bites through the glass. I watch wind whip little tornadoes of snow and frost over the desolate landscape, as if every ice crystal is dancing in some complicated choreography.

The palace sits between two

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