Lone Prince (Royally Unexpected #7) - Lilian Monroe Page 0,25

to bed. Is she sleeping soundly right now? Dreaming of glass houses and turrets and new designs? Maybe even dreaming of me?

Or, is she like me—awake. Troubled. Wondering who to trust.

I step farther into the library, making my way to the comfortable sofas in the deepest part of the room. My eyebrows jump.

Rowan didn’t go to bed at all. She’s curled up in a little ball on the sofa, with books strewn across the floor and a thick blanket piled over her sleeping form.

Her lips are parted, eyes closed, breath steady. She looks innocent and angelic, her pale skin against the dark fabric of the sofa. Long hair like spun copper strands splayed out around her head in a halo.

My heart hasn’t clenched like this in years. Truth be told, I haven’t even felt my heart beating since Abby died. I’ve been living in a dream. But now…something inside me is waking up. Everything is coming into sharp focus—mostly Rowan.

When I take a step toward her, she stirs. Her eyes flutter open and a frown pulls her brows together. Blinking two or three times, she looks at me. “What are you doing here?” Her voice is muffled and sleepy. It tugs at something deep in my chest.

“Came looking for you,” I answer truthfully.

She tucks her legs in closer to her body, and I sit down where her feet used to be. The residual heat of her body still warms the cushions, and I lean back, staring at the black sky outside.

“You have a boyfriend,” I say.

“Had,” she answers, straightening up and combing her delicate fingers through her long hair. “Past tense.”

“You broke up?”

“Why do you care?”

“Humor me.”

Rowan stares at me for a long moment, then lets out a breath. “He told me it was him or the job. The company I’ve spent more than half a decade building.” With a bitter snort, she shakes her head. “And, well, I’m here, aren’t I? But judging by your comments, maybe I shouldn’t have chosen work, after all.”

“You’ve been with him for a while,” I say. “You gave up that relationship for one contract?”

Rowan’s eyes narrow. “You seem to know a lot about me and my relationships.”

“Plural?” My eyebrow arches.

Rowan huffs, and I hide a smile. She pushes her hair over her shoulder and stares out the window. The storm is hitting us hard now, throwing its weight against the palace walls. Snow climbs up the bottom of the windows as the wind pushes it against the building.

Finally, Rowan glances at me. “Yes, I chose the contract. I’m an architect, Your Highness. This is my dream. How could I pass up an opportunity to design a royal residence?” She snorts. “Even if it is in the middle of nowhere.”

“You don’t like it up here.”

“Can you blame me?” Rowan sweeps her hand toward the window. The storm rages in response. “This place is about as hospitable as the bottom of the ocean.”

“How can you think to redesign this castle if you don’t understand the landscape?” There’s an edge to my voice. Why do I care? Why do I want her to see the beauty of this place? Why do I want her to like it here?

Rowan swings her eyes to meet mine. She drops her gaze, letting out a long breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I spent the evening reading about Nord and the history of the Summer Palace. I had no idea about any of it before I started working on the design.” She bites her lip. “I should have done more research. Grandma told me stories and I knew the broad strokes of the history, but there’s so much I didn’t realize.”

“My ancestors united dozens of small villages and tribes that lived in this area,” I say. “I think what my sister meant, when she said she wanted to retain the historic details of this castle, is that she wants to honor all the people who have come together to create Nord. There’s been…unrest in Nord lately. My sister needs unity.”

Rowan doesn’t understand that. She doesn’t understand that changing this palace into a destination, as she called it earlier, won’t honor the fractured relationships and century-long resentments that have festered within certain groups. She doesn’t see this palace as a symbol of the kingdom’s harmony.

But as Rowan reaches for a book, flipping to a bookmark, her smile makes me still. She shows me an image of the visitor’s cottage how it was when it was first built. A true palace, where court