inside.” The Prince goes around the side of the building, where I see another door leading to kennels.
I turn away from him and head for the door. When I step inside and out of the cold, I pull my gloves off and let out a long breath. My gaze travels up to the ceiling to see the soot stains from centuries ago. I take in the old room, a big, rectangular hall with a small dais at the other end. Probably where a throne once sat.
History is woven into these walls. I can feel it. The old stones have witnessed centuries. Kings and queens and normal people who lived in this land long before us. And…I didn’t even know this place existed. My original design didn’t take it into account at all, but I can’t ignore it now. This place needs to be preserved. Restored. Celebrated for what it is.
This is the birthplace of Nord, and it’s as important to the history of this kingdom as the Summer Palace.
I take off my jacket and throw it over a hook on the wall, then pull my hat off and comb my fingers through my hair.
The door opens behind me and a cold blast of air follows. The Prince stomps his feet, blowing a breath into his hands. He brushes past me and moves to the big fireplace on the side wall, starting a blaze within moments.
Maybe not a coddled, arrogant prince, after all. Why do I find it sexy that he knows how to start a fire?
The firelight casts shadows and light across his angular features, and I find myself walking toward him. He’s crouched near the fireplace, and when I approach, he turns his head to look at me. My hand drifts over his strong jaw, his stubble prickling at my fingertips.
The Prince lets out a low groan, closing his eyes as he tilts his head toward me. “Rowan,” he says softly, and oh, I want him to keep saying my name like that. His voice is gruff and raspy, and it makes every part of me tingle in anticipation. He says my name like it tastes good on his tongue. Like he wants to taste more of me. When the Prince stands, I don’t step back. His hands drift up my sides, brushing the fabric of my sweater.
“You have such beautiful eyes,” I whisper, immediately blushing. “I’ve never seen any that color before.”
“As soon as I opened my eyes, my mother knew she would call me Wolfe. Or so the story goes,” he says, a sad smile ghosting over his lips. Those beautiful lips. Full. Soft. So perfectly kissable.
We’re so alone here. Isolated. Nothing but the fire to keep us company. Would it be so very wrong to kiss the Prince? To feel those lips on mine and enjoy the touch of his broad, strong hands? Would I regret it tomorrow if I enjoyed his eyes drinking me in? All of me?
As the fire crackles beside us, it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like the only right thing that has ever happened. Every hour I’ve spent building up my architecture firm has led me right here, to this moment. I tilt my head toward him, parting my lips. Asking for a kiss. Wanting him to take it. To take me.
But the Prince drops his chin and backs away, letting his hands fall away from my sides.
Disappointment crashes into me, closely followed by embarrassment. Silly girl. Of course the Prince doesn’t want to kiss me. Who am I, anyway? A young architect who naively thought she designed a beautiful palace when she didn’t understand the first thing about this kingdom. Why would he want to kiss me?
Wind rattles against the door, and the Prince walks to a window. His brow furrows. “Storm’s coming in.”
“Another one? Should we go back?”
He shakes his head. “It’s too late. The storms come in quick over the mountains, and it could be here within minutes. We could get lost and not make it back. It’s not worth the risk. We’ll wait it out.”
“Here?” I ask. “Alone?” I wish my voice didn’t tremble so much.
The Prince swings those amber eyes toward me, tugging his jacket’s zipper down. “Is that a problem?”
“I…” I clear my throat. “No. Of course not.”
Instead of answering, the Prince turns his back to me and tosses his jacket on a hook. I watch him strip off his scarf and hat, kick off his shoes, and readjust his other layers of clothing with