Lone Prince (Royally Unexpected #7) - Lilian Monroe Page 0,5

it’s not cold. The warmth is back, and it feels good, even as I fall to the ground.

I catch myself on my hands and knees and snow slides into my glove. Slowly, almost curiously, I tug my glove off and watch the white powder fall out.

My hand doesn’t feel cold. It almost doesn’t feel like my hand at all. I turn it around, staring at my palm as if it belongs to someone else. It’s almost as white as the snow on the ground. My fingertips are a pretty shade of purple. Huh. Wow.

I can’t think straight. It’s so very hard to stand up again.

A gust of wind blows snow across my face, partially obscuring the tall, wrought-iron gate and the fence that seems to go on for miles. The palace is so far beyond the gate, it feels like I’ve made no progress at all. I lean against my suitcase, resting my eyes for just a moment.

I just need a second. I’m so, so tired.

Then, a creak. A distinctly unnatural sound in this otherwise silent landscape. It doesn’t sound like the wind. It’s almost like some animal, letting out a howl in the fading light. The screech gets louder, grinding against my ears as I struggle to open my eyes.

Movement.

Something black.

The gate.

When did it get so hard to breathe? I try to stand up, holding on to my suitcase for support, but another gust of wind knocks me back, and I fall on the hard, frozen asphalt.

Everything goes dark.

3

Wolfe

I look up from my laptop when Eyvar, my driver and personal bodyguard, makes a low noise. It’s a cross between a huff and a grunt, but it speaks volumes. The big Icelandic man looks like Thor himself, with a big beard and ice-blue eyes. His hands are so big they nearly cover the top half of the steering wheel and his shoulders bulge out beyond the width of the seat.

He doesn’t usually speak. It’s one of the reasons I hired him.

Even a soft grunt from Eyvar means something’s wrong, and as soon as I glance up from the screen, I know what the problem is.

A woman in a red jacket collapses on the road just ahead of our vehicle. She lands on her back and doesn’t move as the car inches forward, her black suitcase making a slow nosedive into the ditch.

Eyvar slows the car. He wouldn’t normally make an unscheduled stop without my instruction, but we both know what it means for someone to collapse outside in these temperatures.

This is the worst storm I’ve seen in all my life. It’s not even October, but it might as well be the depths of winter, it’s that cold.

The woman has minutes to live if we don’t do anything. Anger flashes through my chest, hot and bright. What kind of idiot goes walking in these temperatures? By the look of her clothes, she forgot she was only a few miles from crossing into the arctic.

Did she not see the storm? Thought it was a good day for a stroll? Has no sense of self-preservation?

Fucking southerners. I can tell just by the look of her unconscious form that she’s not from Nord. Stupid, stupid southerner. They don’t understand this place. They don’t understand the danger. The weakness of the human body. Just how vulnerable we are.

She doesn’t belong here. I know it already.

Eyvar pulls the parking brake and opens his door. A bitter blast of wind slams it closed behind him, and I button my jacket all the way up. My driver crouches over the woman, putting his huge palms to her face and neck, checking for a pulse. I exit the back seat of the car, standing by the open door.

Fuck, it’s cold out. I should have stayed in Stirling, the capital city, instead of coming all the way to the Summer Palace—but then I’d have to deal with the yearly memorials for my dead fiancée. Coming here was supposed to be my escape, and I’m greeted with yet another woman collapsing at my feet.

My heart aches.

Eyvar glances up at me, pale eyes somber. With a grunt, he scoops the woman up and starts marching toward the car. Even that mountain of a man has to brace himself against the wind, the woman limp in his arms. A strand of red hair falls free from her hat, whipping against her lily-white face.

Between her hat and her scarf, I see delicate features. A pink mouth. Eyes closed, with frost clinging to the lashes.