Lone Prince (Royally Unexpected #7) - Lilian Monroe Page 0,7
first time in Nord? What kind of lunatic would start walking along the road to the palace in a peacoat and a fucking dress?
Anger winds its way through my core, setting everything aflame. But the woman’s eyelids flutter, and she mumbles against my neck. Her soft breath washes over my skin, easing the bite of the wind.
I don’t hate having her in my arms. As I march toward the lodge, she melts against my chest. She smells sweet, like candy. It feels good to hold her.
Too good.
I shouldn’t enjoy it. I shouldn’t want to protect her. To save her.
It’s just the gremlins of my fucked-up past, poking their ugly heads out ahead of the fourth anniversary of Abby’s death. Fate is sending this woman to me, unconscious and near death, to remind me of everything I’ve already lost.
Well, don’t worry, Fate. I remember. Every fucking day, and I know I’ll never forget.
When I kick the door closed behind me, the heat is already blasting in the lodge, and Eyvar is stoking a roaring fire. I jerk my head to the closet. “Blankets.”
Eyvar complies without a word. That’s better.
I lay the woman on a long sofa, dragging it closer to the fire. She whimpers, trying and failing to open her eyes.
“Gran…Grandm…” she whispers.
“What’s that?” I say, cupping her cheek. “What’s your name? Who are you?”
Her eyelids flutter, but her gaze is hazy. They close once again. My heart clenches. My bodyguard takes off her boots and jacket, then spreads two thick blankets over her, moving quickly and efficiently. She’s limp as we tuck her in, her eyes staying closed as her breath grows shallow.
“Radio the palace and get the doctor.” I tuck the edge of the blanket around her and touch her cheek again. I need her to be okay. I need her to live. It feels almost desperate, a sense of doom looming just beyond my consciousness. This woman can’t die. Not here. Not with me.
Not again.
Eyvar moves to the desk by the door. He presses a few buttons to turn on the radio, then grunts in frustration. I glance over to see him frowning. “Dead battery. Must have been left unplugged. Maybe a power outage.”
“Drive, then,” I say. “Get the doctor. And quick, Eyvar. She needs medical attention.”
“Your Highness, I can’t leave you here with—”
“You’ll do what I say, Eyvar.” I level him with a glare. “This woman will die.”
“Your Highness, your safety—”
“This woman isn’t going to magically wake up and try to stab me, Eyvar. She’s ice-cold and hypothermic. Go.”
Eyvar glances at the woman and finally lets out a long sigh. He turns his back to me and slips out the door without another word.
Turning my attention to the woman, I lay the back of my hand against her chest.
Frigid.
Sighing, I drag her closer to the fire and heap another blanket on top of her. I take a seat in an armchair, letting out a long breath.
For a few moments, I tent my hands under my chin and stare at the flames. Orange and yellow, they dance as logs crackle. The smell of wood smoke fills the lodge.
It would be pleasant if my mouth didn’t taste so bitter. I don’t want to be here. I shouldn’t need to be here. I should be in the capital beside my three brothers and sister, where I belong. I should be standing tall, protecting them like any good brother would do. My sister, the Queen, is the eldest, but I’m the oldest man in the family. I’ve always been there to look out for them.
But I’m weak. Every year, October eighteenth rolls around, and the kingdom mourns. This year, I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t stay at the balcony of the Stirling Castle and watch the thousands of candles flickering at Abby’s yearly vigil outside. I couldn’t stand the songs and dedications. The video compilations set to sad, mournful music.
The inevitable resurgence of those videos and photos of her last moments in my arms.
The memories of everything the media didn’t know—that none of us knew at the time. Abby’s autopsy doubled my grief all over again.
I was supposed to read through my public statement for the press and send back comments, but when I glance at the mystery woman’s immobile body, the last thing I want to do is official royal business. Moving to her bag, I unzip the front pocket to see if she has any identification. I open it up wider, and a lacy black thong tumbles to