to the Prince.
Wolfe pushes it across the table toward me, smiling softly.
“What’s this?”
“I remember you saying that you wanted to leave a legacy. You wanted to do something important.”
When Wolfe nods to the folder, I flip it open. My eyes widen when I see the words at the top of the page: Rowan Reed Architectural Scholarship.
“I’ve started talking to universities in Nord about funding scholarships for students of architecture. If you agree, you could serve as director of the board and make sure that the money goes to the most deserving students.”
I blink, freeing tears from my eyes. “You did this for me?”
Wolfe shakes his head. “You did it. It was the universities who approached the royal family about it, once they saw what you did with the Summer Palace.”
I can’t stay on the other side of the table anymore. I get up, walking over to wrap my arms around Wolfe’s neck. He pulls me down onto his lap as I yelp, kissing me tenderly. As he cups my face in both hands, we smile at each other and bask in the beauty of the moment.
Together, in the place where it all started.
I don’t have to give up my love of architecture—quite the opposite. I can pay it forward to the next young architect who wants to make something of him or herself. Wolfe is giving that to me, too. A child and a marriage and a lifetime of love wasn’t enough, he had to give me a legacy, too.
Leaning my head against Wolfe’s shoulder, I let out a sigh. “What if we did awards, too? We could do a yearly architecture competition with people from all across the kingdom. They could be asked to design new libraries, or community centers, or daycares—and the Crown could fund the construction!”
Wolfe chuckles, pulling away to look in my eyes. “I knew you’d have a bucketful of ideas. Whatever you like, Rowan. We’ll do it all.”
Happiness bursts inside me and I laugh, kissing Wolfe’s lips, his cheeks, his temples. I’m giving up my business, but by doing so, I can turn my attention to something more worthwhile. Being part of the royal family doesn’t stop me from accomplishing everything I want—it allows me to do more.
I’m done holding myself back. I’m done limiting the way I think, because I have misplaced beliefs about being better off on my own.
I’ll lean on Wolfe when I need to, support him when he needs me back, and I’ll love him with all my heart until the day I die.
That evening, we have a beautiful meal in the place where we fell in love, then return to the palace and find our baby boy sleeping peacefully. Thank goodness for Vikki.
The love in Wolfe’s eyes when he holds Wren makes my whole soul sing, and I know there’s no better place for me than right here, where I belong.
At home in Nord, with the man I love.
Thank you for reading!
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Psst.. keep reading for a preview of Book 8: Ice Queen
Ice Queen
An Accidental Pregnancy Romance
Prologue
A queen doesn’t mourn the same way a woman does.
Wife.
Widow.
She doesn’t curl up and soak her pillowcase in tears. She doesn’t stare at the wall and lose long stretches of time, even when her grief is so heavy it becomes hard to think or breathe or move.
No, a queen must be a queen before anything else. She wears black and looks mournful—but not so much that the kingdom worries for her mental state. She dabs her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief, but she doesn’t wail. Her tears are restrained. Her voice doesn’t tremble when she gives a speech to the kingdom, telling its citizens that the man she meant to grow old with is dead.
A queen’s back remains straight, her shoulders always thrown back. Her hair is perfectly styled. She knows her clothing will be the subject of scrutiny, so it must remain flawless. She accepts condolences with grace, but doesn’t share her own suffering. There’s no one to share it with.
She takes her own broken, malfunctioning body—one that refused to give her an heir—and she accepts that pain with the rest of the agony in her spirit. Gulps it down like a bitter potion, wondering if her failures somehow caused this tragedy to happen. If in some twisted version of reality, she might deserve to walk through