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She’s not afraid of me, for one. The Wolfe of Nord. The man who lost everything, whose heart died with his fiancée.
I know what the papers say about me. They say I’ve turned cold. That Abby’s death broke me.
And Rowan should be scared.
But she doesn’t tremble before me—except when she trembles from rage. I love how she doesn’t try to hide her emotions. She wears them like a badge of honor all over her face and body, letting me see just what an effect I have on her.
And she doesn’t curtsy for me. Doesn’t bow her head in deference. Doesn’t use my title, except to mock me.
I should have her arrested, or at the very least sent away.
But I’m a man, and I’m weak—and she amuses me.
“Highness,” she says, keeping most of the bite out of her tone this time. “With all due respect, you are not the one who commissioned me for this project. Her Majesty the Queen—”
“My sister will listen to what I say. She trusts my judgement, and she loves this palace for what it represents in Nord. Have you shown her this design?”
Rowan sucks in a breath, glaring at me. “I was given a brief, proposed a concept, and initial approvals were granted.”
“Well, they’re un-granted.”
Her lips mash together. “What would you prefer for the interior? The brief I received was to retain as many of the original features as possible. If that has changed, I’ll have to revisit my entire design.”
“Stone floors are cold in winter,” I say. “And they’re not original.”
“We can install under-floor heating. Why do you want to get rid of the floors if you want to keep everything else?” Rowan tilts her head, daring me to engage. “Even if they aren’t original, aren’t they part of the history of the place? Showing the palace’s evolution?”
Touché.
I grin. She huffs.
I wouldn’t be such an ass if she didn’t make it so much fun.
Waving my hand at the screen, I take my seat again. We go through the preliminary design from start to finish, and by the end, I don’t know what to think. She’s designed a castle that might be at home in California, or on an island in the Caribbean. It’s all about capturing light and having a jewel in the valley, and not about honoring the history of this kingdom.
This is Nord. We’re dancing on the edge of the arctic. She doesn’t seem to understand the elements. The harshness of the landscape. How tenuous our relationship with life is without the strong, thick walls around us.
Typical southerner. No wonder she almost died of hypothermia on her first day here. I’m surprised she has Nordish ancestry at all.
Rowan lets out a sigh, glancing my way. “Once I get pictures and details from around the castle and get some of the original survey plans from the archives in the library, I’ll be able to implement the changes you’ve asked for.”
I nod, unsure if the archives will do anything to make her see this place for what it is. “Maybe you should spend some time here. Try to understand Nord. Come back in summer and see the difference in the landscape, spend some time with the locals. Hear their stories. You’d learn more from that than any book.”
“I’ll start with the archives,” Rowan answers with an edge in her voice. A ding sounds from her pocket, and Rowan’s eyebrows jump. She pulls out her phone. “Reception is back.”
“It’ll be spotty for the next few days,” I say. “You can use the satellite phone whenever you need.”
Rowan glances at me, surprised. As if she expects me to be cruel.
Hell, maybe she’s right. I’m not exactly kind.
She gives me a soft smile, dipping her chin to her chest. Heat rips right through my chest at the sight of it, and I feel like I don’t deserve her smiles. I don’t deserve her softness. Her deference. I’ve treated Rowan like a silly little girl since she got here, shot down her work, and tried my best to ignore the fact that she makes my body burn up.
Yet here she is, smiling at me. Grateful that I’m letting her use a phone. Showing me a chink in her armor I know I’ll only want to exploit.
She should keep her guard up around me. It would be better for both of us.
