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9
Wolfe
Chief whineswhen I bring him to my chambers, but I can’t let him go to Rowan’s room. Not again.
“Either we both sleep next to her, or neither of us does,” I say. My dog tilts his head, then makes a slow circle on the rug in front of the fireplace and plops himself down. I let out a long breath, lifting my eyes to the ceiling. This is bad. I actually meant that. I don’t want anyone sleeping next to Rowan—not even my fucking dog.
A knock on the door snaps me out of my mind and I open it to see Eyvar on the other side. He nods. “Sir.”
“Everything okay?”
“The girl checks out. Architect. Got the job through official channels and planned this visit with Mrs. Reed.”
I open the door wider for Eyvar to step in. Taking a seat on a chair, I motion for him to sit. He stays standing, clasping his hands behind his back.
My bodyguard widens his stance, his big boulder shoulders flexing. “She’s made a reputation for herself as an architect. Started her own firm when she was only twenty-seven. Won multiple awards. Not surprised she got this contract. Has a nice house, a boyfriend—”
“Boyfriend?” I straighten up. Rowan didn’t mention a boyfriend.
Eyvar dips his chin. “Gerry Sanders. Been dating him for at least two years, according to our intelligence reports, although he’s been seen with other women in the past few months, and it looks like they may have split.”
“She didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend.” My tone is curt. I stare at Chief, who sleeps on the rug, unbothered by this new information.
Eyvar grunts. “I think you should be careful around her.”
“Why?”
“This time of year is always…difficult.” He clears his throat, staring at a spot on the floor.
Yes, it is. I’m reminded of the most painful moment of my life. When everything changed, and my future didn’t seem so bright. When I realized that I’m not a hero. Not some great protector. I’m just a weak man who can’t even cry for help when his fiancée collapses in his arms.
Maybe Eyvar’s right. My attraction to Rowan is only a distraction from my true feelings. I let out a long sigh, nodding at my bodyguard. “Thanks, Eyvar. Get some rest.”
He nods, handing me a file that he put together on Rowan. Then, Eyvar backs out of the room and closes the door behind him. For a large man, Eyvar moves as softly as a cat. I don’t hear a single footstep on the hard stone floor as he makes his way back down the hall.
I read the file six times, front to back. I inhale every scrap of information he was able to find on Rowan, but by the time I’m done, I don’t know how I feel. Jealous? Intrigued?
Rowan Reed’s mother was from Nord. Father is unknown. Moved to Farcliff when she was a baby. This is her first time in Nord that we know of. Has had strong ties with her grandmother, but Mrs. Reed always went down to Farcliff to visit Rowan, and not the other way around.
Tossing the file aside, I climb into bed. For the next few hours, sleep doesn’t come. I lie in bed, twisting and turning, and finally push myself to my feet and let out a breath. I give up. Putting on a sweater to guard against the chill, I slip some shoes on and head for the door. Chief sleeps soundly, so I leave the door ajar and walk away. Passing through the lower levels of the palace, I listen to the silence. Everyone’s sleeping.
Well, everyone except me.
I like the solitude of the Summer Palace, especially in winter. Is that some sort of sick symbolism? I don’t enjoy things the way they’re meant to be enjoyed. I prefer the opposite. When the wildflowers are months away from blooming. When the bears are hibernating, and the caribou have migrated to warmer ranges. When the wind howls and the snow blankets the world.
When everything’s dead, just like my heart.
My feet carry me to the library. Embers are dying in the fireplace, and the room is starting to cool down. The door to the archives is closed, and I wonder what time Rowan went to bed. Is she sleeping soundly right now? Dreaming of glass houses and turrets and new designs? Maybe even dreaming of me?
Or, is she like me—awake. Troubled. Wondering who to trust.
I step farther into the library, making my way to the comfortable sofas in the deepest part of the room. My eyebrows jump.
Rowan didn’t go to bed at all. She’s curled up in a little ball on the sofa, with books strewn across the floor and a thick blanket piled over her sleeping form.
Her lips are parted, eyes closed, breath steady. She looks innocent and angelic, her pale skin against the dark fabric of the sofa. Long hair like spun copper strands splayed out around her head in a halo.
My heart hasn’t clenched like this in years. Truth be told, I haven’t even felt my heart beating since Abby died. I’ve been living in a dream. But now…something inside me is waking up. Everything is coming into sharp focus—mostly Rowan.
