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Wolfe
When Rowanand I were at the visitor’s cottage, I felt a closeness I haven’t felt in a long time. A sense of companionship, like there’s someone else in the world who understands pain the way I do. She’s resigned herself to loneliness, just as I have.
It’s been four long years of trudging through life with weights around my ankles. Four years of wishing it had been my heart that stopped, not Abby’s. Four years of wondering what the point of it all is without Abby by my side.
But now… I shake my head and stare at the ceiling above my bed. Rowan doesn’t want me that way. I’m not so dense that I can’t read body language. I might not regret our time together, but she does.
Is it because the condom broke? She doesn’t want kids?
Or is it simply because she slept with me?
It’s hard not to think about the taste of her lips, and the way her skin felt against mine. It’s hard not to wonder if she’d ever give herself to me fully. Let go of the inhibitions and walls that she’s built up and let me have her. Completely.
For the first time in four years, my blood feels warm and alive and thick in my veins.
It feels good to do something for her. To provide a place for her to live and work. I want to make her happy.
So…I’m screwed, basically.
Chief, sensing my unease, jumps up on the bed beside me. He lets out a low rumble and nuzzles in beside me, letting me bury my hand in his fur and fall asleep beside him.
I wakeup to a bright day with clear blue skies. Rowan will be leaving soon.
I can’t let that happen.
Jumping out of bed, I shower quickly, throw my things in a bag, and call for Eyvar. The big, pale-eyed man arrives within minutes.
“I’m going back to Stirling,” I say, slipping my laptop into its bag.
“Sir?”
“Stirling,” I repeat, glancing at Eyvar. “The capital.”
“I know what Stirling is, Your Highness, but what I’m wondering is why. The anniversary hasn’t happened yet. The memorial…” He trails off, but we both know what he’s going to say.
I’ve been away just over two weeks. The memorial is tomorrow. If I leave today, I’ll arrive in the capital just in time for the anniversary of Abby’s death. I’ll be bombarded with images and memories of the worst day of my life.
Right now, it doesn’t seem so daunting. Maybe I have to be there this year. Maybe my grief is ebbing away, and it’s time to move forward.
When I don’t answer, Eyvar grunts and backs out of the room. I gather a few things, leaving the staff to pack up the rest. I don’t need much, anyway. I have clothes and toiletries at every royal household in the kingdom. All I need are my personal things.
When I stride down to the dining room to grab some coffee and breakfast, I’m surprised to see Rowan there, too. She straightens up in her chair, swallowing a bite of food.
“Your Highness.”
“We talked about that title,” I growl, sitting down at the head of the table and nodding to the staff as they pour my coffee.
“I’d rather keep things professional,” Rowan replies, eyeing me from across the room.
My lips twitch. I would very much rather keep things unprofessional, but I like the fight in her. Last night, the distance between us made me ache. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and take her, right there in the library.
Now, though, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’m not carrying around four years of grief. I’m not running away from difficult emotions.
I’m moving on.
Rowan clears her throat. “I wanted to thank you for organizing a house and office for me. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know I didn’t,” I reply. A waiter places a plate of steaming scrambled eggs and perfectly golden toast on the table. A butter dish is placed down in front of me, the butter soft, but not melted. Perfect. Why does everything seem to taste better today?
