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Wolfe
When we land in Stirling,Rowan straightens her shoulders and schools her features. The intimacy we shared on the flight to the capital dissolves away, and her professional mask is back on.
It’s hard not to feel sad about it. I liked the way she looked at me when no one was watching.
When the plane door opens, though, there are people watching. Lots of them. The media was warned of my arrival, obviously, and have jostled their way onto the tarmac, being held back by an army of palace guards. A black car is waiting for me and Rowan at the bottom of the stairs.
“What’s going on?” Rowan whispers as we stand at the top of the steps. Eyvar has already disembarked and is standing by the car, holding the back door open.
“I’m not usually in the capital in October. The press must have gotten wind of it.” I lift an arm toward the crowd of photographers, painting a placid smile on my face.
It’s only after a second that I realize my other hand is resting on Rowan’s lower back. I drop it, heart thumping at the thought of the photos that will be published online within minutes. It’ll look like we’re together—but do I really mind?
I motion for Rowan to step down first, sensing her every movement. The wind carries a whisper of her scent toward me, and I let out a quiet sigh. We’re led to the waiting car, and once inside, Rowan releases a long breath.
“Is your life always like this?”
“More or less.” I grin.
“I prefer anonymity.”
“I wouldn’t know what that’s like.”
Rowan’s eyebrows tug together, and for the first time, I see sadness in her eyes. Except it doesn’t bother me the way it usually would. She’s not pitying me for my loss—that, she understands. She feels sad for something I’ve never had. Privacy, anonymity.
My fingers itch to reach over and clasp her hand in mine. I want nothing more than to feel her skin, wrap my hand around hers and show her I want her beside me. Even as we stepped off the airplane, it felt right to be with her.
But we’re not together. She works for the palace. She’s not here to drag me out of my own doom and gloom or heal the wounds that have festered for four years.
I instruct Eyvar to bring her to her grandmother’s place first, and we drive in silence. The distance between us is only a car seat. Just a foot of space, but it feels unsurmountable. In that space, I feel the weight of the royal expectations on my shoulders. I feel the shackles of my previous loss. I feel my failure to keep Abby safe. Why would I deserve to have another chance? Why would a woman like Rowan—who has a career, a business, and a future—want to throw all that away to be with me?
I already know she left her boyfriend to pursue her business. Why would I be any different? She told me plainly that all she wants is independence.
When we stop outside a small brick house a stone’s throw away from the Stirling General Hospital, Rowan finally turns to look at me. With a soft smile, she dips her head. “Thanks again for organizing this for my grandmother.”
“She’s been loyal to the royal family for decades. It’s the least I could do.”
“Still,” Rowan says. “I appreciate it. I...” She bites her lip. “I hope I’ll see you around.” A faint blush stains her cheeks, and I can’t quite hide my grin.
“You will.”
I wait until she opens the front door before nodding to Eyvar. We drive to the castle and to Eyvar’s credit, he says nothing. He knows me well enough to realize I feel something for Rowan—but he’s diplomatic enough to keep quiet about it.
When we drive through the gates to the city castle, I immediately feel claustrophobic. There aren’t miles of space between the gates and the castle, like there are at the Summer Palace. There’s no majestic mountains and vast expanses of white snow.
Everything is gray.
Gray stone façades. Gray sculptural arches. Gray snow and slush pushed in great big gray snowbanks on either side of the drive. When we stop, a footman rushes to open my door. I step out, nodding to Eyvar as he drives toward the garages. I enter the main foyer of the castle, sighing when I see my sister’s lead advisor heading straight for me.
“Your Highness,” Frederick says with a bow. “Welcome back. We weren’t expecting you for another four weeks.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Her Majesty the Queen would like to have a word.” Frederick sweeps his hand toward the door to the left, and I know I have no choice but to follow. We walk through echoing hallways toward my sister’s offices, and I feel the weight of the stone walls pressing down on me.
I miss the Summer Palace. I miss the space.
Or maybe I just miss Rowan.
