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My sister sits behind a massive, polished desk, her back straight as a rod and her face as icy as ever. Blond hair is twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and her demure blouse does nothing to soften the harsh angles of her face.
She’s always been as broken as me.
“Brother,” she says, nodding to a chair, as if I need permission to sit with my own sister. Right now, though, she’s not a sister. She’s the Queen. Penelope leans back in her seat, watching as I adjust my jacket and lean back in the armchair across from her. She tilts her head, not a single wrinkle marring her skin, the youngest queen in Nord’s history. “You’re back early.”
“I am.”
She arches a brow. “Why?”
“Am I not allowed to come back home when I feel like it?”
“It’s been four years, Wolfe. You’re never here for the anniversary of Abby’s death. I’m only asking because it’s out of the ordinary.”
“I hate calling it an anniversary. It sounds like we’re celebrating the fact that she’s dead.”
Penelope sighs, standing up and turning to the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the wall of her office. She clasps her hands in front of her, staring at the city sprawled at her feet. My sister is a true queen—but one without an heir.
She was Abby’s closest friend, which sometimes I forget. Where Abby was celebrated and loved by the media, Penelope hasn’t been treated so kindly. The Ice Queen. Black Widow. Cold Monarch. Vile Witch.
They call her every name under the sun except Her Majesty the Queen of Nord.
“You slept with the architect,” she says, still facing the window.
My body stiffens. “How do you know that?”
“The doctor,” my sister responds. She glances over her shoulder, her simple diamond stud glittering in her earlobe. “You didn’t use protection.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to fuck, Penelope.”
“I’m trying to prevent another disaster,” she snaps. Her lips pinch together as her pale skin grows even paler. The Ice Queen, indeed.
Reality snaps back to me, and Abby’s death feels like it was yesterday. Grief hits me like a wall as I remember the secret that no one but a chosen few ever knew. One I didn’t even know until Abby’s autopsy was performed.
“I’d hardly call Abby’s pregnancy a disaster,” I reply, my voice terse.
For a fraction of a second, pain flashes across Penelope’s eyes. She, unlike Abby, was never able to get pregnant before her husband died. An heirless, aging queen, tipping just past thirty years old as the kingdom whispers of her failures. Her suffering is written all over her face, but in an instant, the pain is gone, and my sister’s icy demeanor is back to normal.
My shoulders drop. “I’m sorry, Penelope. Don’t worry. Rowan isn’t pregnant.”
“Good. I also understand you’ve been working with her on the redesign of the Summer Palace.”
I nod. “I gave her some comments.”
“Well, you can take the lead on that project. Silas and Jonah have expressed zero interest, and we need someone in the family to be the face of the project. You spend the most time at the Summer Palace anyway, so the natural choice is you.” My sister places her fingers on the edge of the desk, leveling me with a stare. “That is, as long as you keep your dick out of the help.”
I grind my teeth to stop myself from biting back. Instead, I suck in a breath and give my sister a pinched smile. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Penelope arches an eyebrow, knowing I used her title sarcastically. She’ll always be my sister, no matter what office she holds in this castle. At the end of the day, I know Penelope has suffered. She lost her husband, just as I lost Abby. Not only that, but she’s had to suffer the criticism of the media and hide her health issues from the public. She carries all that on her narrow shoulders, so it’s no wonder she’s adopted a frosty exterior. Anyone would need a defense mechanism if they’d been through what Penelope has experienced—all while ruling the kingdom.
Still—it wouldn’t kill her to be nice to me, especially this time of year. If anyone knows loss, it’s her, but that shared suffering seems to be tearing us apart instead of bringing us closer together.
I head to my chambers and find Eyvar waiting for me. He greets me with a quick bow of the head before combing his fingers through his beard.
“What is it, Eyvar?” I push the door to my chambers open, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
“Miss Reed has requested access to the new office tomorrow.”
“Already? Doesn’t she want to spend time with her grandmother?”
“She seems to value her work, sir.”
I grunt. Of course she does. I know this about her. I nod to Eyvar, jerking my head to the door. “The staff should have set aside a room near the lavender sitting room. Confirm that it’s ready and tell the garages to be ready to send a car for her whenever she requests it.”
Eyvar bows his head and disappears down the hallway. I close the bedroom door, feeling excitement curl in my gut.
Leaving Rowan at her grandmother’s house felt like a goodbye—but what if she wants to be near me, too? Maybe she has more than just work pulling her here to the castle.
The kiss we shared on the plane felt like more than just lust. It felt like a deeper connection growing between us. Like two souls intertwining in a way I’ve never experienced before, even with Abby.
I just don’t know if Rowan feels it, too.
