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Bracing myself against my emotions, I grit my teeth and watch the beauty of the landscape pass me by, seeing nothing.
When we step out, another hundred cameras are pointed at me. A small stage with a microphone has been set up, along with a row of chairs behind it. Beyond, the new museum gleams, the lawns around it well-manicured and the façade given a new lease of life. It looks beautiful—old and new all at once. I can see different placards set up along the pathway leading to the front door, and a huge banner with each of Nord’s six provinces’ coat of arms proudly displayed. Through the open doorway, I glimpse art on the walls and glass cases full of artifacts from Nord’s history.
A staff member opens the car door for me, leading me to a chair near the microphone. I stand in front of it, waiting for my brothers to take their places, and watch as my sister walks up the steps and turns, waving to the assembled crowd.
Penelope makes her way to the microphone, motioning for my brothers and me to sit. There are still empty chairs beside us, but all I can do is stare at the mountain peaks that surround us. They ground me, reminding me I’m home. This is my kingdom. My land. The place where I feel most comfortable.
My sister starts talking, welcoming the assembled crowd and reading a prepared statement from the podium. She speaks clearly and eloquently, pausing for applause at all the right moments.
“We are honored to welcome the lead architect who made this project come to life. The award-winning, much acclaimed Rowan Reed.”
Penelope turns to the side of the stage, and all eyes follow.
Including mine.
My heart doesn’t stand a damn chance. Rowan is still the goddess of my dreams. An angel sent down from heaven. My princess.
Using the handrail to help her up the steps, Rowan places a hand on the bottom of her pregnant stomach as she toddles onto the stage. It’s the sexiest, most beautiful waddle I’ve ever seen. My heart feels like it’s growing and shrinking all at once.
I fucking love this woman. The months have done nothing to erase that. I love her with every fiber of my being, and she’s here. She’s here.
Red-haired beauty, with a simple burgundy wrap dress on, showing off her advancing pregnancy. She makes it to the top of the stairs, pausing to regain her balance—and that’s when she sees me.
Her eyes widen. Those perfect, pink lips drop open. My heart does a backflip, because her chest flushes and her shoulders soften ever so slightly.
She wasn’t expecting me. Didn’t think I’d come. How could I not? How could I turn down the possibility of seeing her again, even in front of cameras?
A murmur ripples through the crowd, and Rowan’s face rearranges itself. She gulps, glancing at the assembled media. Cameras click-click-click like a beast’s clacking teeth, and Rowan sucks in a sharp breath.
Then, her face twists. She puts a hand to her stomach, frowning—then cries out.
My heart stills, and blood turns to ice in my veins. That noise pierces my flesh like an arrow. I feel her pain in every nerve ending in my body. In an instant, I’m out of my seat and across the stage. She falls to her knees, arms clutching her middle.
Rowan screams again, pain and panic flashing across her face. Another arrow pierces my heart, and my body screams with her. Her eyes are wide as a bead of sweat sprouts on her temple. Her breath comes in short gasps as her face crumples. A trickle of blood seeps down the inside of her leg as my panic rears higher.
I fall to my knees. When I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me, Rowan whimpers. Her breath skates across my skin as her body tenses in pain.
“Wolfe.” Rowan pants, eyes wide with fear. Her fingers cling to my shirt. “The baby.” A grunt escapes her, followed by another cry. She stumbles away from me, falling to her hands and knees, and my whole world collapses to a pinpoint of light.
There’s only Rowan. She’s the only thing that exists right now, and she’s in pain. Suffering.
Panic laces my blood, pumping hard and fast through my veins. I’m re-living the worst moment of my life. It’s happening again. The love of my life fading in my arms. The mother of my child, collapsing as I watch.
Cameras click, immortalizing this moment. Again.
I hear the noise, and the present moment rushes back to me. No. I won’t let it happen. It’s not going to happen. No, no, no. Inhaling sharply, I come back to myself. Scooping Rowan in my arms, I carry her off the stage. I’m so pumped full of adrenaline that I hardly even feel her weight in my arms. It’s just like the first moment I carried her, nearly a year ago. She needs me. I need to be here for her.
Cameras flash. Reporters shout. Staff members and security agents rush around me, but none of it matters. I don’t care that this moment is being filmed. I don’t care that our relationship is on full display.
Let them watch. Let them see this moment and draw whatever conclusions they want from it.
The media doesn’t matter. Controversy doesn’t matter.
All that matters is getting Rowan to a hospital. Now. Right now. Right fucking now.
My breath is shallow as I fly toward a vehicle. Eyvar’s already there, holding a door open for me. I put Rowan in the back seat, cradling her head in my lap just like I did last winter.
“Drive, Eyvar,” I say and this time, he doesn’t protest. The engine revs, and we’re gone, skidding toward the main palace.
