Lone Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 7)

by Lilian Monroe

  I glance at the screen and frown. It’s a photo of Eyvar and Rowan outside the doctor’s office with headlines screaming about my affair with her and proclaiming that she’s carrying my child. Skimming through the article, my stomach drops.

  The journalists—if you can call them that—have written a brief history of Rowan’s life. They point to the photo of us disembarking the royal jet together, coupled with my arrival in Stirling during the month of October when I’m usually away. Apparently, that’s evidence of our romance.

  Which, I mean, fair point.

  Worse, still, they point to ‘sources inside the palace’—which is bullshit speak for we made this up—saying that her visit to the doctor is as a result of our sexual affair. A secret pregnancy, they say, with a zoomed-in photo of a pamphlet as irrefutable proof.

  Right.

  And, I mean, we have been sleeping together. That’s true. But how fucking dare they?

  “Well?” My sister’s still staring at me, waiting for an explanation.

  I sigh, shaking my head. “How could they possibly know any of this?”

  “So it’s true.”

  “Is it true that Rowan and I are involved? Yes. Is it true it started at the Summer Palace? Yes. Is it true that she went to the gynecologist because she’s pregnant? Absolutely fucking not.” My breath shortens as anger clouds my vision. I click through to another article, which is an exposé of my relationship with Abby, and a brilliant think piece about whether or not I might have moved on to a new woman.

  Fucking wonderful.

  “This is exactly what happened with Abby,” I say. “The media made up a bunch of stories and crafted this narrative about our relationship. They became obsessed with her. Why do they care about who I date? Why is this newsworthy?”

  “Well, dear brother,” Penelope replies with a tilt of her head. “You are royalty. Or have you forgotten?”

  “It’s bullshit.”

  “It’s not,” she shoots back. “You just said yourself that you’re having an affair with this woman. How are we supposed to let her redesign the palace now?”

  “Because she won the contract, Pen. This has nothing to do with me. She’s a talented architect. And it’s not an…affair.”

  “What is it, then?”

  I stand there trembling, but I say nothing. The words don’t come. What is going on between Rowan and me, really?

  The Queen folds her hands in her lap, but I don’t miss the tension in her jaw. “It doesn’t look good. It looks like we gave her the job because you’re sleeping with her.”

  “That’s not what happened,” I snap.

  Penelope arches an eyebrow.

  I sigh, dropping my shoulders. “I hate the media. They twist our lives into some sorry soap opera. Abby died in my arms, and in all those dozens of photographers that surrounded us, not one called an ambulance. Not. One. They snapped photos of her last moments instead of helping.”

  They did nothing, just like me. Isn’t that why I hate those images? Because it reminds me of my greatest failure? How I froze, holding my dying fiancée, unable to move or help? How I failed to call anyone? How I failed to perform CPR? How I watched her die and did absolutely nothing to stop it?

  Penelope lets out a sigh, lowering her eyes to the floor. For the first time in a long, long time, I see the tension rippling through her shoulders. She’s usually the strong one. The unshakeable, unbreakable one—but is that weighing on her? Have I been too hard on my sister?

  She lifts her eyes to mine. “Is she pregnant, Wolfe?”

  “No,” I reply emphatically. “No, she’s not pregnant.”

  She nods. “I’ll get the media team to do some damage control. They usually advise us to do nothing in cases like these. Feeding the beast only makes it hungrier. We won’t respond to rumors.” Turning back to her vanity, she sits down and starts dusting her face with powder, signaling that I’m dismissed.

  I leave the room, letting out a heavy sigh. My sister is still my sister, but she’s the Queen first. She has to bear the weight of the crown and think of what’s best for the family. She has to make decisions I wouldn’t want to make—all while carrying her own scars.

  I know why she has a cold exterior. I know why she seems callous sometimes—but damn, if it doesn’t make my blood boil. I feel like a child who’s just been scolded. I’m a grown man!

  I make my way to the dining room, hoping to find my brothers. When I walk in, Jonah glances up at me. He reaches for a platter full of bacon, heaping a few rashers onto his plate before looking at me again. “Haven’t seen much of you around lately.” He grins, pushing his cropped black hair back off his forehead.

  Silas grunts from the corner of the room. A tumbler of bourbon dangles between his fingertips. “He’s been too busy banging the architect.”

  “Screw you,” I grumble. “Isn’t it a bit early for a drink?”

  “Hair of the dog.” Silas grins. “Late night last night. Need to take the edge off.”

  “How am I the one in the tabloids?” I frown, staring at Silas’ rumpled clothes and half-drunk, half-hungover face.

  Jonah whistles, wiggling his eyebrows. “So it’s true.”

  “You like her.” Silas ambles over to me, his blue eyes flashing. His rich, chocolate hair curls around his temples and makes his eyes look even more piercing. He’s the one who always has women screaming for him. Not me. He’s the one who’s slept with every pretty maid who’s ever walked the palace halls.

  And now he’s giving me shit?

  Silas claps me on the shoulder, laughing. “About time you got laid. Four years is a long time without a nice, warm pussy.”

  “Shut up, Silas.” I pour myself a cup of coffee.

  Silas throws his hands up as he backs away, grinning. He sinks into a chair and stretches out, wrinkling his nose when a waiter offers him eggs and bacon. I guess bourbon is the breakfast of champions in Silas’ world.

  Jonah glances at me from across the room, trying to read my mood. How could he, though? How could he know what thoughts are going through my mind?

  I’m here with my brothers, with my sister, in the castle where we spend most of our time. Things, from the outside, are exactly as they were a couple of months ago.

  But I feel different. Deep in my gut, I know I’ve changed. My steps aren’t as heavy. My spine is straighter. When I wake up, I don’t feel the dark sense of dread that kept me down for four years. My grief isn’t quite as painful as it was before, and a thin seed of hope has sprouted in my heart.

  …but for what? For who? For me to date Rowan, officially? My sister the Queen didn’t seem too happy about that, and her word is law around here.

  But, but, but… what if?

  Who says we can’t be together?

  As I listen to my brothers, I try to let my thoughts drift away from the red-haired goddess who has occupied them for the better part of the past two months. I won’t let the media tear her to shreds the way they did to Abby. I won’t let her be exposed and dissected by the public. If she’s with me, I’ll protect her. I’ll do what I couldn’t do before, even if it kills me.

  After breakfast, I’m already waiting in Rowan’s office when she arrives.

  “Come here, beautiful,” I growl, reaching for her hand.

  Rowan stiffens, letting me pull her into my chest but not wrapping her arms around me or tilting her head up for a kiss.

  Something’s off. A cold jet of ice water shoots down my spine.

  I frown. “What’s wrong? Was your appointment okay?”

  She gulps. “It was…” She shakes her head. “Yeah, it was fine.”

  Her eyes don’t meet mine. I frown.

  “Is this about the article? We have the royal media team dealing with it. They’ll probably get most of the articles taken down and threaten newspapers with lawsuits for making up those stories, citing slander. It’ll all blow over. It’s just because the memorials were a couple of weeks ago, and this is the first time I’ve
been seen with anyone.”

  Rowan lets out a snort, shaking her head. “That’s the problem, Wolfe. I’m just a controversy. I’m the sad, desperate woman trying to fill your dead fiancée’s shoes. I’m the outsider who doesn’t belong. I’m someone you keep secret from your family and friends and the media—”

  “The media are animals,” I snap. “They tore Abby to shreds even when they pretended to love her. I won’t let them do that to you.”

  “It’s not about that, Wolfe,” Rowan says. Her shoulders stiffen as she drops her chin. Taking a finger, I tilt her head back up to meet her eye. Her bottom lip trembles.

  “What is it, Rowan?” My voice is soft. My heart is breaking. This relationship will end—I just know it. I thought we could make it official? I thought I could protect her? Who was I kidding?

  Rowan takes a step back, splaying her hands on my chest as she pushes me away. She drops her arms and takes a breath, lifting her eyes to mine.

  “I’m pregnant, Wolfe. It’s yours, and I’m keeping it.”

  26

  Rowan

  My life changed twelve hours ago. As soon as the doctor told me I was with child, it felt like everything I thought I knew just vanished from my mind. The future I saw for myself, gone. The priorities I’ve upheld for a decade…just, poof!

  I’m having a baby. I want to have a baby. I’m terrified, of course, but there’s a deep well of love already flowing inside me.

  Ever since I came to Nord, I’ve been wondering if I missed something from life. I’ve tried so hard to be independent, to work my way to financial stability, to not be a burden on anyone—I’ve missed the connections that make life worth living.

  I know I can’t have that connection with the Prince. He’s royalty. Having a child out of wedlock would be frowned upon, to say the least. I’m already plastered over every newspaper with a horde of reporters following me around.

  I can’t be with the Prince. I know that now. It would be bad for the baby. I can’t let my child grow up with its face on newspapers. I need to give it some kind of stability, and I can’t do that here.

  But I can have a connection with my grandmother. I can love this child with every bit of my heart and give it the best possible chance at a good life. For the first time ever, I understand my mother’s perspective.

  Grandma was right—I wasn’t a burden, and my baby isn’t one, either.

  Those realizations all hit me one after the other between the time the doctor told me I was pregnant and now, when I stand in front of the Prince and tell him the truth. They’ve only grown stronger as the minutes have ticked by.

  I know what I need to do. I know I need to leave—not just for myself, but for the baby. So it has the best chance of a good, stable life.

  I need to leave for the Prince, too. To save him from controversy, and to stop old wounds from splitting open. He can tell me that he’s moving on, but I know he still aches for his fiancée. Those shoes are too big for me to fill.

  Right now, though, he’s staring at me like I’ve sprouted another head. Shock doesn’t even begin to cover it. The lips I love to kiss open and close again. His throat clenches and releases as he swallows, and his palm moves to rub the center of his chest.

  “You’re…You’re pregnant?” He frowns, confusion written over every inch of his face.

  I nod. “Yeah. About five weeks, apparently. So…The visitor’s cottage.”

  “I thought you said…”

  “I was wrong.” I inhale slowly, preparing myself to make the speech I’ve rehearsed all morning. Squaring my shoulders, I face the Prince. “I’m not expecting you to go public about it, and I’m prepared to keep you out of the baby’s life, if you prefer. I’ll go back to Farcliff to raise the baby. That way, the media attention will die down, and I’ll go back to my anonymous life. It’ll be better for the baby. No pressure. No controversy. No prejudice.”

  Wolfe starts to say something, but I hold up my hand.

  “I’m not giving this baby up. I’m not going to be ashamed of it, and I’m not going to do anything except love it and provide the best possible life I can for it.”

  He stares at me, blinking two or three times. His eyes drop to my stomach, then slowly climb back up again. Wolfe nods, a slow breath passing through his lips. He rubs his forehead with his middle finger, gaze drifting off into nothing.

  “You don’t want me involved?” His voice is small. Faraway. He’s hurt.

  Ouch. My heart. This is harder than I thought it would be.

  I take a deep breath, turning to glance out the window. “When I woke up this morning, there were a dozen reporters waiting outside my house. I had to rush to the car like some criminal hiding my face. That’s not the life I want for me or my child.”

  “I wouldn’t want that life for you either,” Wolfe says slowly. “Those journalists are animals. Vicious, bloodthirsty jackals who only want to get a headline.”

  I nod. “I’ve made arrangements to head back to Farcliff. My grandmother will come with me until she’s well enough to go back to the Summer Palace in the spring.”

  “You’re leaving?” Pain cracks through his voice, sending agony spearing through my heart. Why is this so much harder than I thought? Leaving doesn’t seem so simple when the Prince looks like I just stabbed him in the chest.

  I square my shoulders and nod. “If I stay, the rumors will only get worse.”

  This morning, as I got ready, I decided I needed to go. Not just for the baby, but for me, too. I can’t stay in Nord, seeing the castle and the newspaper stories about the royal family without feeling my heart break. And I know the Prince and I can’t be together, so I have no choice.

  But now, as I watch the Prince’s face crumple, it doesn’t feel right. I thought he’d understand. I thought he’d appreciate me leaving and not dragging him into a messy controversy. I thought he’d want me to go. I know how much he hates the media. How much Abby’s death hurt him. I thought I was doing him a favor.

  Inhaling deeply, Wolfe takes slow steps toward me. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close. His hand climbs up my spine and tangles itself in my copper locks, and the Prince holds me tight.

  My resolve weakens. He smells like home. His embrace feels like heaven—and I’m supposed to leave it behind?

  The Prince pulls away, cupping his hands on either side of my face. “Is that what you want? You want to leave?”

  “It’s what’s best for me and the baby…and you.”

  His breath trembles. Brows draw together as his gaze shifts from one eye to the other. “But is it what you want?”

  “Wolfe…”

  “You can’t say my name like that—like it means something to you—and pretend you want to leave.”

  “What choice do I have? What are you going to do, marry me? Keep me locked up in this castle and call me your princess for the rest of my life? That’s not what I want for my life, Wolfe. You know that. I want to be able to stand on my own.”

  Dropping his hands from my face, the Prince backs away. He nods, turning his face away from me. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s too much to ask of you. You have a business and a life in Farcliff.”

  “It’s better if I leave. It makes things easier for you, too.”

  “How would you know that?” His eyes cut to mine.

  I don’t answer. What can I say?

  The Prince inhales deeply, rapping his knuckles on the desk. He chews his lip and finally nods. “You’re right. It’s safer for you in Farcliff. I already lost Abby.” His eyes lift to mine. “I can’t lose you, too. I’ll make sure you have everything you need for the baby.”

  Why does that hurt to hear? He says it like I’m asking for his money. Like I came here begging for a few coins to rub together.

  I shake my head. “I don’t want your money, Wolfe.”

  “That baby is mine, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

  “And what happens when the media finds out? It’ll be
a lot worse than one article and a few paparazzi outside my house.” I shake my head. “This has to be a clean break, Wolfe. I have to leave. You have to let me go.”

  “So that’s it, then? You inform me you’re the mother of my child and then tell me it’s over?”

  “What’s over, Wolfe? Sneaking around behind closed doors? Pretending we’re not together whenever we leave this room?”

  Tension ripples between us. I square my shoulders as pain shatters across my chest. This morning, leaving seemed logical. The best, most painless thing to do. Better for me, and the baby, and the Prince.

  But right now, with him looking at me like I’ve just ripped his heart out of his chest, it doesn’t seem so good. I turn away, staring at the wall. My eyelids burn, but I refuse to cry. I will not cry. I can’t. If tears fall from my eyes, my resolve will weaken.

  I need to leave. I need to be on my own and have my independence. I need to keep my child’s life free from controversy and the pressure of the media.

  When my mother died, I vowed I’d take care of myself no matter what. That I wouldn’t rely on anyone. I wouldn’t be a burden. How can I turn around and stay here? How can I put this problem on Wolfe’s shoulders? How can I ask anything from him except to let me go?

  And why does it make me want to cry until it hurts to breathe?

  I turn to look at him in all his muscled glory. Crisp, white shirt tailored perfectly over his broad frame. Dark, slightly curly hair. Pale amber eyes like warm honey that made me fall in love with him the moment I saw them across from me.

  In three steps, I could be in his arms. I could nuzzle against his skin and tear his clothes off, begging him to take me right here. I could ask for his forgiveness and tell him I’ll stay. He doesn’t have to marry me, or admit to being with me, or claim to be the father of my child. I’ll be happy with whatever scraps of attention he’s willing to give me if it just means being near him for one more minute. One more second.