Camelot's Secret Heir: Bound to the Lycan King

Prologue

~ Camilla's POV~

I heard the click of my heels before I heard the airport.

That sharp, impatient rhythm followed me across the terminal floor, cutting through the hum of voices and rolling suitcases. My carry-on kept slipping from my shoulder, my suitcase dragged like it resented me, and all I could think was that I was one mistake away from disaster.

Not because I overslept.

Well… not exactly.

Last night had been worth every stolen minute of sleep. Skin on skin. Words breathed so close they were more felt than heard. I’d fallen asleep in my fiancé’s arms and woken still tasting him on my lips.

My father wouldn’t forgive me if I missed this flight. This trip wasn’t for fun, it was for business. His business. Chicago, a meeting with one of the company’s top marketing teams. Every seat at that table had weight, and mine had been hard-earned. Missing it wasn’t an option.

The departure board flickered ahead, taunting me with the minutes I was running out of. I picked up my pace, heat gathering under my collar.

At the counter, I set my suitcase upright, forcing my voice to sound steady. “Please tell me you have a seat left on the eight-thirty to Chicago.”

The woman behind the glass didn’t look up right away. Her manicured nails tapped against the keyboard in an unhurried rhythm, each click a reminder that she wasn’t the one in a rush.

“I don’t care where it is,” I added, leaning forward slightly. “I just need to be on that flight.”

Her gaze finally lifted, cool and impersonal. “One seat left. Standby only. No guarantee.”

Standby wasn’t perfect, but it was better than missing the meeting. “I’ll take it.”

The transaction was quick, and the ticket felt like a fragile lifeline in my hand. I moved toward security, my bag bouncing against my hip. My phone buzzed from inside it, and I reached for the zipper. It caught halfway, teeth locking stubbornly. I slowed to wrestle it open, muttering under my breath.

That pause was all it took.

I collided with someone hard. The jolt rattled through my shoulder, the handle of my suitcase slipping from my grasp. The bitter scent of coffee hit me before the heat did. It splashed across my blouse, soaking through to my skin in a burst of sharp, scalding pain.

“Ow!” I gasped, clutching at the damp fabric.

“Are you blind?” The voice was deep, smooth, and laced with irritation.

I looked up, ready to apologize, but the sight of him killed the words. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a navy suit that fit like it had been made for him. He stood there as if the terminal bent around him, as if the rushing crowd were nothing more than background noise to his world.

“That question should be answered by you,” I shot back, brushing at my soaked blouse. My skin stung, but my temper burned hotter. “Were your eyes at the back of your head?”

His gaze swept over me slowly, detached and assessing, before the faintest curl touched his mouth. Not an apology. Disdain.

“You should learn to walk in heels before charging through a terminal like a bulldozer,” he said. “Some of us have actual business to attend to.”

My mouth fell open. “And I don’t?”

I turned slightly, catching the way a few travelers had slowed, their eyes flicking between us like they were watching their favorite show. Heat rose in my cheeks. I snapped back.

“I don’t need a lecture from a coffee-slinging stranger who stands in the middle of a walkway,” I said sharply.

His expression barely shifted, though there was the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You’re the one who bounced off me like a tennis ball. Maybe slow down. Stop acting like the terminal owes you something.”

I was ready to tell him exactly what the terminal owed me when a crisp voice interrupted.

“Is there a problem here?”

A flight attendant stepped between us, her sharp gaze moving from my soaked blouse to his calm, unreadable face.

“She spilled her coffee on herself,” he said, as if even explaining it was a waste of his time.

The attendant’s brow arched. “And I’m sure you standing in the middle of a busy walkway had nothing to do with it.”

He didn’t reply.

Her attention shifted to me, her voice softening. “Ma’am, are you alright? We can get you something to change into and a cold pack.”

I breathed out, willing my voice to stay even. “Yes… thank you.”

I followed her without looking back, the hum of the terminal washing over me. My pulse was still thudding in my ears.

Just as we passed, his voice followed, low enough to feel like it brushed against my skin.

“Try not to spill on me next time, sweetheart.”

I stopped mid-step. The audacity in his tone, the way he called me sweetheart like it was a private joke, made my fingers tighten around my suitcase handle. I turned, but he was already walking in the opposite direction, slow and unbothered, like time bent for him.

“He’s such bad luck,” I muttered.

The attendant gave a small, knowing smile. “Airports are full of them. You’d be surprised how many think the rules don’t apply to them.”

I sighed, following her through the crowd, trying to push him from my mind. I told myself I didn’t want to ever see him again.