Fourth Prince Novels & Stories

"Why do I get the feeling you all don't want me here?" "On the contrary," one of the five said, reaching nonchalantly over the table for a scone. "You know I like a show with my dessert." Wrath's grin widen as he pointed an excited finger at him. "Exactly why you're my favourite, Gluttony." Wrath... Gluttony? Don't tell me... The seven. Deadly. Motherfucking sins? Why didn't I put two and two together? It makes perfect sense now. Why does he exude so much power... he is a prince of hell. They all are.

I press my hand against my forehead, beginning to pace, even with my knee protesting as it does. When I look back at the Prince, he’s watching me with a calm expression, although his eyes suggest otherwise. They are ablaze with unreadable emotion, his full lips settled in a line. "My name is Hale,” he murmurs. He doesn’t offer his hand, and he doesn’t need to, because there is no way I would dare touch a pureblood. Even if his skin does look perfectly unflawed and temptingly…I shake my head. What am I thinking?

The tenth year since I accidentally landed in modern-day America, and the system finally noticed me—a glitch in its timeline. It told me that in three days, I'd be sent back to where I truly belonged. Back to London. Back to my era. And I—I used to be one of the most powerful men in the entire British Empire. Alexander William Windsor. First in line to the British throne. The system gave me seventy-two hours. A countdown to say goodbye to this century. Day one, my fiancée Evelyn told me our wedding had to be called off. Because Ryan—the boy she'd grown up with—had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Day two, Evelyn brought Ryan home. To our home. She said he had nowhere else to go. Asked

“He’s sending you to your death! We lost half our men just getting here! How are we supposed to survive? No food, no water, no money! And you… your face.” Zic looked at the man he called the Fourth Prince. His skin was as pale and flawless as fresh milk. Even though he was dressed in coarse, torn clothes, he seemed to glow. His face was all sharp angles and a perfectly set jawline. His long hair was tied in a ponytail, showcasing a perfect forehead, a straight nose, and lips as red as blood. But the most captivating thing was his eyes… a deep blue that was just charming. He was breathtaking.

A soft knock on the heavy wood door broke his thoughts. "Come in," Kael commanded coldly. The door opened, and Lucan, the youngest prince, stepped inside. Lucan did not look like Jaxon or Killian.

This is the Crown Prince Charles Visma the 4th, the famous Lusty Prince and at the same time a crafty old fox that eager for the thrones, to the point of becoming a mindless dogs to his own father, King Visma the 3rd. “Has the matter being settled?..is the rumours were true?..”. (Crown Prince Charles Visma the 4th) With his deep voice he asked as he went and sat on the sofa in the middle of the room. Both Viscount Baxter Anderton and Baron Raynard Belloc, knelt before him and answered.

It had a deep voice, but Quinn found it familiar. "Who are you?" That was when the lightning stopped. Mia found the voice familiar, just like Quinn did. She held back her pain as she asked the question. "Oh, don't you know me anymore? Well, that's normal. Look at me now. It would be impossible to recognize me. I'm Jasper Voidheart, the fourth prince of the Great Emerald Empire. Wait, that's not right. I'm now the Fourth Duke. Hahaha!" He laughed as he revealed his identity.

Caesar stepped into the snow. Not in armor. Not in rage. But in a long coat lined with dark gold, its silver buttons gleaming like captured moonlight. He was tall, graceful.His face carved by gods, yet softened by warmth. Pale lips curved in a smile. A single blood-red mole beneath his right eye, like a drop of wine on porcelain. More radiant than Lucian. More comforting than the hearth. The Blood Prince of the Empire. He stopped before me. Then knelt—just slightly—so our eyes met level.

Trying to hide his smile, he drank his water. "Prince," she called him. "Are you fucking with me?" The prince almost spat out his drink as he heard her words. "Am I what?" "I am asking if your just going to fuck with me." "Wha-I mean—why?" "Because, prince Hazan, I am not here to fuck around." "If you are going to just try and mess with me, just don't." "By that, what do you mean?"

“The stronger the wolf, the more mates they can sustain bonds with. Four mates means you’re much more powerful than anyone knows.” Despite the indignation that coursed through me—having a fourth mate felt like a curse, not a blessing—part of me was curious about what this mysterious fourth mate might be like. Was he another cocky asshole like Lucas? Another brooding jerk like Rowan? Or something else entirely? But mostly, I just hoped I never ran into him. Three mates were already more trouble than I knew what to do with. “Can we continue training?” I asked. “I want to get stronger so I can figure out how to deal with the Elders.”