Prince Hat Novels & Stories

And they obey. “What were you doing while I was gone?” Gabriel asks bluntly. “And why were you stumbling on your back the moment I came back?” “I was just wiping his Highness,” Gianni whitely lies. “Nothing happened, honestly.” A knock from the partition then breaks the two’s conversation. The prince finishes wearing equestrian clothing. A navy-blue jodhpur, with tight-fitting trousers reaching down to the ankle, where they end in a snug cuff. A white shirt that outlines his muscular torso. White gloves, and a helmet. Only the boots are left.

Two years have passed after Henzie gave birth to her first son, now Zee has also started to grow because her growth is very fast, exceeding vampire babies in general, but her growth will stop at a certain time. Now the little prince is playing with his aunty and uncle in the back garden, Zee the crown prince of Lord Kevin, the leader of the Lioncourt Clan who is now 10 years old, so that's how they felt because they found the little prince had grown that big.

Here they come. An ironic grin emerged from my lips. "Leading the council as president in his second year. The next promising ruler of our kingdom!" He was in the center of a formation of 5. The others were at his sides guarding him against all danger. A set of colors resembling a noble rainbow could be perceived from their appearance. Stepping into the front, beside the principal, the prince, and my promised enemy raised his hand in greeting as the flag of the kingdom hugged his shoulder. "The first prince, Nicholas Winright Asphyxia!"

And why was he alone? "Well met, Lord Jarrah," I said slowly, deciding on courtesy. "I greet you." "The little princess has manners and all. Would you look at that?" Jarrah's grin was truly nasty, full of squirming sadism. Then it hit me: 'princess.' He'd been watching us too. Damn him. "I am in search of your prince," I said, not cracking. I narrowed my eyes, hoping to disguise the fear there. "I know he's here."

I walked into the ballroom, all alone with no one by my side. However, my eyes zeroed in on the Prince. He had a lot of people beside him. I could recognize him because I had seen some of his pictures. He was known as the retarded and useless Prince. He was the last son of Alpha Damien and he was disliked and suppressed by the King, his uncle. However, I frowned in the next second at what I saw. He had a lady hanging onto him. I was surprised that no one had come close to me, to invite me to see the Prince.

She said cheerfully. Jake chuckled, and she glared at him. "That's different, princess. Oops, sorry. I called you princess again," Jake said. However, this time Elena didn't tell him not to call her princess. "Your doll is alone because she doesn't have a prince," Jake said to her. "Elena, will you become her prince?" She asked him with a hopeful look on her face. "I will become her prince if you become my friend," Jake said, extending his hand toward her.

Like hate was too small a word. Not to kill. To survive each other. They were rage given form. Heartache molded into violence. The air buzzed with it, each strike vibrating through my ribs. "She died asking me to choose you," the prince hissed. "She died thinking there was something true between us, something cursed, twisted, wrong. And she wanted me to accept it." The next strike was brutal enough to make me flinch. "She called it fate." The prince snarled, blade flashing.

More handsome than anyone I’ve ever seen, and it takes my breath away until I feel like I can’t breathe in front of him. “I hope you enjoy your food—” I softly reply, cutting off my sentence as I don’t know his name. “Alpha Letric. What is your name?” he commands, albeit tenderly and his unusual accent has me questioning who he is. He’s an alpha. My gods, I’m staring at an alpha.

My head snaps toward the estate, and my breath catches. Prince is standing at the doorway, gun raised. His posture is tense, his grip steady, and even from here, I can see the rage burning in his eyes. “He said leave,” one of the Capo says, his smirk making me want to break his fucking nose. “Or the next one goes to the head.” I stare at Prince, waiting for him to lower the gun, waiting for something—anything—that tells me this isn’t real. That this is just his anger talking, not something he actually wants.

Was it their conversation or was it the exquisite beauty of the human and his melodious laugh? The Prince was dressed in one of his old robes. It was a mix of white and sea green with the embroidery of peacock feathers around the edges and sleeves. The colour added more life to the hue of his skin and more brightness to his emerald coloured eyes. His russet curls were a bit wet around the tips due to sweat. It was actually a long distance from the castle to the ancestral burial ground. But it didn't dampen Prince Ron's beauty. Coupled with how happy he was, he gave off this healthy attractive glow.