Novel & Cerita Prince Head

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 Crown Prince of Winacellu and the Dorm Leader of Faenice, His Royal Highness—” “Can’t, can’t you just cut it down to their actual names?” I requested, wincing at the very long introduction of their prince. “Okay, okay.” She nodded. “So, Kieran Fiores Gregory, Winacellu’s crown prince; Murien Larimar Samudra, Malecoy’s first prince; Leonis Raizen Aureus, Aslan’s second prince; Lazul Horacin Samudra and Guren Cairox Samudra, Malecoy’s twin princes.” She snatched a cookie from the plate.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yeah,” The Prince said. The word came out quiet but calm. “It’s a good choice. We just have to hold hands and kiss for a picture. That will blow this over.” Her head jerked up. She took a deep breath and reached for a glass of water, filling it to the brink before she said, “Okay, wow...Yeah, sure.”

He does not seem pleased because he reaches for me but I’m out of reach. From a bit of a distance I notice more about him. He’s very tall and built, like most males, he is clean shaven, those eyes capture me for a moment, then his perfect dusty blonde hair. But more importantly the crown that sits atop that dusty brown hair. This is the Prince. I can feel realisation hit as my breathing speeds up and I drop into a deep bow. “Your Majesty.” My voice barley audible. I’ve heard stories of The Prince, we all have. Stories of his ruthlessness, violence, cruelty. Stories of his love of females as nightly companions. Bad, horrible stories.

"Sir. You may begin." The butler pulled the red silk off the wheel. The face of the wheel held thirty-six letters. Each letter went with a name. Jordan Sutton stepped toward it. I cut him off. "Wait!" All eyes turned. In that moment, I understood. I had been given a second chance. In my previous life, I had been chosen. And on my wedding day… I was reduced to something less than human. This time, I would not repeat the same fate.

“What news are you talking about?” “The news of Adrian crowning his five-year-old daughter the crown princess of Seat of Rossi and the next queen of Seat of Rossi.” I broke into them and they all looked stunned except Apex who I knew was just hiding his expression. “That wasn't part of the plan at all, Father,” Diva said and Apex nodded gently.

Three times the referee has reviewed it and found nothing. Because there's nothing to find. Whatever he's doing is surgical enough to be invisible on camera and felt only by the person on the receiving end. Their quarterback is rattled. He won't look at number four between plays. "Who are they?" I ask. Directed at no one in particular. And It's Marcus who answers. "Number Eleven is Noè Laurent," he says. "His family runs half of Europe's pharmaceutical trade. Polite as hell off the field. Completely ruthless on it."

It's the alarm in little man’s voice that has me spinning, laying my eyes on the rumored ‘Mad Prince. Alpha Zayne. He has both arms around two stunning omegas. He's shirtless, with tattooed torso on display. His stomach is hard with abs, his chest is broad—good heavens, his body is a work of art, perfectly sculptured, and his face…? Goddess. The tabloids did not do justice to it. Dark, shoulder-length hair frames his chiseled jaw, perfect lips and eyes as grey as gun metal. My stomach flips as those stormy eyes lock with mine.

It’s the same look I saw in my dream early, a look that has my pussy clenching and a need to be touched. “Do you want me to make you some breakfast before you go?” I ask, but he shakes his head no. “Trust me when I say that food is not what I want to devour right now, Princess.” He answers, his heated gaze making my breath hitch. “What do you want to devour then?” I ask tentatively, even though the look in his eyes tells me all I need to know. “I am not sure you’re ready for that answer just yet, Princess.” He turns around, his fist clenched, and I have a feeling he is battling his own self-control.

The Bloody Prince is going to regret ever laying eyes on me. I check my hair for any flyaways, making sure every strand is in place. Braids wrap around my head like a crown to remind the Prince who he’s dealing with. They meet at the back, twisting together into a low bun. Gold dangles from my ears, complete with a glimmering choker of diamonds around my neck. The only thing missing is a crown.