Wesley Wyndam Pryce Novels & Stories

Because if I'm not— A knock at the door made him freeze mid-sentence. Sharp. Authoritative. Not a servant's knock. "Come in," Caelan called, his voice automatically shifting into Lyra's higher register even as his hands moved with practiced speed, folding the letter and shoving it under the leather desk cover. The door opened without hesitation. Damien. Of course it was Damien. Who else would enter without waiting for permission? The prince stood in the doorway, still dressed formally despite the late hour—dark blue coat buttoned to his throat, hair perfectly in place, not a single wrinkle in his appearance. He looked like he'd stepped out of a portrait. Untouchable. Unreadable.

He had never been humiliated like this before. Even the humiliation that Shaun gave him was not as cruel as this. He trembled in anger, but no one entered the office, and no one helped him up either. At the side, Jeffery and Wade were so frightened that they shook. Who was Wesley Lyons? It was not an exaggeration to say that he was a figure at the top of the business pyramid, as well as Minister Mead’s favorite. In the past, he had to beg others to do things. Yet now, other people had to beg him instead.

Emily Warner I leave the room, completely dressed, after my long phone call with Mary where she explained what Socrates, Odyssey and Olympus is. And also, of course a few thoughts on Lucas. As I exited my room, trying to pull my black dress down as it kept riding up my thick thighs, annoying the hell out of me. This is why I don’t like wearing bodycon dresses, they are so uncomfortable but it does look pretty when I suck my tummy in so… “Hey- why are you wearing your shoes?” I ask him as I look at him standing near the door with keys in his hands.

she muttered. He chuckled. “You don’t seem like the type to cry over nothing.” “Wow. Confident assumption for a stranger.” Vanessa turned sharply. “Please leave me—” Her voice faltered when she realized who it was. Prince Wesley. The Prince of the Southern Lycan Kingdom himself stood before her, dressed in a tailored uniform that screamed power. His dark hair fell neatly over his brow, and when he smiled the dimples at his cheeks showed, softening the line in his mouth but not the command in his gaze. His hazel-green eyes were sharp and assessing.

The entire hall went silent, it was As if time froze because not even a single sound was made. At that moment, the doors of the car were open to the powerful being. He stepped down from the car with grace, pride, and power, carefully examining his castle, and taking his precious time to sniff the air of the night. Immediately his shiny black shoes stepped onto the Royal mat, the trumpets alarmed his arrival. And all heads faced the door. All eyes wanted to behold his presence. Mighty men sought his arrival. Goosebumps filled their skins and jaws dropped open when his scent filled the entire room. He gave them chills and rendered them speechless. His steps were unhurried. His eyes were the co

When the princess saw that someone was walking after her, she turned and stared at him. He smiled, "Hi, my name is Damian. I just saw you for the first time today and I just came into the kingdom. I want to say you're so beautiful." What is this?" she asked, shocking Damian. "Look at how disgusting you look! What makes you think you can talk to me? Have you no respect? Guards! Why would you let someone like this talk to me? Look at the way he's dressed. He's even smelling! If I talk to people like this, what do you think of my reputation? You want to drag it through the mud!"

"That, my dear Prince, is my ticket out of banishment." Wrath grinned devilishly and came over to me, slinging an arm around my shoulder. "I'd like you to meet my new friend, Dove Carlisle. But you dear, Pride may refer to her as your mate."

I scrunched my brows. "And, who are you and why should I listen to you? I will call the police if you try to be smart." She warned me and chuckled. "Before you reach for that phone in your handbag, I will send you to heaven or hell. But I won't be doing it… I am here for Alexis…" "Who are you?" She was concerned. "I am.. Stefan Donovan, the demon prince…" I introduced myself and left her gaping at me.

They went through it. House Prestige, curated by the glamorous Madame Celeste Everhart, was always in the spotlight. Celebrities, heirs of social dynasties, fashion icons, and viral influencers made their home here. Prestige didn’t chase clout—they controlled it. Narrative, image, scandal—they wrote the headlines and starred in them too.

All that noble restraint melting under careful, deliberate pressure. Velis would approach slowly, deliberately. He would peel away the lies sewn into that noble spine layer by careful layer. Replace duty with something far more primal, composure with desperate need. "Tell me again, little prince," he would murmur, voice honey over steel, "about your noble duty. About the mercy you show." In the present, the prince's gaze lifted suddenly—and their eyes met across the ceremonial space. Velis didn't blink. Didn't look away. He simply tilted his head the barest degree—not enough to be noticed by others, but sufficient to convey a single, electric message: