The Lycan's Princess

By Taylor P.S.

“Can this come off?”

Her fingers plucked at his fitted jacket and he leaned away to shrug it free. His hands were back on her before she could ask for the shirt to go too, and she snorted.



“What about this? Can I?”



The minted gleam in green irises glazed with rising desire. His tone was still endlessly polite but his words called flames to her gut.



“Do what you want, Marisol. I’m all yours.”



She hadn’t asked for this ownership but since he gave it freely, how could she refuse?



“Those are dangerous words,” she slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, pale skin revealed at a crawl. “You sure about that?”



Her hands slipped through his open shirt, fingers spread over his firm chest before dragging lower. His stomach heaved at the tentative strokes against his abdomen and he leaned back to prop himself on steady elbows.



“Yes. I’ve always been yours.”    

********

Marisol Adiboye is a sixth princess betrothed to her kingdom’s most powerful ally. Her fiancé, crown prince Khaldur Olitrey, has occupied her lonely thoughts for years with what feels like the world’s most prolonged engagement. The night of their wedding brings some clarity to their delayed union but raises more questions when the prince of her dreams seems too perfect to believe. Khaldur will have to prove to his new wife that he is her perfect match in every way, and he was worth the wait. With the reveal of his long-guarded secret, far-reaching and unintended consequences bring trials to the couple that they must face together, as Mara is The Lycan’s Princess.

• Language: English
• Publisher: After Hours Publications
• Release date: May 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637182345

Taylor P.S.

Joining After Hours Publications 2017, A Demon's Chance was Taylor's first release. Since then, she has captured many readers hearts with her love of paranormal storytelling. 

Book preview

LYCAN’S PRINCESS

A Novel By

TAYLOR  P.S.

©2021 Published by After Hours Publications, Inc. www.afterhourspublications.com

All rights reserved.

Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage without express permission by the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contains explicit language & adult themes suitable for ages 17+

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Chapter 1

Marisol Adiboye felt a slow trickle of sweat roll down her spine. Trapped as she was by the tight lacing of her blouse, she couldn’t do much about it. Her shoulders wiggled in a short shimmy, and she muttered to her cousin.

Quick, remind me why I’m here.

Despite thinking herself prepared for the moment, there was nothing like the real thing. The crowd she could handle, quite familiar with the twinge of her cheeks as she smiled and made polite chatter for hours on end. The hall was crammed past bursting, and the glass doors that lined the vaulted walls were thrown open to relieving night air. The ground beneath her heels was glossed, immaculate threads of silver winding through sliced marble. Her left foot swept the floor in a half-circle, and the seamless glide was enough to nail her to reality.

This is your wedding. Wouldn’t be much point if the bride was absent.

Mara glanced to the shining chandeliers above, the world's premier glass artist responsible for the hundreds of delicately crafted crystal flowers that spilled from the ceiling. For as long as she could remember, she’d spent countless nights camped out in this gallery to dream under their light.

Her sigh was silent through the smile on her lips. Right. My wedding.

I know you’re more excited than that, silted brown eyes tracked the stiff slant of her shoulders. Is he not what you expected?

No. Not at all. They’d met a dozen times when she was much younger, but those visits had ended years ago. At the time, it had gutted her. Made her feel unwanted and abandoned. She was only a child, and he was a growing young man. Why should he care about a little girl from a distant country he was betrothed to? Their opinions hadn't been considered, and this union was an obvious exchange, a stockpiling of power. Blood ties made stronger kingdoms. Mara knew this and desperately clung to the idea as she tried to brace herself for an impersonal marriage.

Yet…

His letters told a different story.

While they'd been apart, not a month had passed where she didn't find one laid atop her desk. Nestled in a favorite book. Tucked beneath her pillow. She didn't know who he'd won over to his cause to place them there, but they remained a constant throughout the years, even up to last week.

Mara felt like she knew him, and therein lay the problem. She couldn't see the boy in those letters in the man who was now her husband.

A steadying hand pressed to the small of her back, and Mara sucked in a quick breath. Her lungs expanded thankfully, and she looked to Wren with a small smile.

Thanks. I didn’t realize….

That you stopped breathing, he drawled helpfully and toyed with the tied fabric at her waist. You should loosen these before you pass out.

Mara gasped, playful offense raising her brows. And ruin my perfect figure? I’d rather die.

He rolled his eyes and nudged her in the side. What are you worried about? Why don’t you go talk to him.

Why doesn’t he come talk to me? she shot back in a lilted tease. He doesn’t seem interested.

Wren gave him more leeway than she was inclined to. He must be shy. You’re an intelligent, beautiful, kind young woman. And he’s surrounded by old men. What’s wrong with this picture?

Mara quirked her lips in amused bafflement. You’re being nice tonight. What’s wrong with you?

A more forceful shove to her back propelled her toward her husband, who was swarmed by delegates. He looked past the shoulder of the nearest ambassador and glanced across the room, their eyes locking as Wren huffed.

Go save him. He needs help.

He didn’t seem distressed, but she relented with a grumble.

Khaldur watched her approach with zero subtlety. He loomed impossibly taller as she slowed to a stop at his flank. Her first instinct was to keep her mouth shut when his lingering attention prompted the rest of his small posse to look her way. Then she remembered this was her house, and she was far from a child who could be cowed by the gazes of dignitaries.

Husband, she crooned, edging herself to his side and extending a hand to drape over his forearm. I hope I’m not interrupting?

Mara grinned at him without truly meeting his eyes and felt the hard muscle of his arms flex beneath her touch. She watched his stare drop to her palm before he gently assured.

No, you’re not. I was about to excuse myself.

The men exchanged knowing smirks and waved off his offered apology.

One of them laughed, salacious grin not withheld. Go on, enjoy yourselves. Don’t let us keep you hostage, his mustache twitched, words dripping with innuendo. You two must have better things to do, hmm?

The implication stung her cheeks, and Mara bit the growl from her tongue, chuckling instead.

You’re right. We have a full night planned, from the corner of her eye, she definitely saw Khaldur twitch. If you’ll excuse us.

She grasped his sleeve and tugged. He followed after a pause. To take offense at the man’s remarks would show she cared. That he had sway over her emotions. She wouldn’t give him that power.

Mara towed her new husband across the hall, returning smiles and congratulations with her thanks but not stopping to chat. She wove between a final throng of people and heard Khaldur grunt as he barely avoided clipping a woman’s elaborate turban.

Mara mumbled a distracted apology and let her hand slide from his arm. They were outside and standing shoulder to shoulder on the balcony while dewy summer air cooled the sweat on her collar. She fit a thumb into the top loop of her blouse and gave a short yank. Her chest eased on the next breath, and she scraped exhausted fingers through her hair. Spiraled curls caught between her knuckles, and she eventually noticed his curious gaze. His head was canted to a side, mint-green irises trained on the drag of her fingers through her coils.

She quickly turned away and stared out over the ledge to the city lights below.

You looked like you were bored, Mara said as a way of explanation.

She didn’t tell him that she had to be coerced into his rescue if it could be considered that at all. His expression had barely changed from uninterested the entire day. Maybe this whole thing was tiresome tradition to him—

I was. Thank you for the assistance.

Was that a sliver of humor?

Mara glanced up, elbows spread along the length of the grated half wall that kept her from tumbling down a steep slope.

…It was nothing. Anything to interrupt old men is good in my book.

He was smiling. It was an almost invisible tug of his lips, the right corner just slightly lifted. But it was something.

Should I expect this to be a hobby of yours?

Mara shrugged. Depends on how often you keep their company.

That’s unfortunately quite often.

Then I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me.

Khaldur shifted on his feet and turned himself toward her. His arm laid flat along the fence, hips angled on a lean. He wasn’t quite in her space but made it clear that he was restrained only because he wished it so. Or that’s what she thought, anyway.

I would hope so, Marisol. You’re my wife, a sputter of interest flickered in his probing gaze. I look forward to it.

Damn her. She flushed with a hot streak of consciousness right down the middle of her spine. He hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to her in the past six hours, but now he was talkative? What changed?

You look confused.

She answered without thinking.

You’re confusing.

Khaldur smiled more fully and slanted himself closer. What part of me confuses you?

Since she'd already blurted her thoughts, why not keep it rolling? No one was around. It was just the two of them, and for whatever reason, Khaldur was suddenly roused from his affected ‘sack of potatoes’ persona.

Mara didn't pull away while he slowly inched nearer. He hadn't done anything to set off her alarms.

Everything, her wrist flicked in a halfhearted wave up his body, motioning toward the packed muscle under his suit. I don’t remember you being so big. When did that happen?

In service, mostly.

Right. His country had mandated military service, royals not excluded.

You haven’t seen me in a while. I had a small growth spurt.

She snorted at that, eyes widening in intrigue. Dry as it was, there was a joke.

Your small growth spurt made you six feet tall?

His mouth cinched, teeth winking in a faint grin. Six foot six.

The rumble of laughter up her throat surprised her. It was her turn to face him, and she scooted a little closer, so their elbows brushed.

My mistake. I wouldn’t want to take those inches from you. It must make all the difference.

The chink in his façade split through the center. A mute breeze pushed in behind him and carried a clean scent to her lungs. Roasted spices and soft maple. He raised a finger to her clenched hand. Slow enough that she could pull away or rebuke him if she wanted. When she remained still, he swept a cautious touch to her ring.

It makes a difference.

His promise hung heavy with tension, and his thumb slipped along the warm skin of her finger above the gold band. Caressing. Pointedly intimate.

Mara’s pulse jumped to life at the reminder that she was married. She’d been promised to him since childhood. There was no other man who occupied her thoughts, not since she'd been old enough to form them. It had always been Khaldur.

Would you like to see?

Her throat was dry. Throbbing heat skittered at the apex of her thighs, metaphorical cobwebs cleaning house.

I thought you were shy. Are you propositioning me, Khaldur?

He grasped her hand and gently stroked long fingers over the length of her narrow wrist. His calluses caught against her skin, and she shuddered. Even inexperienced, a visceral part of her recognized the thrill that steadily permeated the space they'd carved out for themselves. The dim murmur from the party was lost, a background reminder of the tradition, the performance they had to play.

Out here, Mara wasn't thinking of duties or what was expected of a princess. This didn't feel like a burden plunked on her shoulders.

This felt achingly right.

Khaldur chuffed an indulgent laugh, and her eyes dragged to the bob of his throat.

Is it a proposition if we’re married?

It is if you’re asking.

Mara arched a brow and waited for his response. She wasn’t totally unaffected by him and had no issue with the way her body reacted to his interest.

But she needed to know.

He dropped her hand. The whites of his eyes ringed around pale green. I’m asking. I will always ask. I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want.

There it was.

Mara remembered that part of him. How his every action was deliberated, her well-being paramount. She softened to his unrest and smoothed a palm over his chest. She straightened the lapels of his suit and peered through her lashes. Blood pumped through singing veins with simmered arousal, and her teeth caught along the plump line of her bottom lip.

He was the only one.

Khaldur was all she hoped to know.

Alright, Mara eventually murmured, heat staining her throat. Show me.

Chapter 2

It was easier to slip away from the party than anticipated. It was more difficult to let him into her room.

Mara looked over her shoulder, abashed at the current state of her suite. Who could blame her? There was nothing orderly about getting ready for a wedding.

Don’t judge me, she mumbled and pushed the lock, door swinging wide on soundless hinges. I was in a hurry.

Khaldur’s palm was splayed lightly across the small of her back. I won’t.

He was tall enough to see over her and strained to make out dark shapes in the room. He tilted close in the doorway, and she jumped at drunken laughter that ricocheted in the hall. She snagged him by the collar and threw him inside, slamming the door shut on his heels. The last thing she wanted was loose lips gossiping up and down the corridors.

Mara had her own quarters. Living room, kitchenette, study, and a master bedroom were included. Trying to minimize the impact of her thoroughly trashed lounge, she banged around in the dark as she picked her way to the bedroom. She bounced off Khaldur at one point, and the roped brawn across his front cushioned her while he twisted around to keep her straight.

Sorry, she held a palm to her nose and nasally exhaled. No judgment, right?

Even in the relative dark, she could imagine his tempered expression. Right…

That sounded judgmental.

He puffed a quiet laugh, and Mara led him into her bedroom, toeing the door shut. She flipped on the lights and winced at the disarray. Bras and panties, blouses, and pants flung in every corner.

Khaldur raked a quick glance over her bed where the raciest of her undergarments had been left to air.

Oops.

She darted forward to snatch them from unmade sheets and flung them deep into her dresser, muttering. You weren’t supposed to see that.

Khaldur prowled his way to the bed and lifted the comforter, maybe hoping to find another forgotten thong.

I disagree.

Mara spun on her feet and got tangled in a dress haphazardly bundled on the ground. She caught herself against the dresser and croaked at the dig of wood into her ribs. Khaldur watched from the bed, perched on the edge with raised brows, silently asking if she needed help. Mara huffed at how this was all going.

She wheezed. Can I get you something to drink?

Khaldur chuckled in dulcet warmth that curled pleasantly in her belly.

No, his grin was pleased. Come here.

She went straight into his arms.

He caught her in the cradle of his lap and settled big hands on the span of her waist. His thumbs pressed into her hipbones, and he swirled a caress to the bare skin beneath. Mara twitched and hastily climbed into his lap, legs wrapping around his hips while he mapped the shape of her.

He didn’t appear hurried. There was no urgency.

She wiggled to get his attention, and he picked his eyes up from the low-cut of her flashing collarbones.

He asked, Is this okay?

Mara wriggled again, and her palms found purchase on wide shoulders. They slid to the base of his neck over warm clothes and hotter skin. Her nails lightly scraped across his pulse.

Yes. Can this come off?

Her fingers plucked at his fitted jacket, and he leaned away to shrug it free. His hands were back on her before she could ask for the shirt to go too, and she snorted.

What about this? Can I?

The minted gleam in green irises glazed with rising desire. His tone was still endlessly polite, but his words called flames to her gut.

Do what you want, Marisol. I'm all yours.

She hadn't asked for this ownership, but since he gave it freely, how could she refuse?

Those are dangerous words, she slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, pale skin revealed at a crawl. You sure about that?

Her hands slipped through his open shirt, fingers spread over his firm chest before dragging lower. His stomach heaved at the tentative strokes against his abdomen, and he