The broken Lycan prince - Healed by innocence

The Alpha prince

*Lydia*

The car purrs to a stop, sparking a wave of butterflies among its passengers, all but Harrison, who sits unmoved. The realization that we have finally arrived feels dreamlike.

A subdued servant, probably a lower-ranking pack member, promptly swings open the car door, his hand outstretched to aid our exit. Meanwhile, others busy themselves with unloading our belongings.

A grim figure dressed in black approaches us, bowing slightly in Harrison’s direction. "If you will follow me," he requests, guiding us up a majestic staircase of stone, then flinging open an imposing wooden door, carved with intricate designs, to permit our entrance.

The grandeur of the entrance hall steals my breath away. Shimmering marble floors fork off into three corridors, two coyly tucked behind sweeping staircase. A balcony links these staircases, overlooking the hall where colossal portraits encased in gold demand attention.

This is like a completely different world. Like a fairytale. But I am unsure if this is where the handsome Prince lives, or the evil Queen. It might be both.

Craning my neck, I take in the ceiling's fresco: a man in a toga steering a chariot through voluminous clouds. It seems incongruous. Instead, he should be a knight, armored and riding a regal horse.

The echoing tread of stately footsteps draws my eyes to an older man, presumably the butler, places like this have butlers, right? Dressed in a formal black suit with a crisp white butterfly, his face is so stern it seems a smile could c***k it.

"Mr. Moonshadow, I have been tasked to lead you and your kin to the Prince’s chambers. Would you kindly follow me?" The butler speaks. Either he refuses to accept Grayson as our Alpha, or he has a disregard for American packs as a whole.

A surge of irritation floods me at the perceived disrespect. Harrison may not be a rightful heir, but he warrants civility. He is the prince’s offspring, a bond that should invoke reverence.

I have delved deeply into the social structure of British packs, deciphering the intricate network of titles, ranks, and hierarchies. Back in Texas, a man's status is earned, not bequeathed.

Guiding Zara and Colton gently, we tail our parents up the grand staircase, flanked by more portraits. I notice traces of Harrison in those faces, though the majority bear dark hair and eyes. I wonder if these are the generations that have considered this place home.

"Is this a real castle?" Zara whispers, her wonder mirroring mine.

"Close enough," I whisper back.

I wish we were given a moment to freshen up. My casual travel clothes and hastily done hair feel out of place in this grand reception. Surely in a residence of this magnitude, a room could have been set aside for us to spruce up.

The staircase opens to a grand corridor, more akin to a room than a passageway with its ornate furniture, portraits, and greenery. Numerous doors pepper its length, hinting at a maze of rooms beyond. Silently, I wish for guidance.

Suddenly, the door closest to the stairs swings open and a sophisticated looking woman steps out. Streaks of raven amidst the silver in her hair hint at her once-dark tresses. Her eyes blaze with hostility as they fix on Harrison. With a door-slamming finality and clenched fists by her sides, she comes to an abrupt halt.

Everyone freezes. Harrison executes a slight bow, and in that moment, despite the weariness and disorder from the journey, he emanates an undeniable majesty.

"My Princess," Harrison acknowledges softly.

"You bastard!" she counters, her tone icy. "You are not welcome here. I won't have you in my house, least of all in his bedchamber."

"Is she a witch?" Zara murmurs.

"I believe so," I manage to respond, shocked by the woman's treatment of Harrison. This must be his father’s mate.

"My Princess…" the butler begins.

"I won't hear of it! Oswald, if you value your place in this pack, you will see these people out this instant!" she orders.

The creak of a door opening diverts my attention to a young woman in a black dress and apron, a cap perched atop her head.

"Mary, summon the Alpha Prince," Oswald instructs.

The Alpha Prince would be Harrison’s half-brother, the successor, the future Lycan Prince. At first I found that confusing, as Alpha Prince sounded to be above Prince, but it’s not.

"Of course, Mr. Oswald," she nods, making haste towards the stairs.

"You will not!" the princess bellows after her. Despite the command, Mary continues her descent.

"Ignorant girl," the princess mutters. "The servants Grayson brought lack any discipline. He doesn't lead this pack. I do. And as for you, you bastard…"

My mother's cold voice intercedes, "You will cease to insult my mate."

"Abbie," Harrison chimes in quietly, shaking his head.

The princess sniffs haughtily. "He knows his place. It's not within my pack. Now, be gone, all of you, before I unleash the gammas on you!"

Her tirade intensifies, each harsh word slicing through the tense atmosphere. I had anticipated grace from the Princess of Britain's most affluent lycan pack, not rantings sounding like some trailer trash unranked she-Wolf.

"Lyd, you are squeezing too hard," Zara murmurs.

Releasing my hold, my heart wrenches at the spectacle unfolding. It's both degrading and heart-breaking, more so for my younger siblings. Given the mansion's vastness, it will presumably take Mary a while to locate the heir to the Lycan Prince, and even longer for him to appear.

I can't have my siblings bear witness to this any longer. This isn't retreat; it's safeguarding.

I guide Zara and Colton away, steering them back down the grand staircase. The princess' wrath is baffling… they did, after all, summon Harrison here.

Three men, spearheaded by a figure radiating authority and elegance, dash towards us. His dark blue jacket molds to his broad shoulders flawlessly, and his gray trousers hug his muscular thighs. His crisp white shirt, waistcoat, and tie hint at a man who values his presentation.

Without a doubt, he must be Grayson, Harrison's brother and the future Prince. Unlike Harrison, he is dark and intimidating. His hazel eyes reflect the fury of the Texas coast's tempests, and I find myself caught in his stormy gaze, paralyzed.

He halts suddenly, seemingly struck by my presence. His retinue grinds to a stop behind him. His fierce gaze sends my heart into a frantic symphony against my ribs. His proximity, coupled with his labored breathing and the unruly mop of thick brown hair cascading over his forehead, exudes a magnetic pull. An impulse to reach up and brush it back surges within me.

A shrill cry shreds the silence, igniting his eyes with a rapid, fiery wrath. Despite the evident danger, I feel cocooned in a protective aura. He must be here to rescue my stepfather from the despotic she-wolf perched high on the staircase, armored by her elite social status.

Though the staircase is wide enough for anyone to easily bypass us, I instinctively gather my siblings, pressing us all tightly against the wall. This grants the man sufficient room to blaze past us, promptly stifling the harsh shrieks of the harpy.

"No need to retreat, my dear," he whispers, his voice as soothing and warm as honey under the Texan sun.

"I wasn't fleeing," I argue, although my breathless voice betrays my assertion.

A dark eyebrow arches in skepticism before he resumes his climb, his long legs effortlessly mastering the steps two at a time. His followers hastily scramble after him.

Driven by the unfolding spectacle, I trail behind, my younger siblings in tow. I sense the imminent dethroning of the Princess, and I am eager to witness such poetic justice.

Still, a soft voice echoes in the recesses of my mind, whispering a truth I'm not quite ready to face. This man, with his awe-striking presence and an aura of raw power, has stirred something within me… a pull, a connection… that I am not prepared to admit just yet. His very existence seems to challenge my reality, turning my world on its head.