Romans & histoires Princess X

She is only mine. Xx____xX

A harsh laugh, devoid of humor, echoed in the confined space. “Where you belong, princess. For now.” A hand, large and calloused, brushed against her cheek, a touch that made her skin crawl. She flinched away, a desperate, futile movement. “Don’t touch me.” Her voice, though still weak, held a surprising edge of defiance. “Feisty, ain’t she?” the gruff voice mused. “James sure picked a spirited one.”

She raised her hand and fixed a rebellious lock of hair in front of her eyes. She sighed softly as she calmed down. She and Mirabelle really looked like two drops of water and she had the chance that nobody had: She was the look-alike of a princess and she should take advantage of it. She always knew how to differentiate her professional life from her personal life, so that's what she had to do... She was Mirabelle d'Orient, a princess and she should behave like one... Two knocks were heard at her door. She hurriedly closed the dressing room and took a good posture before allowing the one who had just knocked to enter... It was her two maids. Mila and Zora. Mirabelle had told her about them.

“What… does that mean? You said--” The woman reached for her hood, and my heart lurched. The face that had looked at me in that hazy dream when I was in the cave was looking at me. Her face looked so much like my mother’s in the painting, but there were several differences that told me that she wasn’t. She was a relative of some sort. “Who… are you?’ “If you’d like the formality, I am Raven, the second princess of the United Vampire Covens.” She said with a small smirk. “I am also the true leader of the Blood Moon Coven, more commonly known as the Red Moon Pack.”

She has her father's pale gold hair - which is identical to mine - and the angry eyes that flashed at Lisa are definitely hers. " How's the restaurant going, Lisa? Flourishing, I presume." Dad spears a pea with a fork. Lisa offers a smile with the power to stop hearts. Dubbed 'Princess of Oakenville' by the locals, her famed, angelic beauty is the reason most of the patrons at her thriving restaurant, Duke's Table, consist of adoring fanboys, and why most women love to have her as a prime subject of their gossip. "Your presumption is indeed right. Did I mention there's a prospect of an interview with Women's Weekly? They want me to feature in a cover story."

"Chase me, Father!" Shouted the eight-years-old Princess Amayah of Lancayan. They are in the palace garden and are having fun playing. Her father, King Kendra chases after her while laughing. They were also accompanied by her older sister, Princess Aloha and their mother, Queen Aruha. They picture a happy family that anyone would envy.

Viktor POV “Goddess, I know it’s only been a couple of months but man, I’ve missed this place,” Cedric said with a sigh. I took my seat at my desk and chuckled. “We’ve missed you here, Cedric,” I said. “So tell me. That other girl is the princess? As in, Princess Violette Dubois of the werewolves?” He asked. I nodded my head. “Yes, my slave princess,” I said. He let out a chuckle.

~A girl so happy yet so silent Her heart pure like the snow So afraid she was of people And yet she loved a boy He was as charming as a prince And lit up her world in diamonds She was the happiest she had ever been But a flower always dies Turned out he was a demon The princess he now held captive A high tower in the mountains Her heart closed down in darkness Now she hates him... No escape left, all went quiet The princess in the mountains They say her ghost now hates silence The prince that was a demon He was never seen in the forest.~ The book pages had some teardrops on them for, by the end of the poem, Siana’s eyes were covered in tears. Her mind was filled with questions after she fini

While pondering this, she heard a distant voice say, "Princess Christina, please." Emma smiled and turned to see a long corridor ahead, a group of maidens following behind, elegantly approaching. The lead woman had her hair elegantly tied up, secured with ten hairpins that resembled a cloud. Her refined and graceful appearance and exquisite and luxurious attire marked her as Princess Christina. However, Emma sighed inwardly. Princess Christina was only twenty years old and possessed an air of immaturity. A thick layer of pale gray makeup masked her naturally rosy complexion. Her complexion appeared wan, and the corners of her eyes bore the signs of weariness. But perhaps the most unsettling