Page 38 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

Disappointment washed over Goliath’s features, but he nodded. “I get it. Arlo is a solid guy.”

I smiled. “So are you, you know.”

Goliath ducked his head. Under his swirling tattoos, pink dusted his cheekbones. “I don’t know about that.”

“Trust me.” I crossed the room and grabbed the plate of cookies from the table next to the chair. “Do you think I give chocolate chunk and sea salt cookies to just anyone?”

Goliath’s tail waved gently, the fuzzy tip bobbing. “I can’t take all of those.”

“Yes, you can. Trust me, I ate my weight in dough before they went into the oven. Take them to the maze. I’ve never made this recipe before, and I need some feedback. Really, you’re doing me a favor.”

Goliath grinned as he accepted the plate. “All right, Harper. I’ll take them off your hands, but only for research purposes.”

“Deal.”

He left in another poof of smoke, and I went to the window and watched him reappear at the edge of the maze. With a parting wave, he stepped between the hedges and winked out of sight.

I stood at the window, my smile lingering as the sky slid from purple to a deep midnight blue. Goliath was so charming, it was hard to imagine anyone not liking him. But his inability to shift meant he had to hide in the maze.

“We’re all here because we can’t be anywhere else. We live peacefully. Draithmere is the only place where most of us can live at all.”

And it was all because of Einar, the benevolent prince. But he’d been anything but benevolent toward me. On the contrary, he’d been arrogant and condescending. Dictatorial. And, last night, disgusted. Maybe he only extended kindness to magical creatures.

I turned from the window, a thought taking hold. Was it possible Einar disdained humans? He spoke of werewolves as inferior beings. Surely, humans were even less desirable. That had to be it. To him, I was a member of a lowly, mundane species with no magic. His lifespan might stretch half a millennium. Mine was unlikely to endure for a century. No wonder he’d been eager to leave my room after I orgasmed. My pleasure had probably repulsed him.

Follow the facts wherever they lead. Even if they were uncomfortable. Even if they led to pain.

But it didn’t matter. Einar was gone, attending to “business” that was obviously an excuse to escape my company. The lofty prince of the lycans couldn’t sully himself with a human. Well, he didn’t have to worry. If and when Einar returned, I’d stay in my room. And the last thing I told him remained true.

I hoped I never saw him again.

Chapter

Thirteen

HARPER

One week later, my days had fallen into a pattern.

Every morning, I went downstairs and had coffee with Arlo. Then I cooked while he worked in his office, attending to various estate matters. We lunched on our own, then met for dinner, where we talked about everything from my time at Northwestern to Arlo’s preferred accounting software. Conversations with the steward were relaxed and easy, although he remained tight-lipped about Einar’s whereabouts. Every time I prodded Arlo for an estimated return date, his reply was always the same.

“The prince keeps his own schedule, Miss Ward. He could be gone for a week…or a month.”

Goliath parroted a similar line when he visited me in the evenings. The diminutive dragon had taken to waiting for me in my room after dinner, which had quickly become my favorite part of the day. I gave him leftovers to share with everyone in the maze, and he regaled me with stories about the supernatural world and the beings who inhabited it. Goliath was an engaging and talented storyteller. He was also more forthcoming than Arlo, gifting me to tidbits that painted a vivid picture of a hidden world full of mystery and magic. It was a reporter’s dream.

But after seven days, my daily routine was getting old. I’d worked through all of my mother’s recipes—and most of the ingredients in Draithmere’s pantry. The refrigerator groaned with quiche, chicken fricassee, and consommé. Last night, Goliath had politely declined an apple pie, claiming even Rolfe couldn’t keep up with the volume of desserts I’d sent to the maze.

And still, there was no sign of Einar. With each passing day, the curiosity that had plagued me all my life tugged harder. Did Einar’s disgust run so deep that it kept him away for an entire week? Was he injured? Was he with someone?

I shoved the last thought aside as I made my way to the kitchen. Einar Rothkilde’s personal life was none of my business. Although, it was hard to imagine any woman putting up with his ever-changing moods. And his imperiousness. And stubbornness. The man had zero good qualities.

Arlo wasn’t in the kitchen when I entered. For a moment, I considered looking for him, but a glance at the calendar tacked to a bulletin board near the butler’s pantry revealed it was Saturday. He was probably sleeping in.

I gnawed at my lip as I considered my options. Coffee was top of the list, of course. But breakfast was going to be difficult to pull off. We were out of eggs, and I’d used the last of the flour for the apple pie. If I could find some powdered pancake mix, I only needed water.

“Sorry, Mom,” I mumbled, imagining my mother’s horrified expression. My hopes were low as I entered the pantry. Considering how many recipes I’d run through over the past week, I’d be lucky to find?—

I stopped, shock rooting me to the floor. The pantry was fully restocked, the shelves groaning with supplies. A row of tall, clear canisters held flour, sugar, and different kinds of dry pasta. Jars of spices marched in a line, along with boxes of crackers and cookies. I drifted forward, my gaze on a large bag of coffee beans. Obviously, Arlo had gone for a grocery run while I slept.

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