Page 9 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

Damn. This wasn’t going to work. And now I’d just reminded him I was Orson Ward’s daughter.

“Lycans are born,” he said. “Werewolves are made.”

My heart leapt, and curiosity sparked despite my shitty circumstances. “So, lycans make werewolves?”

“No. Werewolves make werewolves. Their origins are murky, but our lore says that an ancient human king once ruled a vast and prosperous kingdom. He had everything. Castles, gold, and a beautiful queen. His army was full of noble knights. The king was unaware that one of these knights happened to be a lycan.”

Outside, the sky had darkened. Rain lashed the windows. I leaned forward. “This knight could transform into a wolf?”

“A lycan,” Einar said with another lift of his brow. “We’re bigger and faster than werewolves. We also live longer.”

“How—?”

“Five hundred years, give or take. The maximum werewolf lifespan is three hundred years, but most wolves die in petty dominance contests before they get that far.”

Oh, he was really laying it on thick. Fine, I could play along. “How old are you?”

“One hundred and fifty-two. Lycans age slowly.”

Right. I let my gaze wander over his unlined face and the thick hair pushed back from a smooth forehead. His claw stunt in my father’s office was obviously a trick. A man who owned a Maybach could afford Hollywood-level prosthetics. He’d conned my father, and now he was carrying out some sort of revenge plot. Nevertheless, the hair on my nape lifted as I cleared my throat.

“Okay. So, what happened with the knight?”

Einar’s gaze was steady, as if he didn’t care whether I believed him. “Tale as old as time. He fell in love with the queen. They carried on for decades, conducting an affair in secret. But she got old, as humans do. The knight turned out to be a bit of a fool, and he bit her, breaking one of our most sacred laws on the nonexistent chance she would rise again as a lycan. He waited for her to die.”

“But she didn’t,” I guessed.

“Nope. She turned, becoming the first werewolf. The knight created an abomination, mixing lycan blood with human.”

Something within me bristled. “That’s…elitist.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never faced off with a werewolf. The world is full of monsters, Miss Ward, including those that should have never been made. I believe Mary Shelley wrote about it. Or do they not teach Frankenstein at Northwestern?” The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Perhaps it’s too elitist for the curriculum.”

I couldn’t keep the edge of anger from my voice. “The monster in that story spent his life trying to help and befriend humans who always turned against him.”

“He also killed several of them. I promise you, no werewolf you encountered would seek to help or befriend you.”

“So far, werewolves sound exactly like lycans.”

Waning sunlight made his eyes appear brighter. “I’m relieved to know you’re familiar with the story. The state of higher education these days makes me worry for the future.”

It was an effort not to grind my molars together. “Did the knight and the queen live happily ever after?”

“Not in the slightest. The shift restored the queen to her former youth and beauty. The king, who was ill and dying, demanded to know how she’d managed it. As his suspicions grew, he noticed the knight never appeared to age, either. It didn’t take much for the king to put two and two together. When the queen denied an affair, the king tortured a confession from her. Once the king learned the truth, he forced the queen to bite him. Men are far more likely to survive a werewolf’s bite, although the virus tends to favor the assholes of the world. The king was, as you’ve probably surmised, an accomplished asshole, and he turned, becoming the second werewolf to ever live. Then he killed his wife for cuckolding him.”

My breath hitched. Cuckolding was an unusual word. An old word. Something someone born in the 1800s might say. I shoved that thought away before it could take root.

“What happened to the knight?” I asked.

“No one knows. The story says he disappeared.”

“And the king?”

“He swore a blood oath to seek revenge for the shame his queen brought upon the kingdom. According to the lore, he bit the rest of his knights, turning them one by one to create an entire army of werewolves. They spread throughout the kingdom and beyond, making others just like them. And they inherited the king’s rage and thirst for vengeance. Lycans and werewolves have been at war ever since.”

Outside, the sun slipped below the horizon, surrendering to the October gloom. The rain continued, leaving phantom trails on the windows. Einar pulled out his flask and took another healthy swig.

I bit the inside of my cheek, wavering between keeping my mouth shut and asking the obvious question. Oh, to hell with it.

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