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Breaking the Curse of the Lycan Prince Novel Cover

Breaking the Curse of the Lycan Prince

Once destined to lead her pack, Hattie became a branded outcast after a tragic first shift. Desperate for salvation, she pinned her hopes on finding her fated mate. Instead, she is bound to a cursed Lycan prince who views her with pure malice and warns her to end her own life. Offered up as prey, Hattie is the third mate destined to be destroyed by his monstrous curse. Yet, as she faces certain death, an unthinkable twist alters their shared destiny in this captivating fantasy.
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Chapter 2

It was morning, and I had already finished cleaning up, so I simply threw on a red robe over the shorts and singlet I was wearing before heading out.

Many sorcerers had come and gone, each with their futile suggestions. It seemed like they were all just trying to extort money from my father.

Let's see what this one has to say. I hoped I wouldn't lose my temper and slit his throat, as all these fake magicians seemed to be trying to exploit my father's desperation.

As I stepped out of my room, the guards in the hallway immediately bowed, and with each step I took toward them, their legs trembled instinctively. None dared to meet my gaze.

Ignoring them all, I descended to the second floor, where the palace was located. The door was opened for me, and my presence cast a tense atmosphere over the room. Elders and my parents were present, and the sorcerer in crimson robes sat on the floor in the center with his magical tools and paraphernalia.

Without uttering a word, I made my way to the lower throne beside my father and settled in, causing a collective sweat to break out and lumps to form in their throats.

My father cleared his throat and began.

"Please, proceed," my father gestured to the sorcerer, who nodded in acknowledgment before shifting his gaze towards me. He appeared to be an elderly man with a snowy white beard. His eyes bore an unsettling crimson hue, reminiscent of a wild beast, and his fingers bore a collection of ornate rings. I struggled to find a suitable comparison; he simply looked distinct from the other visitors.

In many ways, he resembled an ancient shifter.

Perhaps he held the answers I sought.

"Your parents didn't summon me as they did with the other sorcerers or magicians. I embarked on a long journey to be here, to share the truth before my time is up," he began, and I sneered, wondering why anyone would care about what he had to say.

"Whether you came on your own or at their behest, it matters little to me. Say what you came to say and be gone before I lose my patience!" I snapped, my irritation mounting, and he offered a weak smile.

"There are three types of love, but the most powerful is the kind for which you're willing to live, even if it means accepting the possibility of dying and never seeing your beloved again. You will meet her soon, and she will be the one," he continued, his eyes fixed on mine as he beamed. Instantly, I felt an overwhelming surge of irritation. Who cared about love?

"Can you please leave now before I do something we'll all regret?" I growled, my heart heavy with anger and disgust. The mere mention of the word 'love,' which I despised with every fiber of my being, had the potential to set me off. I didn't care if he had anything else to say; in my eyes, he had nothing but gibberish and utter nonsense to offer.

"I cannot say more. Just know that she will be the one to make you fall in..." He began, but paused, sensing the fury in my eyes. He then smiled at me, and then at my father and mother, before gathering his belongings and taking his leave.

"So, is this the nonsense that brought me here?" I demanded of my mother, who remained silent.

"Don't you think he meant your next mate will break the curse?" My father blurted out, and before I could restrain myself, my hand shot up with a heavy punch aimed at his face. However, one of the guards reacted swiftly, shielding him, and to my astonishment, he collapsed as my blow landed on his chest.

Wide eyes met my shocked gaze, including my own. Had I just nearly killed my own father?

"You shouldn't say that to my face, you know!" I growled, dropping my hand and staring at the unconscious body of the bodyguard. An inner turmoil raged within me, as my inner demonic wolf nearly seized control. The word "mate" was a nightmarish trigger for me, and I loathed hearing it.

"You nearly killed me!!" my father exclaimed in terror, and a sharp pang of guilt shot through me, especially when my mother began to weep.

Just then, a group of young women rushed into the palace, but the moment they saw me, they sprinted away in sheer terror.

"I think it's time to face the reality of leaving this kingdom. I don't belong here. I've taken many lives, and the punishment is banishment, which you couldn't bring yourself to impose because you were afraid of me, Dad. Please, arrange for my exile before I harm more of my own people. It's time to live among the werewolves instead," I spoke, and relief washed over their faces.

It was evident that everyone desired my absence from their lives and from the Kingdom, even though I was the designated heir to the throne. It seemed that I was never meant to be with my own people, as I am a freak.

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