The Silver Eyed Prince (Highest Royal Coven of Europe)

by VJ Dunraven

  The Prince pursed his lips in frustration. He despised not foreknowing anything and curbing his powers to honor The Omni’s wishes that he acquire wisdom through human means. As to what sort of wisdom there was for him to learn this time around remained a mystery.

  He sighed. Now how, pray tell, was he going to convince Elizabeth she belonged with him by acting like a mere mortal? Their first real encounter had been a disaster, but then again ... he chuckled at the thought of that shy smile she gave him after combat class. Perhaps there was hope after all.

  A few taps on the door interrupted his contemplation. He glanced over his shoulder and willed the door to open.

  “Would you care to join us for armed combat?” Prince David, one of his cousins, leaned on the doorway carrying two swords.

  “Maybe another time.” Prince William beamed at him.

  Prince David gave him a discerning glance. “Is there something I should know?” He stepped into the room. “I daresay you look—,” he made a show of searching for the right word, “radiant.”

  Prince William threw his head back and laughed. He had never felt so elated in his life—even if nothing had gone as planned.

  “Well?” Prince David regarded him with teasing eyes.

  “She's here, David.” He couldn't stop grinning like a love-struck schoolboy. “I finally found her.”

  Prince David gaped at him for a moment before a look of delight crossed his face. “That feisty girl in Major Alexander's class ... she's The One, isn't she?”

  “None other.” Prince William suppressed his amusement. His cousins knew him too well not to notice.

  “Good merciful Omni!” Prince David tossed the swords on the couch. “It's about time!” He gave him a hug and vigorous pats on the back.

  Prince William's smile disappeared. “Well, that's just it.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “We'll have to stay longer. She needs more time. She doesn't know who I am.”

  Prince David raised his eyebrows. “You're jesting!” His eyes widened when Prince William slowly shook his head. “How much time?”

  “Hopefully not much.” Prince William lifted his shoulders. “The sooner I can make her concede that she's in love with me, the earlier we can go home.”

  “How can you be certain she's in love with you?” Prince David asked with exaggerated perplexity. “She didn't seem, er—, besotted with your legendary charisma when you dropped her on her bum.”

  “Oh, but she is. She just doesn't know it yet.”

  Prince David rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “And how are you planning to make her concede, may I ask?” He folded his arms across his chest. “You've never wooed a girl in your life.”

  “I never needed to,” Prince William replied confidently, “and neither have you.”

  Prince David roared with laughter. “Ah, Philippe and I may be popular with the ladies, but not as—shall we say—sought-after as you are.”

  “Thank you, Cousin, for inflating my ego.” Prince William chortled. “Perhaps I'll join you in armed combat after all.”

  “I hope your plan to charm her into submission works.” Prince David chuckled. “I would hate to see your ego trodden.”

  “It has to work.” Prince William gave him a serious look. “And remember—keep this between us and our cousins.”

  “What about Catherine?” his cousin asked in a somber tone.

  The Prince paused for a moment. “I have to talk to her.” His jaw clenched. “Don't mention a word about this to her or anyone else.”

  Prince David nodded. “I agree, but you'll have to straighten everything with her soon. We can't keep on hiding things from her. She is a friend and we'd rather not be involved with personal matters between the both of you. Other than that, we support you in every way.”

  “Yes, I understand. She'd always come uninvited, but I didn't think she would follow me this far.” Prince William uttered a tsk in disapproval. “Her unexpected arrival certainly made things more arduous to deal with.”

  Prince David shook his head. “You should've broken up with her back in Switzerland.”

  “She's not my girlfriend, David.” Prince William gave him an irked glance.

  Prince David shrugged. “I know—but does she?”

  “Well, if she doesn't, she will—now.” Prince William sighed.

  Chapter 13

  John Drake’s Affliction

  In a large estate hidden in the remote wilderness of the Australian Northern Peninsula, John Drake sat combing through the school records from America. He had been in his library for hours and his patience had thinned considerably.

  He re-examined all students named Elizabeth and checked other Royal enrollees in case she used a different name, but none led him anywhere. Frustrated and discouraged, he decided to go through one last list for the day.

  He scoured the files, but found nothing. Then, towards the end of the registry, something caught his eye. John sat back in his chair and stared at the name he thought never to encounter again.

  Lady Catherine XV. It had been so long ... memories of the events that led them to cross paths came rushing back.

  It began with the ambush and assassination of his parents on their way home. He was only four decades old at that time; twelve years after his maturity at age twenty eight. He found himself suddenly alone, taking on the role as Duke of Northern Peninsula.

  John twirled his pen and sighed at the memory. Many had doubted his abilities, but only three years after the incident he already surpassed his father's achievements. He was smart, savvy, and a financial genius. He effortlessly earned the respect of his father's peers.

  But he was also ambitious. He used his father's connection as distant cousin to King Tristan XII, ruler of the Australian continent, to pursue a friendship with the Monarch and further his place in the hierarchy. As the King gradually favored him, he sought more of his company in Royal gatherings.

  John's gaze alighted on Catherine's picture on the computer screen. They met in one of those social events five decades ago. She captivated him. He courted her avidly and she returned his affections.

  He drew a long, deep breath, remembering those passionate moments when they were together. He had asked her to be his wife and she'd accepted.

  However, one thing stood in the way. She was European nobility and he was Australian nobility. Royals and nobility of European descent only intermarry among themselves to preserve their pure breed. Intercontinental unions were strictly forbidden to them—not by law, but by tradition.

  Raw emotion filled his chest as he recollected the sad end of their relationship. Catherine's mother, the Danish Marchioness, had discovered their affair. She immediately barred Catherine from seeing him.

  He tried everything. He offered exceptionally generous settlements to marry her, but nothing could sway the Marchioness. She regarded him with eyes full of disdain and rebuffed his pedigree as inferior.

  John stabbed his pen on the desk, leaving it standing like a dagger on the wood. The memory of the Marchioness' words besieged him with a torrent of anguish in spite of the length of time that passed.

  For half of that year in 1961 he suffered and pined for his beloved, hopeless in his predicament. Then one day King Tristan XII requested his company to a Royal Ball in Europe. He readily accepted, hoping to see Catherine. Ah, if he only knew ... that disastrous night would turn out to be his undoing. His ideals were destroyed and everything he believed in was forever changed.

  John squeezed his eyes shut. How could he ever forget his euphoria upon seeing his beloved waltzing gracefully on the dance floor?

  He wove through the throng of distinguished guests to catch her attention, but as he moved closer, he noticed the expression on her face. She used to look at him that way—, except that night, her eyes were only for the dark-haired gentleman who held her in his arms.

  Pain, disillusionment, and heartbreak slammed in his chest and he caught his head in his hands, rubbing his temples with his fi
ngers. He could still experience everything as clearly as if it just happened yesterday.

  He could never expunge the way Catherine acted when, at last, their eyes met. She regarded him the way her mother did—a cold stare that meant she could not be with him, could not possibly love him, because he wasn't good enough.

  John abruptly stood, walked towards the warmer on the sideboard, and poured himself a measure of fresh, aromatic blood from the decanter. He had never been so belittled and disgraced, the way Catherine and her mother had demeaned him. None of his achievements mattered to them: his wealth, his aristocracy, or his rank in the hierarchy. He wasn't European; therefore, he was insignificant.

  A sudden burst of fury shot through him and he took a swig of his drink as he recalled how Catherine deliberately paraded her partner before him. Her eyes were full of adoration for her new beau, whom he later learned was a Prince of the most prestigious European bloodline—the only son of Prince William James XIII of France, first cousin of King Edmund Royce XII, Monarch of the Highest Royal Coven of Europe at the time.

  John's temper exploded. With a growl, he flung the crystal goblet across the room, hitting the glass display containing his weapons collection. The loud crash matched his rage from the insults she threw at him on that ill-fated day.

  She showed him he didn't matter, gave him the cut-direct, and walked on as if he never existed. He could still hear the words that ran through his head as he fled the ballroom.

  You are nothing... You're not good enough...

  He loved her and she made a fool of him. Damn her! Damn her snooty, superficial mother! To hell with European Royals and their vanity. He would make them pay! He would sever the only source of their superior bloodline by abducting the Pure Ones and using them to breed his own clan of pure bloods! Soon, his clan would become the dominant breed and every single Royal Coven in the world, including those despicable, haughty Royal Covens of Europe would vie for his kinship!

  He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. To witness the fall of the Europeans into an irrelevant, cowering, inferior class would be the most glorious day of his life!

  “Your Grace?” Lieutenant Jones and two cadets came storming through the door. “Are you all right?” The Lieutenant darted his eyes to the shards of glass scattered on the floor.

  “Yes.” John Drake raised a hand to mollify them. “Ring for the maids to clean this up,” he ordered the cadet behind the Lieutenant.

  “Is there anything else you need, Your Grace?” Lieutenant Jones asked.

  “Yes,” John nodded, his eyes riveted to the image of the woman who had aroused the bitterness that punctured the gaping hole in his heart. “Notify Major Reynolds that I am flying at once to America to visit an old friend.”

  Chapter 14

  Fundamentals Class with Dr. Jeff

  Elizabeth sat in the front row with Ben and Lela when a lanky gentleman with tousled blond hair and a white lab coat entered the classroom. He wrote Fun Da Mental on the white board. “Are you guys ready to have fun while learning?” He turned sideways and cupped his hand behind his ear.

  “Yes!”

  “Awesome!” He grinned facing the class. “I'm Doctor Jeffrey Murphy. Welcome to Fundamentals One, where you'll discover your inborn abilities that come from here.” He tapped his temple with a forefinger. “You will learn the art of self-discipline that will help you co-mingle with humans without endangering them.”

  “But before we begin—” He walked towards the teacher’s table and peered at the paper on top. “Mr. Chad Alistair?”

  Elizabeth followed Dr. Jeff's gaze. A tall guy with golden hair to his shoulders stood from the far corner. He wore a black, long-sleeved shirt and distressed jeans that emphasized his athletic build.

  “Yum-yum.” Ben sighed dreamily next to her.

  “Let's add him to the menu,” Lela whispered.

  “Ah, there you are,” Dr. Jeff said. “Chad is an exchange student from—ah—?” He rummaged through the pile of papers on his desk.

  “Tactical Defense Institute. American Battalion Seventeen!” Chad supplied in a clear voice.

  “Right!” Dr. Jeff concurred, ignoring the murmurs that emanated in the room. “Why don't you tell us about yourself, Mr. Alistair?”

  “Sure.” Chad faced the class. “Hello,” he smiled, revealing a dimple on his chin. “I'm Chad Alistair, a junior from Tactical Defense.”

  Cute dimple, Elizabeth thought, assessing his face. It softened his chiseled features that reminded her of the marble sculpture of St. Michael the Archangel in the lobby. Except—, she noted carefully, for those sharp scarlet eyes that even his long curly lashes could not tame. An angel's face with the eyes of the devil, she mused, intrigued by the newcomer.

  “I earned enough credits to qualify for the exchange student program,” Chad was saying, “we get to attend our school of choice for a year and write a thesis about our experience before we go back to the Tactical Defense Institute.”

  “Congratulations and welcome to Darian Hall.” Dr. Jeff stuffed his hands in his lab coat pockets. “Glad to have a fellow Descendant in the room. Let's start the fun, shall we?” Without warning, he yanked five golf balls from his pockets and pitched them all at once to Chad.

  The balls sliced through the air with an audible swish, curving towards the back of the classroom where Chad stood.

  Elizabeth gasped and swiveled on her chair to see him catch the first and second easily.

  He jumped on his desk to catch the third, somersaulted in the air for the fourth, and caught the fifth before it hit the floor.

  “Holy bajezus!” Carlos' solitary comment echoed in the shocked silence in the room.

  Elizabeth gaped at the new student. He was surprisingly agile in spite of his muscular physique. He casually flicked his head to dislodge a lock of golden hair that fell on his brow.

  “Reflexes!” Dr. Jeff exclaimed with delight. “Our first lesson in Fundamentals One.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and tugged them wide open for Chad, who pitched the balls back into Dr. Jeff's pockets with a rapid tak-tak-tak!

  Clapping and whistling filled the classroom.

  “Thank you, Mr. Alistair, for waking up the class and showing us a sample of tactical skills.” Dr. Jeff laughed. “Now, who can tell me what a Reflex is?” He surveyed the room then tossed a ball at Ishmael. “Mr. Johnson?”

  “Reflex is a response to stimulus?” he replied, catching the ball before it hit the guitar slung on the back of his chair.

  “Yes! It is an instinctive reaction. Let's see who else has good reflexes.” Dr. Jeff randomly sized up students in the front row. “Ah, Mr. Ben Walker, Miss Lela Ikeda, and Mr. Jared Crowe!” He threw balls in rapid succession at them.

  Elizabeth watched as Jared caught his and Lela fumble with hers. Ben ducked, avoiding it altogether.

  Tak!

  “Aw!” Carlos grumbled behind Ben, massaging his forehead. “What did you do that for?” He picked up the golf ball and tossed it to Dr. Jeff.

  “I didn't want to break my nails,” Ben said over his shoulder.

  “Oh, really?” Carlos made a face. “So you’d rather break my forehead?”

  “Ow-kayyy! Mr. Guerrero, Mr. Walker!” Dr. Jeff quickly intervened, ignoring the rash of giggles in the room. “Let's move on, shall we?” He launched another ball towards the middle row. “Mr. Bart Hammerstein—any ideas on how we can improve our reflexes?”

  “Uh ... through constant practice?” Bart replied, returning the ball to Dr. Jeff.

  “Yes!” Dr. Jeff wrote Proficiency on the board. “Diligent training will condition you to master your reaction time. Anything else? Yes, Miss Weber?”

  “Increased awareness?” Jill twisted a copper-colored curl with a forefinger.

  “Correct!” Dr. Jeff jotted down Sensory Awareness. “You must learn to use your sharp senses to anticipate the stimuli. Listen, smell, and feel your enemy. Survey your environment to figure out your next move.” He glanced abo
ut the room. “Any more?”

  “How about concentration?” Elizabeth asked.

  “That's the most important thing!” Dr. Jeff scribbled Focalization. “After gathering information using your senses, you need to filter the data in order to recognize the focal stimuli. Trust your instincts. Alleviate your fears so you can judge if the danger is within your capacity to defend yourself.”

  “What if it's not?” Julie Ann, who sat next to her boyfriend, Jared Crowe, asked.

  “Then you better run like there's no tomorrow.” Dr. Jeff pointed the marker at her. “Which reminds me—,” he went back to his desk and peered at his planner, “our next lesson will be on reflex management around humans.”

  The bell chimed.

  “Please practice what you've learned today.” Dr. Jeff gathered the documents on his desk. “I'll see you on Thursday.”

  Chapter 15

  Angel with the Eyes of the Devil

  Elizabeth gathered her things and followed Ben, Carlos, and Lela to the hallway. They descended the wide, winding staircase that led to the dining hall.

  “There's the Primary area.” Ben pointed at the long tables underneath a burgundy flag cascading from the ceiling with their grade level printed on it.

  Elizabeth swept her gaze throughout the gym-sized hall. Every grade level was color-coded; hunter green for secondary, blue for juniors, silver for seniors, and gold for Royals. The colors lent a cheerful atmosphere, enhanced by several brightly lit chandeliers overhead. Lela led the way and found them some seats.

  Elizabeth craned her neck towards the gold area and caught a glimpse of Prince William. He was smiling at the beautiful Lady Catherine and she was clinging to his arm. Elizabeth hastily returned her attention to her friends, swallowing the unexpected flare of annoyance she felt at the intimate scene.

  “Isn't this fun?” Ben spun his hand in a wide circle about the room. “Love the colors!”

  “You ain't seen nothin' yet.” Carlos nodded towards the center of the wide table.