Page 12 of Claimed By the Alien Prince

ZEVRAN

I balance a tray of breakfast on one hand, the sweet scent of floral pastries wafting through the air. My heart pounds with each step I take toward her quarters. This is her third morning here, and I didn’t have time to visit yesterday—too many political games, too much scheming.

Now, though? A tightness uncoils in my chest as I near her door. It’s ridiculous how much she’s occupied my thoughts these past days. I tell myself it’s merely curiosity, but that excuse feels flimsy under scrutiny.

I knock gently, the sound echoing in the stillness. Silence answers back.

“Carys?” I call out, hoping she’s simply absorbed in her research or perhaps plotting an escape.

Another knock follows. Still nothing.

“Open up,” I command softly, trying to mask the frustration bubbling beneath my skin. No response again.

My hand hovers over the door handle for a moment longer than it should; reason urges me to walk away, but curiosity pulls me closer like a vine winding around a tree trunk. This is my palace. I can go where I please.

I twist the handle and step inside without waiting for permission.

The room looks untouched—an organized chaos of scientific equipment sprawled across the floor—but Carys is nowhere to be seen. I frown and scan the lavish space, only to catch a sound that sends my pulse racing: splashing water from beyond another door.

Curiosity piqued, I move toward it and open the bath door without thinking.

There she is—naked, hair plastered against her skin like a dark halo, water cascading down her body in rivulets that glisten under soft lighting. Her amber eyes widen in shock before fury flashes across her features.

“Get out!” she screams, lunging for a bar of soap nearby and hurling it at me with surprising accuracy.

I slam the door shut just in time as the soap smacks against the wood with a dull thud. My heart races as if I’ve just fought off a beast rather than startled an irate human woman.

What am I doing? Panic grips me as I lean against the door for support. She nearly caught me off guard—a blunder unbecoming of a prince—and my mind spirals into chaos at what just transpired.

“Zevran?” she shouts from behind the door now, voice thick with indignation and embarrassment. “You better not be lurking there!”

“I am not lurking!” The words spill out before I can stop them, defensive and absurdly juvenile. “I brought you breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Her tone shifts; skepticism cuts through her anger like sunlight through trees. “You think throwing food at me will make this okay?”

“I’m not throwing it!” My hands clutch the tray tighter as if it might shield me from her ire—or perhaps my own foolishness. “It’s on a tray!”

Silence stretches between us for a heartbeat before she bursts into laughter—not mocking but genuine surprise mingled with irritation. The tension loosens slightly within me at that sound; maybe there’s hope yet for this bizarre arrangement.

Without thinking further about dignity or rank or what was supposed to happen next—what political agenda waits outside—I breathe deeply and reply quietly enough for only her ears:

“I’ll come back later.”

I stride out of the room. Every muscle in my body tenses, caught between confusion and a fierce, unsettling desire. How does she manage to stir this in me? I shake my head as if it might dislodge the image.

Her creamy skin glistening under water, dark hair cascading like a curtain, that defiant look in her eyes—it clings to me like a vine wrapping around a tree. I push my fingers through my hair, trying to ground myself as the warmth spreads through me.

I slam the door to my own chambers, looking down at my cock. It's already erect, so hard that it borders on painful. How? I've never been so easily aroused—and by just a glance?

My body thrums with awareness, every inch of my skin flush with need. This is dangerous—more than any battle I’ve faced. A human? I snarl at myself in the mirror, fury mixing with the ache coiling low in my belly. What has she done to me?

A prince should never be swayed by something so unpredictable as lust—especially for someone deemed inferior by many in my court.

But Carys is not just another human; she’s an enigma that rattles every carefully constructed wall I've built around myself.

The tray of sweetbreads crashes onto the floor as I rip at my trousers, leather laces snapping under claw-tipped fingers. My cock springs free already hard, angry and leaking—like some starved beast she’s awakened with a fucking glance.

Jalshagar, that traitorous voice hisses. Bond madness.

"Shut up," I snarl to no one, to the walls that’ve seen me take courtiers and diplomats and not once— never —beg for it. Yet here I am, gripping myself with a groan, imagining her slammed against the bath’s edge.

Water sloshing as she struggles. Fight me, I think, thumb smearing pre-come down the shaft.

Scream, scratch, fucking bite. Her thighs would leave bruises on my hips, her squirming only driving me deeper?—

"Fuck." I spit the word, pace quickening. She’d taste salt and defiance, her curses dissolving into whimpers when I bend her forward, her hands slipping on wet stone. Beg, I want her to beg in that grating human tongue. Let her mock me between gasps as I split her open, proving she’s as much animal as the weeds she studies.

The fantasy shifts—her on her knees, rainwater from her hair dripping onto my thighs. Eyes locked on mine as her mouth drags over the head, too slow, too human. "Hurry," I’d command, fisting those damp strands. She’d smirk, all venom and heat. "Make me, Your Highness."

I’m grunting now, hips jerking into my fist. Green markings writhe down my abdomen, alive with this cursed bond.

It scalds—every stroke a violation of my own godsdamned principles.

Should’ve bent her over that tub, I think savagely, even as my balls tighten.

Vision blurs white when I come across the floor, stripes of semen painting the moss-green tiles.

Panting, I slump against the bedpost.

Fuck. This isn't going to fucking work.