Read Online The Silver Eyed Prince (Highest Royal Coven of Europe) by VJ Dunraven - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: VJ Dunraven
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down.”
“The guy is too picky!” Carlos joined in from b ehind them. “Or maybe he needs glasses! I would've married that chica in two seconds.” He flicked his chin towards the beautiful Catherine. “Better that and be King, than pickle it for more than one hundred years.”
Elizabeth swiveled to face him. “What do you mean, for more than one hundred—?” she broke off and cast a nother glance at the guy in question, who by now had unzipped his jacket and was in the process of removing his helmet.
“Honey,” Ben touched her arm. “He's not exactly young, you know. I think he's like, a hundred seventeen years old?”
“What?” Elizabeth jerked her head back to Ben. With her mom, the age thing was not too hard to digest no matter how youthful she appeared, but him ? “Wait-wait-wait. Brake! You're telling me he's—he's—?”
“Let me explain,” Lela interjected with a forefinger between them. “One hundred seventeen is his real age , meaning, age from birth up to the present. But! His physical age is actually only nineteen, meaning, from birth up to the peak of maturity. You getz?”
Elizabeth studied their main topic, who still sat on his motorcycle facing the opposite way to chat with the other royals. He had taken off his helmet to expose thick dark hair so glossy it glistened under the parking lot lights. “What you're saying is—is—” she let out a long sigh.
“That he looks nineteen, but he's actually one hundred and seventeen,” Carlos finished for her.
“Oh,” Elizabeth mumbled, unable to tear her eyes off his lush windblown mane and broad shoulders, m omentarily forgetting what they were talking about.
“Ding-dong!” Ben pressed a non-existent doorbell on her shoulder and waved a hand in front of her face. “Anybody there?”
“Sorry.” Elizabeth blinked. “It's just that—is he really that old?”
Ben arched a well-groomed eyebrow so high, Elizabeth thought it would touch his hairline. “Sweetheart, I don't care if he's an artifact from Emperor Ming’s Dynasty.” He jutted his chin and posed with hands on his hips. “He can father my baby anytime!”
And with that, he bunched up his tutu and stuffed it in a ball underneath his leotard, then strutted around pr etending to be pregnant, hollering shamelessly, “Fafah? Where are you? Oh, Fafah? Yoodeleheehoo!”
They were still laughing when the European Royals passed by. Up close, they were even more beautiful. And it wasn't just the porcelain skin, the bright colored eyes, or the statuesque height. Something about the way they moved—graceful and lithe—made them stand out from the crowd.
Elizabeth watched them enter the main foyer and turned just in time to catch the last guy, Prince William.
Still facing away from them, he had dismounted his motorcycle and shrugged off his black leather riding jacket. Underneath he had a white long- sleeved shirt over dark-blue d esigner jeans.
Elizabeth noticed how tall and fit he was. The white shirt clung to his wide back and his jeans sheathed long, muscular legs. She hid a small smile. Goodness! The guy even has a nice butt!
He moved a little, just enough for her to get a glimpse of his profile. The straight nose, stubborn chin, and strong line of his jaw took her breath away.
He raked his fingers slowly through his hair, which he wore longer than fashionable, curling just below his shirt collar. Very sexy , Elizabeth sighed in anticipation, wondering what was keeping him. She wanted so badly to see his face.
A cool breeze came and caressed his thick locks, saturating the air with his fragrance. Elizabeth closed her eyes and inhaled the clean, woodsy scent that floated around her.
Lavender. He smells like lavender .
She opened her eyes.
He was approaching the steps where she stood; his jacket slung in the crook of his finger over one shoulder.
His complexion was fair and flawless, his lips chi seled and red, very masculine.
And his eyes ... those eyes were
“The guy is too picky!” Carlos joined in from b ehind them. “Or maybe he needs glasses! I would've married that chica in two seconds.” He flicked his chin towards the beautiful Catherine. “Better that and be King, than pickle it for more than one hundred years.”
Elizabeth swiveled to face him. “What do you mean, for more than one hundred—?” she broke off and cast a nother glance at the guy in question, who by now had unzipped his jacket and was in the process of removing his helmet.
“Honey,” Ben touched her arm. “He's not exactly young, you know. I think he's like, a hundred seventeen years old?”
“What?” Elizabeth jerked her head back to Ben. With her mom, the age thing was not too hard to digest no matter how youthful she appeared, but him ? “Wait-wait-wait. Brake! You're telling me he's—he's—?”
“Let me explain,” Lela interjected with a forefinger between them. “One hundred seventeen is his real age , meaning, age from birth up to the present. But! His physical age is actually only nineteen, meaning, from birth up to the peak of maturity. You getz?”
Elizabeth studied their main topic, who still sat on his motorcycle facing the opposite way to chat with the other royals. He had taken off his helmet to expose thick dark hair so glossy it glistened under the parking lot lights. “What you're saying is—is—” she let out a long sigh.
“That he looks nineteen, but he's actually one hundred and seventeen,” Carlos finished for her.
“Oh,” Elizabeth mumbled, unable to tear her eyes off his lush windblown mane and broad shoulders, m omentarily forgetting what they were talking about.
“Ding-dong!” Ben pressed a non-existent doorbell on her shoulder and waved a hand in front of her face. “Anybody there?”
“Sorry.” Elizabeth blinked. “It's just that—is he really that old?”
Ben arched a well-groomed eyebrow so high, Elizabeth thought it would touch his hairline. “Sweetheart, I don't care if he's an artifact from Emperor Ming’s Dynasty.” He jutted his chin and posed with hands on his hips. “He can father my baby anytime!”
And with that, he bunched up his tutu and stuffed it in a ball underneath his leotard, then strutted around pr etending to be pregnant, hollering shamelessly, “Fafah? Where are you? Oh, Fafah? Yoodeleheehoo!”
They were still laughing when the European Royals passed by. Up close, they were even more beautiful. And it wasn't just the porcelain skin, the bright colored eyes, or the statuesque height. Something about the way they moved—graceful and lithe—made them stand out from the crowd.
Elizabeth watched them enter the main foyer and turned just in time to catch the last guy, Prince William.
Still facing away from them, he had dismounted his motorcycle and shrugged off his black leather riding jacket. Underneath he had a white long- sleeved shirt over dark-blue d esigner jeans.
Elizabeth noticed how tall and fit he was. The white shirt clung to his wide back and his jeans sheathed long, muscular legs. She hid a small smile. Goodness! The guy even has a nice butt!
He moved a little, just enough for her to get a glimpse of his profile. The straight nose, stubborn chin, and strong line of his jaw took her breath away.
He raked his fingers slowly through his hair, which he wore longer than fashionable, curling just below his shirt collar. Very sexy , Elizabeth sighed in anticipation, wondering what was keeping him. She wanted so badly to see his face.
A cool breeze came and caressed his thick locks, saturating the air with his fragrance. Elizabeth closed her eyes and inhaled the clean, woodsy scent that floated around her.
Lavender. He smells like lavender .
She opened her eyes.
He was approaching the steps where she stood; his jacket slung in the crook of his finger over one shoulder.
His complexion was fair and flawless, his lips chi seled and red, very masculine.
And his eyes ... those eyes were
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