Her widowed Lycan

Lemon balls

*Michael*

A Lycan’s life is bookended by two events: the day he is born and the day he goes toes up. Interspersed throughout are other critical moments, but for me, the lycan prince of the rose, only three are of any consequence: the day I Got married, the night my wife died, and the morning she rose from the grave to wreak havoc on my life.

Sitting at the desk in my library, opening the newspaper my butler has dutifully ironed, I once more read the letter that has ruined my appetite at breakfast three days earlier.

To the noble She-wolves of Blackrock city;

It is with unheralded sorrow tempered by a great deal of hope that I pen this letter: The very fact that you, gentle ladies, are reading it today signals that it has been exactly one year since my passing. We all know men seldom observe the full mourning period of two years while we She-wolves always have the more dedicated hearts and adhere more fervently to pack society's strictures.

I, for one, am glad we allow such leniency toward men as I want my darling Rose to be saddened and without the comfort of a She-wolf for as short a time as possible. To that end, dear misses, I call upon you to hasten the close of his period of sorrow and bring forth his smile.

For you see, it was his smile that first drew me toward him.

It was ever so slow in coming, but when it did arrive, it fairly took my breath and softened the countenance of a man whose pride sometimes has the better of him. He is not an easy man to love and yet love him I did for I saw a side to him that few witnessed.

He has brushed my hair, rubbed my feet, and not only read me poetry with animated passion but written it as well. Ah, dear misses, his voice is a soothing baritone, his features most comely, and his shoulder incredibly comforting when I required a haven to absorb my tears. His eyes never wandered… well, except toward sweet shops. He does so enjoy his lemon balls.

In spite of my flaws, he remained the most loyal and steadfast of mates. Win his heart and find yourself falling into a lifetime of happiness.

With my most sincerest regards,

The Departed Princess of the rose

Each time I read it, the coldhearted lie she has meticulously penned mocks me. She hadn’t loved me. Not in the least. Not with one iota of her being.

The daughter of a skilled warrior raised to Alpha by the lycan queen, Elise had been in want of a titled mate and, at only nineteen, she had known well how to work her wiles on me.

I have little doubt my smile had drawn her… that much is true… but she had also been lured by the title I had inherited only the year before. I had been all of twenty-three, infatuated with her beauty and teasing eyes that promised wicked adventures and a tantalizing escape from all cares.

When she had suggested a tryst among the plants in the conservatory during a ball held at my married sister's country pack house, I had been only too keen to accommodate her. Being caught by Elise's father with her skirts up and my trousers down had resulted in a rather hasty trip to the altar. But the triumph mirrored in her eyes when we were interrupted alerted me that I had been cast into the role of gullible fool.

It had been a hard lesson learned, a high price paid, and I have made a solemn vow to never again be duped by anyone of the female persuasion.

A mate bond based on a lack of trust is no true bond at all. During the first two years, we did not confide in each other at all, preferring to spend our time apart, I in the country, she in the city. I was in no rush to get her pregnant. We were both young and the joy of having her had died in the conservatory, and I was hard-pressed to work up any enthusiasm when it came to the bedding of her.

The third and final year, I seldom left her side as the cancer had its way with her. Elise had made a point of listing all the things she would never do. She did not welcome death, nor should she. She was all of twenty-two, with hair that would never gray and skin that would never wrinkle with age.

Still, her letter confounds me. Why had she gone to the bother of writing it and arranging to have it published? To ease her guilt at having duped me? Knowing her deceptive ways, I cannot take her missive at face value, so what was she striving to accomplish? Based on what I have experienced since the message first appeared, perhaps she merely wanted to make my life as unpleasant as possible. As though the coldness of our marriage had not been punishment enough for falling into her trap.

At the approach of hushed footsteps, I glance up to see my butler enter carrying a silver tray. The slender man, graying at the temples, comes to a stop and bows slightly. "My prince, Luna Fontaine and her daughter have come to call."

In frustration that Elise has placed me in this unenviable position, I slam my eyes closed. My first visitors of the day. I can expect at least a dozen more before the sun finally bids its farewell. If I am not home to them now, they will only return later. After carefully folding the newspaper, I shove back my chair and stand. "Have tea brought to the parlor."

And so it goes. Day after day after day.

A parade of eligible young She-wolves through my front door. They talk, talk, talk. Recite poetry. Sing on occasion. Play my piano with gusto. I am invited for walks in the park as though I am a dog in need of having my legs stretched. They issue me invitations to dinners, recitals, the theater, and gatherings in their gardens. They seek promises of a waltz at upcoming balls once the mating Season is fully underway. They alternate between cooing over my abhorrent loss and assuring me that happiness waits around the corner if only I would march briskly toward it… and they are more than willing to become my princess and accompany me on the journey toward discovering what glories life still holds in spite of the unfairness fate has already visited upon me.

It is the lemon balls that finally become the last straw. Within two weeks of the letter's appearance, I have received so many of the damned things I could open my own sweet shop. If I ever smell lemon and sugar again, I might go stark raving mad.

Hence, after having my belongings packed up and my city residence shuttered, I go in search of peace.