The Lycan King's Puppet

Long after Andon had excused himself, he still sat there, the words bitter on his tongue.

Yet he had said them without remorse. As if he didn’t know that the man he was punishing was innocent of the allegations thrown against him. As if he didn’t know that Andon would die for him if such a situation arose. Sending him to the South, cutting him off for a whole year, would sound like mercy to the court, but it was suicide for Andon.

And he knew it.

The other courtiers had advised that he castrate him for breaking his vows of abstaining from women. Especially the King’s bride-to-be.

But that was too extreme to even be considered.

Andon wasn’t an animal to be butchered and burned - he was his only friend.

His thoughts hung on the word.

Friend.

It felt good to say it.

"Friend." He said it out loud.

How swiftly would a year pass? Imagining the castle without Andon was futile.

Yeren kicked his chair back and winced as it scraped along the marble floor loudly.

He moved to the parapets and looked at the vast lands before him.

His Kingdom.

The same Kingdom that would turn from him the moment he pardoned Andon for committing a nonexistent atrocity.

His eyes caught on an auburn head of hair

below.

Claire.

And she wasn’t alone.

Her hand was looped in Aldrich’s arm. Every bit the gentleman, Aldrich was.

She was laughing quietly about something - he could tell from the way her shoulders shook softly.

And... he also appeared to be funny.

Lord Bronan’s carriage was a meter ahead of them, waiting to be filled.

Was she leaving with him?

He waited, watched.

Aldrich entered the carriage first - which was unexpected for a devout gentleman like himself.

Claire stood on the ground before him, making no attempt to join him inside.

His carriage driver moved to close the door.

Just before he did, Claire leaned forward and pecked Lord Bronan on the cheek with her hands clasped timidly behind her back.

Almost as if she was exploring what it felt like to kiss a man.

As if she hadn’t spent a night in his bedchamber, learning just how much pleasure he could give to her.

His fingers curled painfully on the railing.

Yeren turned away and walked out of the study.

She would regret choosing another man...

The next morning, he sat in the receiving room with Lord Malrick, Pershing some inventories without actually paying attention to the scribbled numbers.

The cancelled wedding had taken a large portion of the money intended for beginning the Barley planting season. And most of the coin was going into the building of the new Town square.

The amount of stone needed for bricks, mortar and cobblestones alone made his flicking eyes pause on the numbers.

"Who signed this amount?"

Lord Malrick adjusted his spectacles over his nose and glanced down at the paper Yeren held before him.

"Lord Redmare, if I remember correctly."

Yeren looked at it again, sitting up straighter.

The amount was absurd. He went through the others, scanning for discrepancies.

Was this the only time this was occurring?

He instantly regretted never paying attention to the inventory settlements.

"When is the Town Square to be finished?"

Malrick tilted his head.

"I haven’t asked about it... Redmare has quite a fragile ego."

Fragile indeed.

He snatched up the paper and rose to his feet.

"Organise a council meeting with all the existing members within the hour." He said absent-mindedly.

Malrick touched a hand to his chest, his eyes wide. "Me?"

Yeren was about to shake his head when he realized that Andon wasn’t nearly as usual.

"Not you."

It finally sank in.

He didn’t have a first man anymore - at least not for an entire year.

Gripping the paper with force enough to wrinkle but not to tear, he left the room in quick strides.

He sent one of his attendants to gather the members while he went to the study to gather previous inventories.

Claire was waiting inside, much to his surprise.

She jerked away the moment he opened the door, like a child with a hand in fire.

He paused and looked at her, really looked at her.

She wasn’t smiling, neither was she growing.

"Is there something you need?" His voice was colder than he initially intended, but he couldn’t take it back, and for some reason, he didn’t want to.

Her posture stiffened somewhat, her lips thinning slightly.

"I came to perform my duties as your Cupbearer."

"By sniffing around my desk?" He flung the accusation casually as he moved towards the very desk he just spoke of.

She gulped.

That’s when he noticed the crumpled paper hidden in her fisted hands.

"What do you have there?" He indicated her hands.

She met his gaze and held it.

"Nothing."

He started moving towards her before he could think better of it.

One of his hands shot out and grabbed her wrist. They felt small in his hands, tiny and almost breakable.

But she resisted, pulling away with strength that surprised both of them.

"Hand it over." They were very close now, so close that his breath mingled with hers as he looked down at her.

She gulped as their eyes met, but her eyes were fierce as she withheld the parchment.

Backing away was her only option, but it was a terrible mistake.

He smirked smugly at the way her eyes widened when she bumped into the solid wall. He pressed his knee between her thighs, trapping her even further.

"There’s nowhere left to run, Claire."

Her breath hitched at the mention of her name.

His gaze slid down to her lips. They were puffed and slightly parted... inviting him for the unwanted.

Her scent was intoxicating, yet slightly different.

His gaze trailed even lower, resting at the smooth skin of her cleavage exposed to his view.

Another provocative dress. He didn’t remember sending her such.

His hand instinctively spanned her waist.

She was wearing a corset, he realized.

Since when?

For what reason?

Her waist was what women in corsets prayed for...

Was she trying to hide something? Or was she doing it to enhance her appearance for Lord Bronan?

His grip on her waist tightened.

He leaned down, breathing in the scent in her neck.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she slowly began to yield.

He didn’t want to kiss those lips...

He nibbled at the soft skin of her ear, tracing light kisses on the bruises his teeth left in their trail.

His other hand slid into her hair, then down her neck and arm.

Until they reach her hand.

Her grip on the paper had loosened barely, but it was enough for him to slip it out.

Then he pulled away.

Her previously closed eyes shot open as she realized that she’d been tricked.

Claire reached for the parchment but he dodged just in time.

His own hands were trembling slightly, the type of tremor that could only be detected by spectacles.

But he felt it all the same.

And it was because of her.

He’d been dreaming about pinning her against that very wall, or making love to her on his large desk for days while he was disfiguring wolves and Lycans, yet when the opportunity presented itself, he pulled away.

The restraint he showed shocked even him.

She leaned back against the wall and covered her face as he unfolded the crumpled parchment.

It was his poem...

The one he’d been writing about her.

About her lips, about the way she coloured when she was embarrassed...

He felt himself colouring similarly.

She wasn’t supposed to see it. No one was supposed to see it.

Why hadn’t he burned it the moment he finished it?

Yeren swatted his forehead without realising it.

"Your job isn’t to snoop around my personal things, Miss Stenly. The table and all its contents are off limits." His tone was cold and clipped.

She winced slightly.

"I didn’t mean to. It was just there."

He looked up at her. Her eyes were glassy, her face pale, her throat constricted as if she was barely breathing.

She looked... terrified of him.

He realized he was angry... at her. Not her, he was angry at himself for not burning the poems in the first place.

"You can leave." His voice was quiet, his tone slightly softer.

He glanced at her direction again when she didn’t move.

Slowly, she reached into her bosom and pulled out a carefully folded tiny piece of parchment.

"And this." Her voice was small, almost as if she were about to cry.

He glanced at the place she had pulled it from before his eyes finally rested on the paper she held out.

He made no move to reach for it.

Then, she stepped forward and placed it in his palm.

It was warm, and slightly damp.

Yeren peeled it open and read through it. It was the incomplete one... the one no one’s eyes was supposed to see.

It was personal. Very personal.

Just from reading the poem, one might think that he was in love with the person he was writing about.

"This wasn’t for you. None of them were about you."

Her eyes filled up.