The Lycan King's Puppet

All the blood flowed into her head as she was chugged down the stairs unceremoniously. He even refused the assistance of her olive-skinned guard as if he feared she might run off if he didn’t set her in the carriage himself.

Claire found herself being dumped on the soft leather cushion like a heap.

So much for standing up to him.

But as he entered beside her, some of her indignation evaporated like mist in the morning, replaced by curiosity.

He said they’d continue the conversation...

What did he mean by that?

After a few minutes of watching him discuss with his attendant and an elderly courtier, he settled inside the vehicle.

Claire glanced at anything but him.

"Are we travelling together... alone?" Then realising how suspicious her question sounded to her ears, she added, "Without Andon as chaperone... or someone else?"

As she spoke, Garelle was making her way to the front entrance, a freshly knitted shawl draped over her shoulders.

"I can’t believe you were so eager to run off from the castle, Your Grace." Garelle said as she hurried forward.

Was Garelle coming with them?

Claire noticed his exasperated sigh as he signalled for the carriage rider to hold the horses.

He wasn’t in love with Garelle? Then, who was it?

Another noblewoman? Or... a servant of his?

Well, she was the only female servant who interacted directly with him - and it definitely wasn’t her.

Perhaps it was a Southern noble woman he met at an event in the South

Claire shook her head. Why was she so hard-pressed to know? It wasn’t any concern of hers. The man she loved thought nothing more of her than the quill he fancied using all the time - the only purpose being to be used.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realize that the carriage had begun rolling down the path that led further south of Reden.

And Loodswood laid along the path, the ruins of a home that held ancient memories.

She pressed herself against the corner and prayed for sleep, grateful that he was busy reading a parchment.

"Your efforts to avoid me are pathetic, Miss Stenly. As my Cupbearer, you should see to my needs, not cower away like a woman afraid of being-" He trailed off and leaned back against the seat.

Claire sat up slowly, her back cramped from forcing it into a position it clearly was not created for.

"I don’t think there’s any wine in the carriage, Your Grace."

She dared to meet his gaze for the first time since they entered the carriage. He looked a lot bigger than her as he sat across from her.

"Is wine the only thing you can offer to quench my thirst?"

Colour flooded her cheeks.

"Water, perhaps. We could ask the carriage rider to stop and I’ll go in search of clean water for you, if you’d like."

A smirk touched his lips. "Are you so eager to escape my company?"

Claire just folded her hands in her lap and stared at her slipperless feet.

There was one flaw in her suggestion - she didn’t have any shoes.

He followed her eyes and glanced at her feet.

"You have beautiful feet, Miss Stenly."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and murmured, "Thank you, Your Grace."

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"I can not fathom why I didn’t kiss the bridge between your toes during our night of wild passion."

A shiver ran through her, not from cold obviously. Her colour heightened, turning from bright pink to crimson.

"You can do that with the woman who mesmerizes you so much that you can’t help but write sonnets about her." Her voice was low, but firm nonetheless.

He stretched his legs out, slightly brushing hers.

Claire immediately drew her legs towards herself as if she’d been burned.

"What makes you think that I am mesmerized by another woman? Are you still jealous about the poems?" His eyes were dancing again and she hated the way he was having fun at her expense.

"Not that I care, but-"

"But what, Miss Stenly?"

"You’re an idiot." She muttered. "A very big one." She added.

Claire glanced out the window, unaware of his eyes on her.

"I accept that I’m an idiot. But first, I’d like to know what led to such a conclusion."

She just kept looking out the window, her chest heaving with her rapid breaths.

"Because only an idiot would be blind to see when someone is in love with them." Her voice was a hushed whisper, but somehow, he managed to hear it.

"You’re in love with me?"

She had to glance at him when she heard the astonishment in his voice. He sounded as if he never believed someone could love him. As if he never believed ’she’ could love him.

"I never meant myself." She lowered her eyes as she spoke, but the colour that crawled up her neck betrayed her woefully.

"Well, whoever that woman is, she must have a lot of heart in her to fall for a monster like me." His eyes were twinkling as he began to speak, but they grew serious.

"She does." She agreed quietly.

Then, his hands shot out and grabbed hers, pulling her so close until she was almost seated on his lap. The space in the carriage suddenly felt cramped and small, the air insufficient for her excessively greedy lungs.

His eyes had darkened again, the way it did he asked her to run away from him.

Her blood started rushing, but oddly, it wasn’t from fear.

She knew she should be afraid of this side of him - the part of him she didn’t know.

He leaned closer, not to claim her lips. The tip of his nose grazed the sensitive skin of her neck, sniffing gently as if searching for something.

Suddenly, the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

There were shouts coming from without.

And that could never mean anything good.

Snapping back to reality, he pulled away from her and peered out the window.

Claire’s breathing became shallow as she stood there.

Blood dripped onto the skirt of her peach-coloured dress. When she touched her nose, she realized it was bleeding again.

Yeren only spared her a fleeting glance.

"We’re being attacked by rogues."