The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 62: Apologies

The sight of his bare chest made her gulp.

He followed the direction of her gaze and smiled.

"I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I wanted to give you something."

She waited patiently, struggling to look at anything but his muscled chest.

He reached into his pocket and produced a necklace.

"It’s beautiful... but I shouldn’t."

He waved her protest away. "Would you like to put it on?"

Despite her initial protest, she nodded. He brushed her hair away from her neck and placed the cold metal against her skin. It bore her name.

"How did you...?

"I had my blacksmith make it when I returned from the council meeting. I felt you needed a charm to boost your confidence."

"Thank you." She touched it.

He stood aside. "You should be on your way. Staying overnight without a chaperone was more than improper, I do not want to keep you any longer."

He escorted her to the door. She kept fiddling with the necklace, running her finger over the letters of her name.

She couldn’t wait to show Aurora.

The carriage rider was holding the door open for her. Terrence was already mounted, his face hidden underneath the visor. She could feel the disapproval even though she couldn’t see his face.

She waved to Aldrich one last time before entering the carriage.

The ride to the castle felt endless. The sun had already risen, she noted.

"He will kill me."

There was barely any activity in the courtyard. The sun was already folding back into the clouds, hinting of heavy rain.

What if a council meeting was being held? Or a court hearing? Or...?

"I should check his chambers first." She thought aloud.

Terrence followed at an unobtrusive distance.

After ascending the endless flight of stairs, she reached the landing.

The sound of marching guards in chainmail made her nearly shout.

She rushed forward, hoping that her actions would expose her guilt.

He stopped walking and turned around.

Claire came to a halt in front of him.

"Your Grace." She fumbled with a curtsey.

He was wearing a robe, she noticed.

At that time of the day? Had he slept late?

He said nothing, not even bothering to acknowledge her greeting. His gaze surveyed her from head to toe and back again.

Then, his eyes gleaned, his lips quirking in the faintest hint of a smile.

She arched a brow.

He wasn’t going to lecture her?

"What time is it, Miss Stenly?" He said at last.

"Mid morning."

"When did I ask you to return?"

Twisting her fingers, she stared at the floor. "Before midnight."

"Let’s discuss this in my chambers, shall we?" He gestured for her to proceed him.

Claire didn’t move.

"If I wanted to touch you, I would have done so here and now, Miss Stenly. You made it clear that you are my Cupbearer, nothing else." Then he walked to his room.

She looked at the guards standing around. They all looked like statues.

Was he really capable of kissing her in front of them? The king’s guard doesn’t gossip? She asked herself.

Sighing, she joined him in the room and closed the door.

"What kept you, then?"

The sight of him in a robe unsettled her. She couldn’t help but wonder if he wore anything beneath it.

Why did men choose today of all days to wear provocative clothing?

"We had a lot to talk about. If you must know, we grew up together."

Noticing his eyes lingering at the base of her neck, she looked down.

"Oh."

Her hand instinctively covered the chain from his view, as if his eyes were enough to rip it off her neck.

"Do you understand that your reputation is now at stake? And as my Cupbearer, you have just put yourself at a disadvantage."

"It was only one night and no one knows where I went."

"Do you really believe that? What does it look like when a woman goes out in the evening of one day and comes back the morning of the following day?"

She moved to the jug of wine and poured herself a goblet. Claire could feel his gaze following her every movement.

Colour stained her cheeks when she remembered the poems she had seen.

"What kind of Cupbearer serves herself?"

"The kind that doesn’t even want to be a Cupbearer in the first place."

His jaw tensed.

Just as she was about to take a sip of the drink, he moved forward in quick strides and snatched the goblet from her hand.

"It’s too early. I haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you had strong wine."

She flushed crimson.

"I had a whole jug that day... this," she indicated the goblet, "is just one goblet."

"A whole jug? What in the world would make you consume a whole jug?"

She averted her gaze.

"I apologize for disobeying your order, Your Grace." She said instead.

"It doesn’t suit you." He just said.

Her eyes snapped to his. "What doesn’t suit me?"

"Pretending to apologize."

More colour flooded her cheeks.

"Then I will serve any punishment you will bestow on me."

"Punishment." He whispered the word as if he was weighing its meaning.

A shiver ripped through her.

"Take off the necklace."

She blinked.

Of everything he could punish her with, he chose that?

"Pardon, Your Grace?"

His eyes remained fixed at the base of her neck. "I didn’t stutter."

She clenched her fists. "I said punishment, not harassment."

"Who is harassing you, if I may ask?"

"It’s a gift!"

He narrowed his eyes on her.

"A very glaring and territorial gift. Are you sure he hasn’t laid any claim on you?"

Her expression betrayed her - a bright blush stained her cheeks. Yet she said, "No."

"I see."

"Do you like him?"

She stared at him, wondering as to his question.

"That is none of your business." All respect for courtesy evaporated from her vocabulary.

"Servants are not allowed to entertain suitors." He said, a smug smile growing.

"I’m not a..."

"Not what? Say it."

She made to leave but he caught her arm.

"You would run away from everything, wouldn’t you?"

"I am a servant. I accept it." She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill.

That particular word had a way of ruining everything good she managed to achieve. It was a reminder of what a failure had become.

Aurora was right - there was no hope for her. She was a servant.

"You’re not just any servant-"

"I know." She cut him off neatly, trying in vain to jerk her arm out of his grasp. "I’m an esteemed servant." A dry, mocking laugh followed her words.

His eyes flashed dangerously, a side she had never seen before.

Something in her responded - she felt a thud in her chest.

"You’re my servant."