The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 91: Flee

He suddenly tensed. Her eyes scanned his face, wondering if she had done something wrong.

Reckless was the best word to describe her current situation.

And funnily enough, she didn’t regret it. But she knew she would by morning.

How would she look his bride-to-be in the face and wish her a good morning?

But that was a thought for when she was sober. Now, she wanted to know what it felt like to be wanted by a man like the King.

His eyes darkened at first, then they started turning yellow.

Her blood was gradually turning cold.

Was it happening again? Did she trigger something?

Claire tried scrambling away but he had her firmly pinned beneath him. She didn’t want it to end - she needed his touch in so many places she was ashamed to say aloud.

He lowered his lips to her neck, grazing his lips over the soft skin there.

What was he doing?

"Run." He whispered in her ear.

Run?

She tried peering into his face for confirmation, but she couldn’t see his face.

"Run." He said again.

His grip loosened.

Immediately, she darted off the bed, carrying her confusion with her.

For a few seconds, he remained on the bed, his hands still clutching where she had been. Then, his gaze snapped to hers with chilling intensity.

Why did he want her to run? What was wrong with him?

She picked up her gown from the floor and rushed to the door.

A flick of the knob told her that the door was locked from the outside.

Claire pounded on the door, hoping a guard would open it.

Fortunately for her, one of the insufferable giants opened the door.

She rushed out, forgetting that she was wearing a chemise that was as good as transparent.

Her necklace and hairpins were still in his room.

The guards barely seemed to notice her as she sped past them.

No one came behind her.

She stopped at a secluded corner and wore her dress the best she could. Some laces were loose, while some were askew - but it didn’t matter.

The cold feels of the stone floor immediately told her that she had forgotten her shoes in his room.

Claire didn’t even remember taking it off.

Showing up with bare feet and a dress clearly worn in a hurry tells its own story.

Not again, she swatted her forehead.

She couldn’t be seen this time. The fire torches in the sconces on the walls seemed determined to expose her to the gaze of the world.

And her room was on the other side of the castle.

A first time could be explained. But a second? What else would be deducted by a second occurrence?

She ran a nervous hand through her hair, struggling not to run all the way to her chambers.

Surprisingly, Claire hadn’t met a single soul all through her journey to her bed chamber.

Where were all the maids that usually passed? It was almost as if they were instructed to evacuate all possible hallways she would use.

Claire finally reached her sanctuary.

The dress was the first thing to go. She sat at the edge of the bed, holding her chin in her hands.

They had been so close. Her body was still reacting to whatever he had done to her. The need to confide in someone more knowledgeable, someone who would understand exactly what she was feeling was unbearable.

But she couldn’t.

Whatever happened or did not happen was between her and the man that caused it. She couldn’t discuss it with anybody.

Yet she couldn’t help but wonder - was he open to discussing such things? They never really talked, they always seemed to argue.

Maybe... she could learn it in a book? There were thousands of books in the library - one of them had to contain the things she was curious about, at least.

She was avoiding confronting the thing that bothered her most - why he had suddenly started behaving like he did.

He had avoided telling her about it, and now, she was almost a victim.

Claire realized that she actually wanted to have conversations with him - not just pointless arguments and directionless seduction. She wanted to hear his thoughts on certain matters, to actually talk to him.

Was that even possible?

Why did she even want to talk

to him all of a sudden? He was her enemy, wasn’t he?

Her face burned when she remembered how she’d told him she wanted him. How could she have been so blatantly blunt?

She had refused to acknowledge it until that moment... and the way he had looked at her made her heart melt over and over.

The attraction was mutual, but that was all it was - just an attraction.

It would pass, wouldn’t it?

For some reason, being the extra woman in his life repulsed her.

If only he’d come to her room in the middle of the night...

She woke up with a start the following morning. Her head was aching, her body slightly numb.

It took only a second before the events of the previous night came flooding in. Her gown still laid in a heap exactly where she had left it. And she was still wearing the transparent chemise.

A wave of colour flooded her cheeks.

"How would I face him today?" She’d been as good as naked in front of him.

A wooden chest sat by the door. She slid off the bed and went to it. In her haste, she hadn’t noticed it when she came in the previous night.

The chest contained her neatly folded dresses and undergarments. It was definitely Lara’s work. How nice of them.

The sound of neighing horses from outside drew her attention. She ran to the window. The sun was peeking through the horizon.

In the yard below, Yeren stood with Andon, both dressed in riding attire.

They were leaving? Already? Without her?

The King rubbed the back of his neck uneasily before glancing in her direction. Their gazes met and locked.

He immediately looked away, a frown covering his features.