The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 8: Shall We Dance?

People parted in order to pick new partners for the next lap.

Claire and Yeren remained exactly where they were.

He didn’t loosen his grip on her waist, nor did she want him to.

Her left hand still clutched his shoulder.

He wanted her?

She met his gaze. Her knees were threatening to buckle beneath her.

"Why?"

The music for the third lap began. Slowly, they started moving.

People stared with shocked expressions - the King never dances with a Lady more than once except he had declared intentions.

"I just do."

Her shoulders stiffened.

"That’s not an answer, Your Grace."

He stepped on her feet, grinning slyly.

"Some things cannot be explained, Miss Stenly."

Her gaze flicked over the crowd before returning to his.

"I understand that better than anyone else."

A soft chuckle erupted from him, low and enticing.

She caught herself smiling.

"I doubt it. A naive girl like you doesn’t even know her left from her right."

"And you sound like you’ve known me for a lifetime. Yet, you’re wrong."

"Am I? If you weren’t naive, you wouldn’t have rejected me in favour of your uncle and his son."

She glared up at him.

"So, I’m naive because I rejected you?"

"No."

"Why then?"

"Because you accepted your uncle."

A shiver coursed through her a second time.

He wouldn’t understand her reasons even if she told him, she thought.

"Ask for something else, Your Grace. A naive girl is the last thing you want, I presume."

He spun her around, pulling her to lean her back against him.

"You asked why I wanted you, didn’t you? Do you still want to know, Miss Stenly?"

"No, Your Grace."

He blinked at her sudden change of mood. Then, he followed her gaze. Her uncle was still staring, his lips upturned in a scowl.

"Call me Yeren."

Her eyes flew to his. "I will not. Do not try to initiate familiarity with me."

He stepped on her feet again. She gasped.

"Stop doing that." She whispered furiously.

"Say it. Yeren."

Her jaw hardened.

"Stop this gratuitous..."

"What’s your name, then?"

She blinked. "None of your concern, Your Grace."

"Knowing your name won’t change anything between us, Miss Stenly."

She laughed, a bitter sound.

"Then, why bother to know it?"

"Because I want to pay you the little respect of knowing your name. From what I’ve heard, no one cares to."

Claire bit her lip. Tears burned behind her eyes. ’Wolfless girl’, she was always called.

"I feel a bit sick. Might I be excused?"

His lips tightened but she didn’t care. The last thing she wanted was to burst into tears in his arms - in front of the malicious crowd.

"Let’s finish the dance, I’ll escort you out."

She shook her head.

"No." Her voice cracked.

She clutched the cloak around her tighter, as though it was a shield.

Then, he grabbed her arm and took her out of the hall.

Whispers followed their departure. She felt her uncle’s eyes on her back as she slipped out of the room.

She was too broken to care whose arm held her so securely.

At first, he was walking too fast for her to keep up. She nearly stumbled a few times.

But, as soon as they were out of the hall, he slowed down.

"Where are you taking me?"

He didn’t respond.

She tried pulling her arm out of his iron grip but to no avail.

"Unhand me, Your Grace."

Guards were stationed along the hall. Each man nodded to him and he nodded back.

Fire torches placed on sconces lit the magnificent hallway.

He led her into one of the chambers along the hallway and closed the door.

The room was empty save a few cushioned stools and shelves of scrolls.

Candles lit the scanty room. It smelled of old parchment and melted wax.

She turned towards the closed door.

He remained by the door, watching her.

"Why did you bring me here?"

He moved to the table and poured two goblets of wine. The aroma of the drink wafted to her nostrils.

When he was done, he handed one to her.

She followed his every movement with her eyes but didn’t take the drink.

Shrugging, he dropped it on the table.

"You looked like you were suffocating."

Claire parted her lips to speak but no words came out.

"And now your uncle isn’t here, you can drop the act."

She scoffed.

"What act?"

"I’m not stupid, Miss Stenly."

"I never said you were, Your Grace."

He tilted his head, studying her as he took another sip.

"My name is Claire." She blurted out.

Her hands kept trembling - even the folds of the cloak she wore couldn’t hide it.

"You’re afraid of me."

She slowly looked at him.

"I’m not."

He dropped his goblet, smirking as her eyes followed his movements.

"Do you know what fear is?"

"This isn’t appropriate, Your Grace. I am betrothed - I shouldn’t be alone with you."

The tears she wanted to shed had long since vanished, giving way to curiosity... and dread.

She kept wetting her dry lips. Claire feared he would cross the distance between them and kiss her again.

"I haven’t laid a finger on you."

"That’s not what others would think."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I didn’t think you cared what other people thought about you."

She let out a long sigh.

"Whatever image I disperse would stain my sister as well, Your Grace. She deserves to marry well without having to dispute any prejudices."

"I see."

Then, he opened the door. "We’ll speak soon, Claire." He drew out the name as if testing how it sounded on his tongue.

She gulped.

"Wait." She whispered.

Claire didn’t think he heard her, but he did.

He stopped, swiveling on his feet gracefully.

"Yes?"

She averted her gaze.

"Please escort me back. I... I can’t go in there alone."

He didn’t smile, neither did he laugh.

But, she felt something in his gaze soften.

No amount of kindness would change the fact that he murdered my father, she reminded herself.

"Shall we?" He held out his arm.

She smoothed her palms over her dress before walking to where he stood.

She could feel the warmth seeping through his sleeve.

Her heart hammered in her chest as they walked down.

When they reached the door of the room, he stopped walking.

She looked up at him.

"You look like you want to hide somewhere." He whispered, unsmiling.

The guards at the door didn’t stir at their presence.

Claire took in a deep breath.

"There’s nowhere to hide. Especially from you."

He clicked his tongue.

"Perhaps."

Uncle Jarren was downing a goblet of wine as they entered. The whispers started again.

Her step faltered but Yeren caught her easily.

If only Zach were here, she kept telling herself.

"Your Grace. A dance, perhaps?" A pretty blonde lady in a sapphire dress asked Yeren.

"I’m honoured. But, I have to decline. I am retiring for the night."

Claire didn’t miss the way the woman’s eyes darkened.

"You danced with me twice. These women don’t think that’s fair."

"What do you think?" He asked.

"I wouldn’t place so much importance on a dance. If it were up to me, I would have been sitting at the rear, pretending to sulk over my torn dress."

He touched a hand to his heart.

"Forgive me for ruining your evening, then."

She stifled a smile.

"I was almost convinced the apology was genuine."

Yeren laughed.

The people around them turned to stare.

"I should return to my betrothed."

He nodded. "You should."

She felt his gaze on her back as she glided through the crowd in search of Arlan.

Her face felt heated up.

It was time they left.

But, Uncle Jarren found her first.