The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 40: Burnt Poems

Chapter 40: Burnt Poems
Her lashes fluttered slightly before her eyes closed again.
Yeren let out a soft breath. The look in her eyes had melted something in him.
Gently climbing off his bed, he picked his goblet and made to leave the room.
Her sharp intake of breath made him halt in his tracks.
"Don’t leave."
He knew she wasn’t referring to him, but he still turned around.
Staying a few more minutes couldn’t do any more harm, he rationalized.
Drawing a deep breath, he climbed into the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms.
King or not, he could not shake the feeling that she belonged there - in his arms. Her small and frail body fitted perfectly against his.
And surprisingly, she didn’t fight him. Claire stopped shaking, her quiet pleas stilling to whimpers, her breathing evening.
And Yeren knew that she felt it - even though unconsciously.
He had not bothered to remove his shoes.
Every time she moved closer, he had to adjust to prevent her from feeling his arousal.
They stayed locked together for hours.
Yeren couldn’t fight off the restlessness plaguing him. He eased her away and slipped off the bed.
Grabbing an inkwell and quill from the shelf, he sat down at his table to write.
He had no idea what he intended to write, but the quill seemed to take control of him.
He wrote of how perspiration beaded on her lashes - looking like tiny diamonds frozen in time, how her lips remained slightly parted as she slept as if she was inviting a kiss from the very Angels...
By the time he was done, he had three full scrolls covered with his delicate scrawl.
Yeren realized he hadn’t written a single poem since his father died and he began ruling.
It was his first in a while.
And it had to be her?
Why couldn’t he write about something else? Like the sky, the blood moon, anything.
His gaze kept darting back to the girl cuddled on his bed.
He knew her scent would cling to his sheets long after she would have gone.
After three goblets of wine, he fell asleep on his desk.
Yeren didn’t know how long he had slept until a stirring woke him up.
He blinked, struggling to clear his blurry vision.
Claire sat at the edge of the bed with her face in her hands.
"Good morning."
Her head shot up.
"Your Grace... forgive Mr. I... I, I..."
He could read the terror and confusion on her face. She probably couldn’t remember anything that happened all through the night - and he was eternally grateful for that.
She would probably run mad if she did.
Sheets of his poetic creativity clung to the side of his face. As he moved to detach them, he toppled the inkwell.
Dark liquid travelled all through the table, soaking everything in its path.
Yeren picked up the three poems and set them away from the mayhem before attempting to clean the mess.
He hadn’t noticed when she moved from the bed.
Or when she was standing behind him.
"Can I be of any assistance?"
He jerked slightly in shock. Then, he turned to look at her. Her head was cast down as she surveyed the mess.
"Are these improtant?" She reached for the poems he had set aside.
She wasn’t supposed to see it.
Panic clawed at him as he snatched it from her.
"It’s for my private eyes."
Her hands hung in the air as they had been doing before he snatched the parchment from her.
And without overthinking it, he tossed the very thing he had spent his whole night crafting into the flames of the hearth.
"Did you write that?"
He didn’t respond, he continued watching as the flames devoured the inky paper.
"You didn’t have to..."
"I think I’ve had enough of your presence for a day, Miss Stenly. I will see you at the picnic."
Yeren noticed her stiffness at the cold dismissal.
"And," he added as she was about to leave. "You’re joining my carriage."
She nodded briefly and moved to the door.
The door opened before she could grip the doorknob.
"Your Grace-" His voice faded to oblivion as he saw her standing there.
So early in the morning...
Yeren knew Andon would never let the impropriety slide.
"Miss Stenly." He sketched a low bow, grinning his usual mischievous grin.
Instead of responding, she turned wide eyes to Yeren.
"My Lord." She muttered and brushed past him, leaving in a flurry of long skirts.
Andon stared after her before closing the door.
"Well... she was in quite a hurry."
The impish grin only widened.
"How was your night, Your Grace? I trust it was very... interesting."
Yeren remained silent.
Andon moved to the table and poured two goblets of wine.
"Wine, Your Grace?"
Yeren shook his head.
"Nothing happened, Andon. Stop looking at me like that."
Andon feigned an innocent expression.
"Whose fault was that?"
"No one’s. She’s my Cupbearer."
"Keep deceiving yourself." Andon took a long swig of the drink.
"Isn’t it too early for wine? Your presence is needed at the picnic."
Ignoring him, Andon said, "It’s very convenient that your Cupbearer is the very woman you were willing to split your council to protect... and she happens to spend the whole night in your room-"
Yeren walked forward and snatched the second cup from him.
"Get that stupid idea out of your head. None of this is convenient for either of us."
He took a long gulp from two drinks, despite his resolution to have nothing to do with the drink.
"You could have chosen a male Cupbearer if you wanted convenience, the boy I mentioned would have been perfect - but you had to choose her."
"I told you why."
"Yes, yes. You’re protecting her fiercely - by keeping her in your private chambers." Andon burst out laughing.
Yeren pinned his lips together - he had been cornered.
Winning an argument with Andon was impossible.
"She came to serve wine... and she fell asleep." He hated the fact that he was explaining himself, but he continued nonetheless.
"Fell asleep? You must have drained her..."
"Stop it." Yeren tried to sound stern, but a blush crept up his cheeks. "She was drunk."
"Drunk? You helped her get drunk?"
Yeren ran a hand through his hair. "No... Why would I do that? She was drunk before she came for dinner, it seems."
"I never knew her to drink wine."
"Neuther did I."
Andon narrowed his eyes. "I’ll let you fool me this once."
Taking on a serious tone, he said, "Be careful, Your Grace. The blood moon is coming soon and a bride will be chosen for you. If you continue this, we both know who the obvious loser is. She’s lost a lot - don’t let her cling to something she’ll never have."