The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 42: Serving Wench

Chapter 42: Serving Wench
Walking towards him was torture. He seemed so far away from her.
Gulping, she smoothed hand over her dress and walked forward.
His gaze was distant, before he looked away.
Yeren helped her into the carriage, despite the assistance offered by the carriage rider.
The man nodded and returned to his station behind the reins.
He climbed in after her, sitting across her with his hands clasped.
She pretended to not notice him, trying to stare out the window. But his presence drew her like a moth to a flame.
She kept looking - it felt like she just had to.
He was wearing a black cloak - a different one.
She realized that he hadn’t asked her to return the cloak he had lent her - even though it was his favourite.
Her cheeks stained as she realized that she had carelessly left it in Aurora’s room.
What kind of a person was she to do such a thing?
Beneath the cloak, a fitting brocade framed his chiseled body.
He didn’t do his hair in the style all the peers were caught up in.
Even her father had followed the trend, much to her surprise. Instead, he wore his hair long.
"What are you wearing?" He finally said, breaking the silence that made the four corners of the carriage suffocating.
"My uniform."
He didn’t look at her - he didn’t need to. Yeren just stared out the window, collecting his thoughts.
The change in him was obvious. He was guarded, cold.
Their knees didn’t brush in the little space. They probably weren’t breathing the same air.
Was it because of the poems she read?
"I don’t remember giving you a uniform."
Claire cast her gaze to the carpeted floor of the moving vehicle.
"Kaira gave this to me."
"Do you serve Kaira or do you serve me?"
Her gaze shot up then. His tone was neutral, his gaze trailing the fields outside the window.
"This uniform is for all servants - there were no distinctions."
Something she said caught his attention.
He looked at her then, unsmiling. She could see a fleck of a colour she couldn’t identify in his eyes.
"There’s no distinction between you and a scullery maid?"
His words made her wince.
"Your Grace, it is neither proper for me to show up in laces and satin brocades. This befits my position-"
"I will tell you what is proper or not." He cut her off.
She glanced down at her garments one more time.
"I can still change it."
His gaze darted to hers briefly.
"You brought a dress to change?"
"No. I could run back."
"It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you are available to serve me wine." Then he returned his attention to the landscape visible through his window.
And just like that, she was dismissed.
The carriage experienced a few bumps on the road, causing her to shoot forward.
She caught herself just in time before fell on him.
"Hold something."
Claire stifled the urge to roll her eyes.
If he’d be just cold - instead of cold with hints of warmth - she might be able to go back to hating him in peace.
The sight of the picnic made her jaw fall off.
A lot of care had been put into the preparations.
A water fountain with four sculpted fishes stood at the center.
Under the sunlight, the cascading water looked like falling diamonds. Tables were laid beneath fancy canopies for the expected signatories.
Speaking of dignitaries, Claire realized that Rodick, Falstaff and the likes were sitting at the table Yeren was being guided to.
The steward guiding him was a stout man with a long face.
The King nodded at him before taking his seat.
She stood behind his chair, unsure if she had a seat at the dignified table.
Yeren glanced back at her.
"You’re determined to treat yourself like a servant."
Claire’s mouth twisted into a half-formed scowl.
"I am only trying to do right by my position-"
He held up a hand to silence her.
"I will hear no more. The only right way to serve me is how I say I should be served. You’re my servant, not anyone else’s."
She drew a sharp breath.
He made the word ’servant’ sound like a endearment.
Redmare bowed to him before taking the seat beside him.
"Your Grace, thank you for having me."
"The pleasure is all mine."
Greetings passed around the table with smiles that never reached the eyes.
"I see you have a new Cupbearer." Falstaff commented.
Claire stiffened.
Yeren glanced at her over his shoulder.
"Yes. She makes a very efficient Cupbearer."
Efficient? She spilled wine on him half the time.
Her hands were already shaking - she was afraid she’d do it again. The way they looked at her - like it was a convenient way for her to be at his side.
As his mistress, not his Cupbearer.
"How is your son?" Redmare asked Rodick.
Rodick grinned sheepishly.
"Good, good. He managed to get the girl pregnant before they officially tied the knot."
Both men laughed.
The other members were yet to arrive.
"The mating ceremony is as official as any wedding." Yeren said quietly.
Claire looked between the men at the table.
"You are absolutely right, Your Grace. But, the wedding seals everything, don’t you think?"
Yeren said nothing.
"Wine." He murmured.
Claire moved forward, struggling not to trip over the hem of her dress.
The grass beneath her was freshly cut.
The pitcher laid at the center of the table.
Drawing a breath, she retrieved it amidst the stares and made to pour into Yeren’s goblet.
"How the mighty are fallen. Imagine what her almighty father would think if he saw her serving wine like a common table wench."
She tensed and the pitcher over-filled the cup.
"That’s enough, Cla... Miss Stenly."
He held her hand and slowly retrieved the jug from her.
"What a mess, Your Grace." Lord Rathbone, who sat across them, said.
Finally recovering her senses, she picked up a napkin and wiped at the mess.
All the while, she felt Yeren’s cold gaze on her.
She wanted to lock herself somewhere and cry at that point.
"Do pour us wine as well, but be careful not to spill it - this robe costs quite a fortune." Redmare mumbled, eliciting laughter from everyone at the table.
Except Yeren.
Claire moved forward with the jug to do as told, but Yeren stopped her with a wave of his hand.
"She’s not a serving wench."
A smug smile curved on Falstaff’s lips.
"Then, perhaps, she should sit on the table with us as equals. After all, whoever is esteemed by the King is esteemed by all."
Claire looked down at the man she served.
"You are dismissed. I will summon you when I need you."
With a nod, she left the table.
This position might be the worst thing that happened to her, she realized.
She made up her mind to give it up as soon as she had a chance to be alone with the King.
But would she?