The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 7: The Gift

Chapter 7: The Gift
Hand in hand, she and Aurora descended the steps towards the dining hall.
Aurora had insisted on having her hair brushed again - she wanted it to shine.
At the end of the steps, Uncle Jarren and Arlan awaited them.
Claire reached forward to accept Arlan’s outstretched arm. But, his father took hold of her arm.
"Please do me the high honour of allowing me to escort you to the table."
She glanced at Arlan. He looked away.
Aurora missed the tension, snatching Arlan’s arm playfully and walking with him to the table.
He didn’t still acknowledge Aurora - which was strange.
And Aurora was too focused on Arlan and his wit to care.
Uncle Jarren pulled out a chair for her next to his. She sat down, murmuring her thanks.
With a clap, the banquet began. Several dishes of food were served for the first course.
Claire hadn’t seen so much food in a long time. Even the Hanswicks hadn’t been so extravagant despite the presence of the King.
That dinner had struck her as an impromptu event - the King had visited without prior notice.
Because he wanted to see her, a voice in her head said.
She sampled the sauces, too distracted to enjoy their flavors.
"I have a surprise for you, my dear." Uncle Jarren suddenly said.
She glanced at Arlan. As expected, the boy shied away from her gaze.
"Don’t you want to know what it is?"
There was that wide smile again - the one that made her insides churn.
"I would love to."
He clapped his hands.
Two female servants that she hadn’t seen before rushed in carrying a wooden chest. The flames of the candles flickered as they hurried past with their burden.
They were dressed just like Margaret had been, dull gray dress and tight cap.
One had an ample bosom. When she leaned down to drop the box beside Uncle Jarren, her neckline dipped.
His gaze lingered on her breasts before she rose up.
The servant seemed completely unaware.
"Open it." He said through gritted teeth.
The slimmer one bent to attend to the task but he stopped her.
"Not you." He pointed at the one with the generous bosom. "You, do it."
Blinking, the maid opened the box.
Once again, his gaze drooped - though not as obvious as the first time.
The chest opened at last.
"Bring a candle here. I want her to see how beautiful it is."
The slimmer one with thinned lips hurried to fetch the candle.
Uncle Jarren stood up, his chair nearly falling behind him.
He fetched something out of the box and laid it against his body.
It was a dress. A silver dress.
Aurora gasped.
Claire could only stare at it. Such a dress must have cost a handsome fortune.
He stared at her face, his jaw hardening at her continued silence.
"Well? What do you think?"
It wasn’t green - was the first thing she thought. But, it was pretty nonetheless.
And silver would compliment her green eyes.
"It’s very comely to the eyes." She said at last.
His gaze hardened, but he just handed the garment to the servants and returned to his seat.
Claire averted her gaze.
"Very comely is hardly the word one would expect from a girl who struggles to eat three times a day, I should think."
Her grip on her knife tightened.
"What she meant was that it is the most lovely thing she has ever seen." Aurora quickly said.
Claire glanced at her sister seated at the other side of the table. Aurora just shook her head at her.
"You would be wearing that dress to the ball tomorrow’s eve. Your engagement must be celebrated beyond these walls."
She managed a curt nod.
When she had considerably cleared her plate, she asked to be excused.
Uncle Jarren grunted his acquiescence.
She slipped away from the table and went up the stairs.
As soon as she entered her room, she leaned against the door and let out a deep breath.
A squawk at the window drew her attention.
A raven.
She moved towards it slowly. It watched her, moving its head in different angles.
Claire reached for it but it flew away.
There was a brief knock.
She opened the door.
"I couldn’t stay there anymore. You put Uncle Jarren in a terribly foul mood."
Aurora entered the room and she closed the door.
"You could’ve lied. Your response was the worst form of bland for such a pretty and expensive dress."
Claire sighed. "I did like it. But... it was a bit much."
Aurora hopped on the feather bed.
"Some ladies love it."
Claire poured herself a cup of ale to wash the bitter taste lingering in her mouth.
"Arlan seems a bit off, don’t you think."
Aurora shrugged. "I didn’t notice. He might just be a bit shy."
"Maybe." Claire took a gulp of the cool drink.
She wrinkled her nose at the taste.
"There’s ginger in this!" She exclaimed, setting the glass down.
Aurora giggled.
"There was ginger in our fruit serving. Even in the soup. The people here must fancy it. But, it isn’t all that bad."
"Mm."
Claire started undressing. "Do you think they’ll notice if you spend the night here? I just want someone here in case the nightmares come again."
Another giggle.
"No one will notice, except maybe Uncle Jarren."
Claire shot her sister a glance.
"Why do you say that?"
"He seems to be interested in everything you do. After you left the table, he stopped eating altogether. He even called for a warm bath to be sent up to you."
Just then, there was a knock on the door.
Claire was only dressed in her chemise.
Aurora opened the door.
A sigh tore through Claire when three female servants entered the room.
"Do I also get a bath like you?" Aurora asked.
Claire followed their movements with her gaze. The tub was steaming.
Margaret poured a generous amount of scented oils into the bath.
"Shall we bathe you."
None of them met her gaze.
"No."
"But, the Master said we should..."
Aurora slipped off the bed. "I’ll come back later."
Forcing a stiff nod, Claire pulled the cotton dress over her head and slipped into the tub.
The women were methodical - washing her feet, her hair, clipping her toe nails and whatnot.
Then, the door bounced open.
Her arms flew to cover her chest, sending a splash of water to the ground.
Uncle Jarren stood there bearing a satin nightdress.
"Forgive me." He said, averting his gaze a minute too late.
"There were no servants to send... so I brought it myself."
She gulped.
"Thank you."
He beamed at her. "Do forgive me." He muttered, laying the fine garment on the bed.
With one last lingering look, he left the room.
She grinded her jaws. Before she’d go to bed, she would remember to bar the door.
—
The following afternoon, she was seated in the receiving room with a pile of letters stacked on the table. A steaming kettle of mint tea sat at the center of the table.
The windows were wide open, illuminating the room with the brilliant rays of the sun.
In an hour, she would be on her way to the ball.
And, Yeren Stormhall would be there.
She’d had the dream again, only that the wolf lingered longer.
Each time she looked at the vast forests outside the window of her chamber, she always thought she saw the same black wolf.
"Have you finished, dear." His deep voice cut through her reverie.
She smiled. "Almost."
Arlan shifted in his chair beside her. The boy didn’t want to attend the ball. Or, read the boring letters that said the same things.
And more importantly, he didn’t seem to fancy the idea of marrying her.
One from the Reychells, another from the Manes... All of them were congratulating Arlan and by extension, her on their engagement.
It would seem that Uncle Jarren had sent out letters of their engagement prior to her acceptance.
He knew she would bend.
Her grip on the inkwell tightened.
"I’ve finished." She blurted out, shoving the rest of the pile in the basket beside her.
Only Arlan saw what she did, but he pretended not to.
"Go upstairs and start dressing up, then. The gods know you ladies take forever to get in a dress."
Arlan stood as well, relieved.
He dashed out of the room and down the hallway leading outside the house.
Aurora was outside as well, she realized.
As she ascended the stairs, two maids were descending with a chamberpot.
The muttered greetings to her, never quite meeting her gaze.
Margaret was in her room by the time she got there.
Claire had thrown the satin nightdress he had given her into the hearth the previous night. It was just wrong.
Margaret’s left eye was bruised, a cut straying too close to it.
It was her fault. No one needed to tell her.
"Forgive me." Was all she said.
The maid did not react, she just kept staring at the floor.
Then, she said, "There was a fight at the market."
A fight, indeed.
Once she was dressed, she went down to the awaiting carriage.
Margaret had claimed she had to tidy the room - but Claire knew the poor woman didn’t want to go down.
Arlan was dressed handsomely, his family brooch clinging on his brocade.
The carriage rolled down the road silently.
No one uttered a word.
She gazed out the window to distract herself. Uncle Jarren hummed a melody while Arlan fiddled with his ring.
They encountered a few other vehicles on their way there.
Then, the huge castle loomed in front of her. It looked extravagant and moon-kissed.
The towers looked like they touched the sky.
"Allow me." Arlan helped her down from the carriage.
His father led the way.
The last time she had been here, she had been denounced as heir and stripped of her father’s lands.
Nothing could make her believe that anything good awaited her inside.
Slow music and exotic perfume filled the air.
The room appeared to be in constant motion - no one stood still.
Gasps tore through the room. Her steps faltered slightly but no one noticed.
Not even Arlan.
She fixed her gaze on the chandelier above to distract herself.
Uncle Jarren came to them and took her away from Arlan. Arlan opened his mouth to protest but a glare from his father silenced him.
"This is Lord and Lady Rodick." He told her.
She fabricated a polite smile.
The air around her stirred and she turned.
There he was, standing over the balcony and looking at her.
He looked like a King. Regal and poised.
"This is Lord Arkin and his lady, Marissa."
She was so glad when Arlan took her from his father.
Uncle Jarren’s hand had lingered longer than it should have.
"Do you know how to dance?" Arlan asked.
She tensed. He had never spoken to her before.
"Yes. I had classes."
"We’ll see."
A challenge. She grinned.
A servant passed with a tray containing wine and buttered scones.
Her throat felt as coarse as sandpaper. Beckoning the boy, she reached for a glass.
But, Lady Hanswick’s daughter grabbed it before she did.
A smug smile played on the girl’s lips before she walked away.
Claire hid her fisted hands in the folds of her dress, averting her eyes.
The crowd gathered as the King descended the carpeted steps.
He didn’t seem bothered by the stares, neither was he captivated by them.
All the maidens gathered in front.
For once, she was glad of her engagement.
He picked one and the dance began.
Arlan proved to be a graceful partner. He never missed a beat.
The music for the first lap came to an end.
She didn’t want to dance again.
As she made to leave the floor, a man with a rough face and sunken eyes stepped on her dress.
The fragile fabric ripped, revealing her chemise underneath.
The music ceased. All movement stopped.
She didn’t need to look to know they were sneering.
She got what she deserved for trying to force herself into the fold, she mused.
The man muttered apologies that sounded half-hearted at best, struggling to arrange the remnants of the garments to cover the tear.
Uncle Jarren appeared from nowhere and slapped the man’s hand away. He draped his cloak around her and led her away.
"That was awful." He kept saying.
He laid his hand on her thigh once they were seated and rubbed it gently.
"You’re a beauty." He’d say.
"They’re just jealous."
Arlan was taken by Lady Rodick’s daughter for the second lap. He was all smiles and blushes.
The air stirred again. Someone stood before her.
Claire refused to look - she already knew. Her toes tingled in her slippers.
Uncle Jarren stood to his feet.
"Your Grace." He bowed.
Brief silence followed.
"Might I have your hand for this dance?"
She wanted to bury her head in the sand just then.
Couldn’t he see that she was using her ripped dress as an excuse to steer clear of the sea of swirling hypocrites?
She glanced at him. His long black hair was worn elegantly in a style no one else in the room did.
Her gaze darted to Uncle Jarren.
"She is yours, Your Grace." He quickly said.
And so she was lured to the dance floor once more.
She answered his questions impulsively as they swept across the floor in time to the rhythm.
Just when she thought he’d be furious, he’d grin at her.
He had a handsome grin. Her stomach fluttered every time he did.
What stopped her heart was his response to her last question.
"What do you want in return?" She had asked.
He drew her closer as the music ended.
"You."