The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 58: Permission

Evening was drawing near. She had left Aurora to her craft and returned to her empty room. Pacing back and forth didn’t seem to give her the much needed courage to ask the King’s permission.

Would he reject it? Would he be jealous? Would he...

The dress she intended to wear for the dinner lay on her bed. It was sea-green satin, one of her favourites. And she had never worn it to court.

When she looked at the dress, all she could think of was Yeren’s eyes assessing her the way it always did when she arrived.

And it always made her feel... seen - not like some random woman that stepped into the room.

After debating until sundown, she donned on the dress, brushed out her hair and left her room.

As she drew closer to his room, her courage kept dropping. Most of it had remained in her room, deserting her when she needed it the most.

Voices were coming from the end of the hall that led to the grand study. She often heard that the King spent a great deal of his time there.

Andon emerged first, grinning about something his companion had said.

Guards flanked him on either side, almost blocking him from her view in the narrow corridor.

The voice of the other man made her abdomen flutter.

She didn’t have to bother going to his room.

"What a big relief." She mumbled to herself.

Andon saw her first, his smile widening.

Yeren didn’t smile. His eyes travelled along her body, but betrayed neither approval or disdain.

Nothing.

Shaking her head, she brushed the disappointment she felt aside and stepped forward.

"Your Grace." She curtsied.

He nodded in acknowledgement.

"Might I have a word in private." She darted a brief glance at Andon.

"I am the King’s ears-"

"Leave us."

Andon raised a brow but moved away all the same. With a flick of his hand, the guards dissolved as well.

In the light of the fire torch, he looked like a carefully molded bronze sculpture. His eyes flickered with the reflection of the fire light.

"Speak." His voice was cold.

Struggling not to bite her lower lip, she looked into his eyes.

"I received an invitation to dinner from a friend. I came to seek your permission to attend."

He shifted on his feet, his eyes gleaming.

"Who is this friend?"

She gulped. "Pardon me if I say it is none of your business."

Something flashed in his gaze. She knew he was aware she was talking about Aldrich.

"It isn’t? Your safety is paramount to me."

"To you or to the Crown?"

His jaw tensed slightly. "And if I need more wine?"

She buried her hands in the folds of her dress.

"I am afraid I won’t be available. Your thirst will have to quench itself."

"Only if that were possible, Miss Stenly. This friend must have a name, I assume."

He wouldn’t give up, would he?

"Lord Aldrich Bronan."

"And who is accompanying you to the dinner?"

"No one. I will find my way there myself."

"Would you? His residence is far North and you have no vehicle. How do you propose to get there?"

She coloured in shame. Why was he tormenting her?

"I will hire a wagon. There are plenty at the farmhouse nearby."

He scoffed.

"You want to arrive at the Bronan keep in such a beautiful dress on a wagon?"

Claire twisted her lips. "I don’t have the money to hire anything above that. You don’t pay me for my services, Your Grace."

"You want me to pay you?"

Her eyes flew to his. "I want you to let me go."

"That’s not what I asked." His tone was curt.

"Do I have your permission or not, Your Grace? I have no wish to tarry any longer, my host is waiting."

"If you want to go, do so, but change the dress."

Her mouth fell open.

"Pardon, Your Grace."

"It doesn’t suit the occasion."

Before she could say another word, he brushed past her.

Her gaze followed him as he walked away.

When he reached the end of the hall, he said, "Have my personal carriage rider take you there. And... be back before midnight."

That was it? Why was he trying to organise everything for her? She was very capable of doing so herself.

Stomping her feet, she went to the stables in the same dress.

The stable boys and carriage riders were sharing drinks around a brightly burning fire. Cheerful songs passed around, most of them about fair-skinned women.

All eyes fell on her as she stepped into their midst.

Terrence was close behind her, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

She had never seen a drunk man before. Her father never had wine outside his serving at dinner and uncle Jarren was not a drunk. And yet, before her was a horde of drunk men.

"I am looking for the King’s carriage rider."

The men exchanged glances. Then, all of them burst into laughter, some buckling over, some pointing at her. One of them laughed so hard he spilled his drink.

Pushing her aside, Terrence pulled out his sword, stopping at the tip.

"Where is the carriage rider?"

All laughter died.

"He’s no’ here." One of the stable boys volunteered, shaking like a leaf.

"Where is he?"

"He’s polishing his carriage. The bloody man thinks he’ll take the King to heaven in it."

Another wave of laughter whipped through the gathering.

Terrence placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her away from the men.

The carriage driver was doing exactly what they were told he would be doing - polishing the body of the carriage.

On seeing her, he threw away the brush with wax and sketched a bow.

"Is His Grace in need of a ride."

She gulped. " He isn’t. I am."

The man blinked. "The King does not share his royal carriage. There are others..."

"The King specifically asked that you ride me there. Would you like me to ask him?"

The man averted his gaze and moved to open the door for her.

Terrence mounted his own horse - he was to ride beside her.

As the carriage rolled down the paved driveway, something made her look towards the parapets. Yeren stood there, his silhouette was unmistakable.

Was he watching her?