The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 101: Protect Her?

Claire’s biggest concern was running into the King. That would only make whatever feud they had going on much worse.

The stairs was empty and mostly dark. She clung to the walls, ready to turn and flee the moment she saw someone coming.

But no one came.

The servant’s entrance was through the kitchen from her knowledge of general architecture.

Just as she was about to open the door, it burst open. Two servants, a male cook and a maid, emerged, their hands entwined suspiciously. She pressed herself again the wall, praying that they’d just pass without looking at her.

"I can’t wait to be inside you." The man said, pulling her along faster.

Claire rolled her eyes. Sword and sheath, wasn’t it?

She moved towards the door again, but the back of her dress caught against something on the wall.

A painting.

Not just any painting. The painting of the late Queen.

Jerking away wasn’t helping. She reached behind to untangle the mess to no avail. Then she leaned against the wall in exasperation. Her garment pulled free, causing the painting to fall to the ground.

The sound echoed in the silence, causing the departing duo to glance in her direction.

She quickly picked it up and fastened it back on the wall, pretending to admire it.

The servants glanced at her once more before walking away.

Claire heaved a silent sigh of relief.

She entered the kitchen. The heat, smoke and drool-inspiring aroma hit her all at once.

The servants were preparing to serve. Wait, at such an hour? Did that mean that the King and Andon were yet to eat dinner?

Her chest hammered, sweating beading on her brows.

She received occasional glances, some shocked, some curious, but no one dared to question her presence there.

Passing through the kitchen wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be.

The servant’s entrance was wide open, admitting a torrent of breeze into the place.

A movement in the water caught her eye.

Gods of damnation! He was still there? Of all the nights, he had to choose this one to swim?

But she didn’t have a choice, Aurora’s life was on the line. Her captor said she would be waiting, didn’t she?

A pile of rocks laid adjacent to the doorway where she stood.

If I only she could get to it without being caught...

Maybe if she stuck to the walls, she could blend in enough to escape their piercing gazes.

She moved, instantly regretting wearing shoes. Pebbles crunched loudly under her feet as she tiptoed.

"Who goes there?" A deep masculine voice called out, muffled by a helmet.

Claire froze.

If she didn’t move, she’d get caught. If she did, what were the chances of not getting caught.

So she moved forward, treading as quietly as she could.

Footsteps sounded near her, closer and closer with each passing second.

They had seen her. Gods! They had to see her!

Tears threatened, burning behind her eyes badly.

Then, a hand caught her arm.

She was finished.

She wished the ground would open and swallow her up just then.

The sword of metal grazing metal tore through the silence as the guard pulled his sword out of its sheath.

He was going to kill her? Didn’t he recognise her?

Panic clawed through her, temporarily seizing her ability to speak. The moment she could, she let out a loud shriek, as loud as her lungs permitted. The night carried her voice across the sea, echoing it in sync with the waves.

The guard froze, his sword still placed against the base of her neck.

This was the second time in a single day someone held a sword against her? What had she ever done in her miserable existence to deserve such?

"Please don’t hurt me!"

The guards sword left her neck, but hovered close enough to harm her if she tried to run.

"Miss Stenly?" He asked, pulling off his helmet to get a better look at her face.

"What in the world are you doing out her at this time of the night?"

She gulped.

Fishing? No. Swimming? No. Taking a walk? No excuse seemed to make any sense. They wouldn’t fall for it.

Other footsteps came up behind him. One of them belonged to the King, she knew without a doubt.

Her worst fear had come to life. Wouldn’t it have been better if the guard had just thrust his sword into her neck? Dying seemed better than losing the King’s trust for some reason she could not fathom.

"Who is it?" Came his deep, sultry voice.

The guard moved aside, putting his sword back in his scabbard.

Claire couldn’t see his eyes - for which she was glad.

"Miss Stenly."

Just her name. It wasn’t a question or an accusation, but guilt exploded in her face.

"Your Grace."

"Leave us." He said to the guards.

They melted into the darkness without a word, leaving her alone with him.

What if the plump woman saw her talking to him? What would she think?

"I just wanted to walk on the sand and... enjoy the cold night air."

"You don’t like the cold." The words tossed her lie back at her effortlessly.

He knew her that well?

"My reasons for being out here are my business, not yours, Your Grace."

He stepped closer.

"What are you hiding from me, Claire?"

Her pulse went to the heavens and came back.

"Hiding? I have nothing to hide."

He reached out and took her hand in his. Then, he touched her wrist with two of his fingers.

"Tell me what’s bothering you."

She glanced at the vast darkness, at anything that wasn’t him.

He smelled like the sea, salty and wet and clean.

"If I tell you, I’m as good as dead. Just accept the fact that you can’t protect me from everything."

"I can protect you from any and everything, and I will." His voice was lower, but there was no mistaking the determination beneath the simple words.

Did she believe him?