The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 48: Drenched

The sound of clattering metal startled him.

Yeren opened his eyes to find Claire staring at him like she was seeing an Angel.

Blushing, she bent down and picked up the cup, pretending to busy herself with setting it down.

"Since you’re here, bring me some wine."

She blinked as if he’d spoken another language. A smile threatened to break out on his features.

She looked... stressed. And it somehow made her more desirable.

He was still shocked that she had prepared his bath without any assistance.

The sound of pouring liquid broke the silence.

A bird squawked outside, reminding him of what hour it was.

Then, she approached with the wine.

Her hands were trembling, even he could see it.

She stopped beside him, crouching to hand him the wine.

Yeren took the goblet without glancing at her.

A soft sigh escaped her as soon as the goblet was safely tucked in his hands.

When he looked at her, she was watching him quietly.

As if realising her mistake, she quickly stood up.

And in the blink of an eye, she tumbled into the water.

The splash was loud and wide, drenching him for the second time in the same day.

Even his drink was condemned. He set the goblet down and turned towards her.

The water surface bubbled and rippled, but there was still no sign of her.

Then her head popped out, soaked and in tangles. Water drilled from her skin, touching her more intimately than he ever could. And the damn liquid chose that moment to drip in between her breasts. He caught himself just in time and returned his gaze to her face.

She was breathing louder than a horse, coughing as she struggled to catch her breath.

He burst into laughter at the sight of her - wet and disheveled. She began to laugh as well, rubbing at her closed eyes.

His laughter died as she started laughing. The sound of her laughter made something in him stir

"My eyes!"

He reached for the towel close to him and moved to where she was.

Gently, he dabbed the towel against her eyes until she was able to open them. Her green eyes never ceased to amaze him with its beauty. There were flecks of gold in it, he realized. Her breath caught, slowly becoming coarse. Her throat worked, her arms trembled beneath his touch.

He tried to concentrate on the task at hand - not the heat of her body or the fact that she was so close...

"Forgive me, Your Grace."

She smelled like soft flowers, particularly lavender.

"There’s nothing to forgive - you just slipped."

He gripped her upper arms to steady her. A slight shiver ripped through her.

Her gaze fell to his lips before rising to his eyes - he didn’t miss it.

"I’ll get you new wine." She said but didn’t move.

Colour crept into her pale cheeks.

Yeren pulled her wet locks away from her eyes.

"Yes... more wine."

His grip on her arms fell away, giving her the freedom she needed.

Yet, she still didn’t move.

If she kept standing there...

Then, as if propelled by an invisible force, she turned and climbed out of the tub.

Her dress dropped loudly, splattering water over the marble floor.

She’d trip again if she wasn’t careful, he reasoned.

Her bodices clung to her skin, showing the curves of her breasts and thighs.

For some reason, both of them got dunked in the same day.

She walked to the table like a dazed woman, picked up the pitcher, poured wine and brought it to him.

The urge to pull her back into the water with him was too strong.

"That will be all." He dismissed her instead.

He took a gulp of the drink, sighing as it moisturised his parched mouth.

She returned again, still in her wet dress, with a rag to dry the floor she had drenched.

Why wouldn’t she leave him in peace? Did she have to plague him with her tempting body?

He turned until he had his back to her.

After a while of silence, he was sure she had gone.

He was finally alone.

The water had begun to cool down - no longer offering the warmth he seeked.

"Miss Stenly!"

She stood before him within a minute.

Had she been standing at the door.

"Help me with a towel."

Her shoulders dropped slightly - as if she’d been expecting him to request for something else.

Something else like what?

Claire dashed to the shelf and picked out two warm towels.

He watched the way she walked - it was almost as if she was limping. The usual grace with which she walked was gone.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." She answered quickly.

Too quickly.

She handed him the towels and stood there expectantly.

He just stared at her, waiting for her to look away or leave the room.

Comprehension dawned on her and she coloured terribly, turning her back to him.

Yeren slid out of the tub and wrapped the towel around himself.

"Thank you for... the bath." He said, his voice low.

She nodded without turning back.

"Bring the wine to my room when I’m decent."

He turned and made for his chambers.

At the door, he glanced over his shoulder.

She was still standing exactly as she’d been standing before.

"You can turn around now."

She spun around in a swish of dripping skirts, her lips curving into a perfect circle.

"Oh." She sounded.

He broke into a smile as he entered his chambers.

Yeren ran his hands through his hair.

It had nearly happened again - he had been so close to having his way with her there and then.

Why were they always alone in provocative situations?

Did he make a mistake by appointing her as his Cupbearer?

His plan to avoid her clearly wasn’t working out as planned.

He needed to work out something more... solid.

No more wine for the rest of the day, he decided.

Donning on a light shirt and loose breeches, he walked out to the parapets to view the landscape.

But instead of thinking about the kingdom, he was wondering where she was, what she was doing, what she was thinking.

With a sigh, he

realized he needed more than avoidance.

What possible weapon could he use to fight fate?