Taming The Cursed Beast

CHAPTER 3: The Good Gentleman

“Are you aware who’s carriage you’re sitting on?” His voice was toneless. It neither showed anger or intimidation which was by far the most unnatural tone to use upon a shameless intruder.

Agnes wasn’t sure about the man, however with simply being in the same moving carriage as him, she was strangely assured that she’s safe and that those guys weren’t going to catch up on her.

Let’s just get this over with.

“Pardon . . . Me?” The Alpha’s daughter wasn’t in the least bit afraid, but she was sincerely embarrassed.

Perhaps humility and her reputation have reigned over her fear and shame as she grew spoiled, desired, and protected.

Her gaze was still looking at the windows though she wasn’t peeking over the outsides anymore, unable to look behind and face head on the rage of whoever the man behind her was.

He is a royal.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

Of course, anyone here would use their wolf for transportation unless you’re disabled, and in her case — she can’t shift. Turns out, another reason on using a high-class horse would be if you’re part of the Lycan Monarchy.

I have been damned by the Moon Goddess . . .

“You—” he started to talk once more. A rumbling feeling surrounded the entire carriage from his voice but before he could state a punishment for the stubborn Agnes; the Alpha’s daughter was quick enough to stop the member of the Lycan Monarchy.

Agnes wasn’t entirely sure where she got the courage to talk back knowing whoever this guy behind her was a part of the Palace, but she did.

Oh, she did.

And she’ll soon be regretting it.

She turned her head towards him, raising her hand as though even correcting the man.

She was way too indulged in what she has to say, so far as to closing her eyes to do so.

“Dear gentleman, you are by far one of the rudest I have ever come to talk with. Would you really leave a maiden in need of help by kicking her out of your carriage?” she crossed her arm on her chest before finally fluttering her eyes open.

“What—”

Oh My Goddess . . .

“Handsome . . .” The man was once more cut off, but this time, it wasn’t in the form of reprimanding, but in awe.

Agnes sat there as though she had melted by simply seeing the man — no, she felt as though she ought to refer to Him as a god. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he isn’t. But one thing’s for sure,

He was tremendously beautiful.

“Did it hurt . . . ?” Agnes is inside a daze, a daze his sole face has created, that she was sure of.

He was flawless.

Her hands raised unconsciously towards his face, inching closer and closer. Agnes wasn’t certain what she was doing, but she had at least expected for him to swat her hand away.

She was rude.

And she was aware she was.

But she still did it.

She dared to take a shameless leap forward by letting her small palm cascade down his smooth, olive-tone face.

He let her run her thumb on top of his dark and brooding brows. He let her, and she did.

She enjoyed the liberty of caressing his sharp jaw. She found her palm blistering at the feeling of peace dripping on the frictionless face of the man — god, in front of her own.

And his hair,

Oh his hair.

It was silky, though dark, it carried the shade of brown, that of the most colorful shade of oak.

“Hurt?” the man said, referring to her question, moving his plump lips that even Agnes — who had been through so much process and sessions of reddening hers — envied how his was naturally tinted.

Flashes of unwanted images strolled past her head, of how it would feel when she places hers on top of his own.

Will it be soft?

Plump?

She reckoned what he said and she took a quick breath before grinning with a lovestruck gaze towards the man.

“Did it hurt when you fell from above? I’m sure the Goddess morphed you. There’s no way a man as beautiful as this—” once more, she ran her hand on his face,

“could ever exist,” she added.

The man’s shoulder instantly went strong and rigid hearing what she said.

It was evident, and Agnes knew it. She knew her effect, though it was playful and was always used to flutter men who desired her to the fullest — what she said to him was sincere.

He was definitely morphed by the Goddess Artemis.

“It did hurt,” he replied, slowly taking her hand off his face before staring down at her small frame with an apathetic look.

Oopsie, he doesn’t seem pleased.

“When I climbed up from hell—” he added and with Agnes’ hand that he was still holding, he held the other ans pinned both of it on the wall of the carriage where the window was. It was slightly opened which made Agnes instantly curl in fear of being seen by the two men outside.

Goddess, he’s even more handsome when he’s angry.

She lowered her head from his intimidation just to simply raise it once more, afraid that she might not witness the beauty of rage in front of her.

“Who sent you?” he growled threateningly. His canines were slowly coming out, and those talons of his were grazing her wrist that was tightly pinned onto the wooden door.

“The Goddess probably . . . Who knows, I might be your mate,” she blurted ever so daring and seductive.

The man’s eyes flickered which sent Agnes in an adrenaline rush upon discovering a new feature him. She stared at those flickering, confused orbs like the bold woman she was. And it was confirmed, the man in front of her was indeed a god.

His eyes was in the breathtaking Sea Green which — contrary to the name of its color — exudes an ambiance of the darkest forest.

It then flickered to crimson red in an instant, signaling that his wolf was on edge.

“And I have in no need of a mate,” he muttered, tone intense.

Bingo!

He’s definitely angry, and mateless.

She had a chance, and she knew it.

Agnes wouldn’t have been so fazed about this. He saw lots of angry expressions before and she was confident her looks can waver any man in a fit of rage with a few fake tears and a flick of her hair.

But not this gentleman.

“Ugh . . .” Agnes groaned as he tightened his grip on her wrist.

Maybe not that much of a gentleman.

Aside from that, Agnes’ courage was woken by the sight of his eyes. Crimson in which only the Lycan Monarchy and its descendants possess.

It was said that it would be in a light shade of red, yet his was dark. The darkest shade of bloody crimson Agnes has ever laid eyes on.

Ruby gems and crimson accessories were nothing compared to his orbs.

“Answer honestly,” he growled and with this, his other hand snaked down Agnes’ neck, the talon of his thumb was right on top of her gulping throat. Tracing the line which it would soon sink in if she’s not going to reveal her suspicious identity.

Now she’s afraid.

Damn, how do I put this? Hi, I’m actually an escapee who’s forced to marry a man I haven’t even met yet. And now, I’m here selling all my stuff to earn money and get the hell out of my pack. I hope you’ll understand!

Fuck

“Okay-okay. I-I wasn’t sent by anyone,” she went with the safest answer with the most truthful tone she could muster. She tried to wriggle away from his grasp, though if the situation wasn’t in an angry tension, she would love to be gripped like this.

Focus, Agnes!

At this moment, all she could do was try to reassure herself that nothing bad would be happening if she reasoned out ever so perfectly.

“Could you—could you take your hand off, please?” she asks, groaning on his hold. He simply stared at her, wary of her possible movements — or for him, attacks.

“Listen, I wasn’t sent by anyone—” she started off, opening both her palms to him, defensive.

But he was angry, and he was doubtful.

For a person suddenly being intruded inside his own carriage — of course he will be reluctant to trust the woman.

“Lies,” he ruthlessly dictated, stopping Agnes from continuing any further. She rolled her eyes at him and tried to find the best word that would lead her into stepping out of this carriage alive and safe.

“I-I was being chased, okay? There’s nothing I can do,” she grunted as though she was the one being inconvenienced in their situation.

“You could’ve ran away. Not get in this carriage,” he retorted, raising his thick brows at her. But his expression seemed as though he was starting to enjoy her stammering.

“And you even dared touch a stranger’s face,” he added.

Damn this. I forgot he was a royal. Stupid Agnes!

Agnes’ pale face of fear is already starting to warm up. Both in frustration of not being able to convince him, as well as the embarrassment of how she just adored his beauty earlier.

“That’s because you haven’t seen anyone that can make your eyes bulge out of their socket just from looking at their face,”

The words of Fiadh and Hollie ran through her head. Agnes wondered for a moment what would happen if the twins ever laid eyes on this man.

Perhaps, with these lewd thoughts of hers, it was right for him to suspect.

“I-I . . .” The spoiled child was speechless. She had never been wrapped around a man’s finger before as it was always the other way around.

“I . . .” Both of them stared at each other. His Green eyes intensely lasered through Agnes’ ice-blue ones.

Shit, I don’t have anything to say.

“I have a heart condition!” she shrieked. Flinching as she closed her eyes, afraid of his reaction.

The carriage remained silent, save for the loud hooves and the crowd outside. The bad guys from earlier were already the least of Agnes’ worries — almost forgotten from the heavy situation she’s in.

She can almost hear the crickets from far away, its cicadas rumbling, telling her that what she’s gotten into was far more dangerous than how she’s deemed it to be.

“Okay, listen —” before she could even try to slither her way into another reason, the carriage was covered with a deep laugh.

Agnes was rigid, wide eyes staring at the gorgeous man in front of her chuckling at her stupid rambles. She was almost ready to simply jump out of the carriage until she heard this.

Even his laugh sounds heavenly.

Shup up! He’s an inch close to killing you!

Though she adored how he looks with his eyes closed, laughing; Agnes was not liking how she’s laughing without her knowing what was funny. She did not know if it was to mock her futile attempt to not get on his nerves, or if everything simply seemed funny to him.

He’s a strange man.

“Stop laughing!” she rumbled, bursting at how his laugh was making her both annoyed and delighted.

Agnes wasn’t sure why she felt the latter.

“Alright, bedridden Maiden,” he replied, emphasizing the word ‘bedridden’ in a mocking way of him believing her pathetic excuse.

The carriage was running slowly, and she had no idea where the carriage was leading.

His smirk was still in there as he leaned his temple on his fist placed on his crossed thighs. He was staring at Agnes like an amused predator. Ready to devour its prey if it wasn’t entertaining it enough.

Damn him to the depths of hell!

“I-I have a heart condition and I cannot run away, and so — I said quit smirking!” she loudly grunted in frustration. The entire carriage seemed to be shaken by her rage.

“Calm down, shortcake. Your heart —” he mumbles, gaze lowering down from her neck and to her covered chest.

Agnes shivered at his intense gaze. Something else was crackling between the meter separating the two.

“— might falter once more,” he said, smirking. Agnes chewed on the insides of her cheeks. She knew it was useless to even try convincing a man who’s already aware of her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, smiling down at her quivering frame as though he was trying to ease the tension.

It didn’t.

Moreover, it simply worsened.

“Agnes . . .” she hesitantly offered her hand out. It was an automated move from her.

He stared at her hand for a moment before taking it on his own.

“Armaros,” he replied.

Armaros? That seems familiar.

“Your Highness, the Alpha King; is everything alright?” the coach from the outside called out to the man in front of Agnes.

Armaros smirked down at the stupid realization on her face.

Oh, Good Goddess . . .