Lycan King's Forbidden Obsession

The dinner 2

Serena's POV

It was not a compliment, and there was no cruelty in it. It was pure and simple concern, and I did not know what to do with concern because no one had ever been concerned about me before.

My father had looked at me with anger, his eyes hard and cold whenever I crossed his path. My stepmother had looked at me with contempt, her lips curling into a smile that never reached her eyes. The guards had looked at me with indifference, treating me like furniture that did not matter at all.

But Alejandro looked at me like I was someone worth worrying about, and I did not know how to respond.

"I am fine," I said, but my voice came out smaller than I wanted it to be.

Alejandro's golden eyes held mine, and they did not waver. "You are not fine. You have not been eating. I know how much food is left on your tray each night. I know you have been giving some of it to Camila. I know you have been surviving on bread and water for weeks, and your body is starting to suffer for it."

I stared at him, my heart pounding so hard that I thought he could hear it. He had been watching me that closely? He had been counting the food on my tray, tracking what I ate and what I gave away?

I did not know whether to be terrified or touched, because the idea that someone cared enough to notice such small details was almost more than I could process.

"Eat," he said, and his voice was soft.

It was not a request, but it was not a command either. It was something in between, desperate and hopeful and afraid all at once.

I picked up my spoon and dipped it into the soup. The broth was warm and rich, and when I put it in my mouth, the flavor exploded on my tongue. There were meat and vegetables and herbs, so many herbs, layered and complex and nothing like the bland food I had been eating in my room.

I had forgotten that food could taste like this. I had forgotten that eating could be something other than survival.

Alejandro watched me eat, but he did not touch his own food. He just sat there, his golden eyes fixed on my face, his hands resting on the table. His plate was still full, his wine was still untouched, and I wondered if he had eaten at all today.

"The cloak," he said. "Does it keep you warm?"

I nodded, my mouth full of soup.

"And the boots?" he asked.

I nodded again.

"Good," he said.

Another silence followed, but this one was different. It was softer, and it felt less like a wall and more like a bridge. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, just a little, and I saw something in his eyes that I had never seen before.

"Why?" I asked, my voice coming out rough. I had finished the soup and moved on to the bread. I tore off a piece, dipped it in the broth, and savored the warmth.

Alejandro tilted his head, his golden eyes searching my face. "Why what?"

"Why do you care?" My voice cracked on the last word, and I looked down at the bread in my hands because I could not look at him anymore. "Why do you send me gifts, and why do you leave me notes, and why do you watch me from doorways? I am a sacrifice. I am nothing. You could have let Felipe give you Lady Veronica, and you could have forgotten I existed."

The fire crackled loudly, the candles flickered, and the wind howled outside. The glass rattled in its frame, the shadows danced on the walls, and Alejandro was quiet for a long moment.

"Because you are my mate," he said, and his voice was low and rough. "And I do not know how to be good, Serena, but I am trying."

I looked up, and his golden eyes were soft, softer than I had ever seen them. The hardness was gone, replaced by something vulnerable, something almost human.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Alejandro's eyes widened, just a little, and his hands curled into fists on the table. "For what?"

"For the food, for the cloak, for the boots, for the note, and for not hurting me."

He looked away, his jaw tightening, the muscles in his neck tensing. I saw him swallow hard, and I saw his hands shake, barely noticeable now.

"Do not thank me for basic decency," he said.

I wanted to tell him that basic decency was more than anyone had ever given me. I wanted to tell him that his trying mattered more than he knew. I wanted to tell him that I had spent my whole life being treated like garbage, and the smallest kindness felt like a miracle.

But the words would not come. My throat was tight, and I was afraid that if I spoke, I would cry.

So I ate the bread, drank the wine that had been poured for me, and sat across from the king in his private dining room, letting him watch me.

And for the first time in my life, being watched did not feel like a threat. It felt like something else, something I did not have a name for, and I did not know what that meant.

But I knew that I was still alive, and I was still here, and I knew that Alejandro was trying to be good.

I did not know if that was enough to save me, but it was the only hope I had.