Cursed To Kiss The Ruthless Lycan King

Chapter 11

(Xaden's POV)

I watched the knife incident from the balcony above the dining hall, where no one ever thought to look up.

It was a habit of mine.

People behaved differently when they believed I wasn't in them, and a dinner full of girls competing for my throne was the fastest way to learn who they really were.

So far the evening had taught me that the girl with the boar had poor aim, a worse imagination, and a talent for cruelty she didn't bother to hide.

"Oops," she said brightly, lifting the silver knife from the table. "I wanted to pick a knife."

I expected a slap. The little one had thrown her arms around me in front of my entire court that afternoon, was a girl who would swing first.

I expected shouting, or a fork flung across the table, or at least a spill of tears.

Instead, the little one set down her spoon, folded her hands in her lap, and looked up with a calm so attractive that I leaned forward without meaning to.

"Thank you," she said pleasantly. "That was very careful of you."

The girl blinked. "What?"

"Carefulness is important at the king's table, isn't it?" The little one’s voice stayed low and even, pitched so that only the people nearest could hear. "He did say he notices a great deal. I would hate for anyone to tell him how clumsy the table has been tonight."

The color left the girl's face in a slow, satisfying drain. "I only— I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't." She smiled, small and sweet. "Enjoy your dinner."

The girl retreated to her seat so fast that her chair scraped the floor.

Down the table, the tall one with the gold threaded through her dark hair had gone very still, her wine halfway to her lips, studying the little girl with an expression I couldn't identify from this distance.

The little one went back to her soup as if nothing had happened, though I could see the faint tremor in her hand from here.

‘She was shaking the whole time, yet managed to control the situation, I thought.

Hours earlier, that girl had thrown herself into my arms covered in a deer's blood. Now she was using my own rule against my own guests, with a politeness that cut deeper than any slap. I’m impressed.

I turned and walked away from the railing before anyone could notice me.

Rhea found me in my study an hour later, as I'd known she would. I was standing at the window with a cigarette between my fingers, because smoke was one of the few things I could still smell, and the ember had burned down close to my skin before I remembered to flick it away.

I'd done that more times than I liked to admit. There was a faint, shiny mark on my forefinger from the first time, when the smell of scorched flesh had been my warning, though I hadn’t felt the pain.

"You wished to see the report, Your Majesty."

"On the girl."

"Yes."

"Is she waiting?”

"She’s Outside."

"Bring her in after you've told me."

Rhea set a folded parchment on my desk. "Gwen. Nineteen. The daughter of the Beta of a small village on the eastern border. A quiet pack, no history of trouble. Her mother's family is a different matter."

"How so?"

"There is almost nothing, Your Majesty." She frowned. "The village keeps few records, and I couldn't find anyone who remembered where her mother came from. Even the girl's birth was barely written down."

"Few records?”

"Very few."

I crushed out the cigarette. "Send her in."

Rhea bowed and left. The door opened a moment later, and Gwen came in alone.

She had changed into a pale blue dress that finally fit her, her hair loosely braided. She stopped just inside the door and sank into a curtsy so carefully that it almost made me smile.

"Your Majesty. You asked for me?"

"Sit."

She bowed again. "I'd rather stand, if it's all the same."

"It isn't."

She sat on the edge of the chair opposite my desk with her back stiff and her hands clasped inside her lap, and I studied her.

Up close she looked tired. There were shadows under her eyes and a small scrape along one wrist, and she kept glancing at the floor as if looking at me might be a crime.

"Today’s dinner," I said. "Tell me about it."

Her eyes widened a fraction. "Dinner?"

"A girl brushed against you with a knife. You said something to her."

"You... saw that?"

"I see most things."

Color rose in her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I know you said you wouldn't tolerate cruelty, and I didn't want to cause a scene, so I tried to handle it quietly. I hope that wasn't wrong."

"You used my words against her."

She bowed, despite sitting. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." I leaned back. "It worked."

She stared at me, plainly unsure whether she was being praised or threatened, and I let her sit in that uncertainty for a moment, because it was interesting to watch.

"You learn quickly, Gwen."

"I'm trying to, Your Majesty."

"This afternoon you embraced me without permission." Her face went crimson. "I told you what would happen if you did it again."

"I remember."

"Good." I rose and came around the desk, slowly, and she tensed as I stopped in front of her. Then I held out my right hand, palm up. "Now you have my permission. Touch me."

"I— what?"

"My hand. Take it."

"Your Majesty, I really don't think—"

"It was not a request, it’s an order."

She hesitated. Then she lifted her bare right hand, and her fingers trembled as they hovered over mine.

Her knuckles were scraped. Her nails were short and clean. She looked up at me once, asking whether I was sure.

I didn't answer.

She laid her hand in mine and I felt a chill. The same cold I'd felt in the hall, rolling up my arm like water through dry ground.

I felt every one of her fingers, small and slightly rough, curling over my palm. I felt the faint pulse in her wrist and the scrape on her skin and the tiny, involuntary tremor that ran through her whole arm.

It wasn't a phantom, and it wasn't my imagination. For the first time in years, my body was telling me that someone was there.

My hand closed over hers before I decided to move it.

"Your Majesty?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Are you all right?"

"Don't move."

"I wasn't—"

I stood there, staring down at our hands. Her fingers were warm. Her breath caught, and I felt that too, the faint stir of air against my wrist.

She tilted her face up toward mine, her eyes wide and dark and impossibly honest, and in the firelight I could see tiny flecks of gold in them.

I had a king's reputation to keep, a court to control, and a traitor to find. And I could not, for the life of me, make myself let go.

"Gwen," I said, and my voice came out rougher than I intended.

"Yes?"

"Stay still." I realized that I wanted to find out what else she could make me feel.