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"Where is she?" Marcos' deep baritone-like voice wafted around his large, majestic chamber.
His ear, slightly raised subconsciously in expectation of the maid's answer.
"She's in her chambers, your majesty." The maid answered with a bow.
In a slight surprise, he let it slide, his busy hands concealing his expression with frost.
"She didn't make a fuss anymore." He said, his voice cold, as he picked up his face towel from the bed.
Wiping his face, he heard the maid's voice.
"No, Your Highness, after you left, she was attended to by Mrs. B."
He chuckled, "I knew it had something to do with her." He sighed, the little flicker of light in his eyes vanishing.
"Leave," he ordered, going back to his usual expressionless self as his hands busied with his clothes.
If any of his subjects were here, other than his maids, they would have fainted in shock to know that their mighty king does his laundry himself.
Years of neglect and suffering in the palace had let him grow like this.
Adorning a black t-shirt and sweatpants, Marcos' muscles bulged as he sorted his clothes.
He had been summoned to the castle by his very 'dear father' (note the sarcasm), and he also needed to take care of other things that required his attention.
His brother, for example; that's one.
He had promised, and now he could finally fulfill it.
He could only imagine the look on Damian's face when he learned of his coming.
Another chuckle broke from his lips, shattering his cold front.
He sighed. He finally sorted out his clothes, but immediately, his back went stiff.
His facial muscles contracted tensely; he gritted his teeth, his eyes surging a sea of violent colors.
A delicious scent was forcefully assaulting his nose.
"Mate!"
His grouchy voice sounded. His breaths came out of his restrained pants.
*Knock, knock.
A gentle tap sounded on his door, his magnetic eyes gluing and internally shredding the door to pieces.
*Knock, knock.
The tapping sound continued, along with the assault on his nose.
Why she chose to knock, he would never know.
Barely using his senses, he heard his mouth utter a sentence before his brain could form one.
"Who is it?"
The question itself sounded dumb to him when he realized what he had said.
'Fuck,' he cussed in his head. Didn't he already know who was behind the door? Why bother asking again?
Lisa, standing with two legs glued nervously at the knees, heard his voice, which made her heart race and her already weak knees even slack.
"Lisa." She muttered, knowing he could hear her. Her built courage is starting to diminish.
"How can I help you?" He said through the door, and Lisa knew that judging from his actions, he wasn't planning on opening the door anytime soon.
"I would like to talk to you." She responded, her voice going firm.
It was already taking this much for her to see him based on guilt, but now he tries to be angry.
YOU ARE READING
The heartless mafia Alpha king
Werewolf******* "Help, I don't know him." She cried, as she ran towards a group of men outside a bar. "Get back here right now, or you would regret ever asking them for help." He growled. " Please, you have to believe me. I don't know him." She cried again...
