The Cursed Kingdom

SIXTEEN

~ UNWANTED INTRUDERS ~

"I don't understand why you can't just protect me yourself. Why make others do it?"

Finally well rested and hair washed and brushed to my satisfaction, I idly stirred my spoon around in my stew, my chin propped on my left palm while I stared at Henrik expectantly.

The king, who'd apologetically arrived a few minutes late to our lunch because of his meeting with the lords, looked up slowly from his mountain of meat on a plate that was accompanied by a laughable-sized bowl of collard greens.

He cleared his throat, deliberately trying to delay his answer. "Because I don't know if I can control myself," he replied, taking me by surprise and causing my eyebrows to lift. Having expected something along the lines of him brushing me off, as he did with a lot of topics, I had never considered Henrik as the kind of male to be honest about his concerns or vulnerabilities. Sometimes he seemed so prideful and confident that I questioned if he had any at all or if his personality was as callous as his hands. Yet there he was, sitting just a couple feet away from me at the head of the table, furrowed eyebrows, concerned eyes, and all—the most emotion I'd ever seen on his scarred face. Suddenly, I longed for his cocky behavior to return, realizing his somber one only fed my anxiety. "As much as I'd like to stay true to my word and respect your conditions regarding our mating, I doubt that would be possible if the moon takes control and I'm near you. It's why I must travel north, you see, and put as much distance between us." He took a sip of wine. "Also, regarding my males, they recognize your scent, appearance, and voice now as belonging to their king's mate, so if they detect any hint of distress from you..." He trailed off, eyes intense with his unspoken words.

I nodded, silently digesting his reasoning while wishing I hadn't asked at all, and brought my spoon to my lips, blew off the layer of steam above the brown liquid, and placed the food in my mouth. It was my way of trying to act calm, trying to prove to Henrik that there was at least enough strength within me that I could stomach some broth and vegetables. But the truth was I was so nervous that the moment I went to swallow I immediately felt the urge to gag and had to gulp down a couple sips of my water to force it the rest of the way down.

Thankfully, Henrik hadn't noticed my slip up—or was at least gentlemanly enough to not point it out.

For almost half an hour, I nibbled slowly on my meal, subtly gazing up at Henrik through my eyelashes and admiring him as he ate. He was always so delicate when he did, holding his fork between the tips of his finger like it was made of glass. It was such a contrast to how I would've imagined the Cursed King's table manners to be before I met him, probably something along the lines of animal bones at his feet and food all over his face as he stuffed his mouth to capacity with bare, clawed hands.

My eyes focused on a small line of black ink that peeked out from under his jacket sleeve, noticing how it was slightly cut off by a thick scar on his wrist.

"What would happen if I did die?" I asked, averting my gaze down to my bowl so I wouldn't have to meet his eyes, and lifted my spoon to take another steaming bite.

As the last word left my mouth, a furious growl sounded from Henrik's chest and he dropped his fork stabbed with a pile of meat onto his plate to glower at me. He looked almost the exact same way my mother had when she first overheard me utter a curse word: outraged and appalled. "Don't say such a thing," he snarled and shot out his hand to grab my left one that I'd rested on the table with my fingers sprawled out. I did not flinch. I didn't react at all. Instead, I stared blankly at his rough and scarred hand as if I couldn't believe he was actually touching me or even there at all. "You have nothing to fear, Raena. Nothing."