Chapter 8: The Wound

It happened because of a guard.

One afternoon, Lycan was helping me remove dead leaves from the roses when a guard approached.

“You're needed inside.”

Lycan stood.

“I'll come.”

The guard grabbed his arm.

Too roughly.

Lycan immediately stiffened.

“Let go.”

The guard tightened his grip.

Something inside me snapped.

“Release him.”

The guard looked at me.

“He is a prisoner.”

“I know.”

“Then stay out of it.”

I slowly lowered the rose branch in my hand.

“I said release him.”

The guard scoffed.

“You seem to have forgotten your position, Your Highness.”

My jaw tightened.

“My position?”

“You're a prisoner too.”

The words struck a nerve.

But before I could respond, the guard shoved Lycan.

He stumbled backward.

His wrist caught against one of the rose bushes.

A thorn tore through his skin.

Blood appeared instantly.

My eyes darkened.

I didn't think.

I moved.

I grabbed the guard by the collar and slammed him against the nearest stone wall.

The sound echoed through the garden.

“Touch him like that again...”

The guard's eyes widened.

I leaned closer.

“...and you'll regret it.”

He swallowed.

“Your Highness, I was only—”

“Leave.”

“But—”

“Now.”

He hesitated.

I tightened my grip.

He quickly pulled himself free and hurried away.

I watched him disappear through the garden gates before turning back.

Lycan was staring at me.

“What?”

He didn't answer.

Instead, his gaze dropped to my hand.

I followed it.

Several rose thorns had pierced my palm.

I hadn't even noticed.

Apparently, I'd grabbed the guard hard enough that my hand had caught against the rose bush too.

Blood trickled down my fingers.

Lycan's expression changed.

“You hurt yourself.”

I looked at my palm.

“It’s nothing.”

He walked toward me.

“Sit.”

“I can remove them myself.”

“I know.”

He held out his hand.

I stared at it.

There was something strangely commanding about the gesture.

Perhaps it was because he had never spoken to me like that before.

I sat.

Lycan crouched in front of me.

He carefully took my hand.

His fingers were warm against my skin.

I watched as he gently pulled the first thorn free.

Then another.

He was careful with every movement, as though he were afraid of hurting me.

“You're surprisingly gentle.”

He glanced up.

“You're surprisingly difficult.”

I almost smiled.

“Is that an insult?”

“Maybe.”

He continued removing the thorns.

I watched him in silence.

His brows were slightly furrowed with concentration.

A strand of dark hair had fallen across his forehead.

Without thinking, I almost reached out to move it.

I stopped myself.

My fingers curled against my knee instead.

What was wrong with me?

Why was I suddenly noticing things I had never noticed before?

The shape of his face.

The warmth of his hands.

The way his eyes softened whenever he looked at me.

I quickly looked away.

When the final thorn was removed, Lycan turned my hand over and examined the small wounds.

“There.”

He released me.

I stared at my palm.

Then at him.

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then his eyes met mine.

“Why did you defend me?”

I frowned.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I looked toward the roses.

“I don't like watching people mistreat what belongs to me.”

His expression changed.

Only slightly.

But I noticed.

His smile disappeared.

I realized how that sounded.

My eyes returned to his.

“You're my blood slave,” I added quickly.

The words felt wrong the moment they left my mouth.

Lycan's gaze dropped.

“Right.”

Something about the way he said it bothered me.

It wasn't anger.

It wasn't defiance.

It was disappointment.

And somehow, that was worse.

I swallowed.

“You are.”

“I know.”

He stood.

For some reason, I didn't like the distance that suddenly appeared between us.

“Lycan.”

He looked at me.

I wanted to explain.

I wanted to tell him that wasn't what I meant.

But what did I mean?

I didn't know.

I had spent years protecting myself by keeping everyone at a distance.

A title.

A wall.

A cold expression.

Those things had always been enough.

But Lycan was slowly slipping through all of them.

And I didn't know what to do about it.

So I did what I had always done whenever something frightened me.

I masked it.

I looked away.

“You should be more careful around the roses.”

He stared at me for a moment.

Then nodded.

“I will.”

He turned to leave.

I watched him walk away.

My chest felt strangely heavy.

I looked down at my wounded palm.

Then at the roses surrounding me.

For the first time, I wondered if perhaps I had hurt him far more deeply than any thorn could have hurt me.