Chapter 50

"How do you intend to spend your time moving forward?"

"I don't know." She picked up her knife, cutting the piece of her meat slowly. "Maybe I might find something of interest moving forward." Her fork clinked against her plate at the end. "Do you like dinners, your Majesty?"

He stiffened, an action he was the only one to notice.

She was asking him a question!

The book said that was a good sign.

It meant she wanted to know about him.

Maybe this dinner wouldn't be so terrible after all.

Maybe they were making a headway in their relationship.

Oh, wonderful.

Being kind was paying off.

"Tolerable."

"Is it your favorite?"

His hand moved stealthily to his fork, trying to not look so rigid and a bit occupied to give him more time to think of a response.

He was usually fast; his delay right now must be because of his scent filling her lungs and fogging his senses; it must be this sudden attention that was putting him off his game.

It made him a little tense, a little on edge, it sent tingles down his spine, a feeling he only got around her.

He liked it.

"I believe so."

"It was my favorite too," she said with a light smile and there was nothing that looked more perfect at that moment, at that moment that she looked at him and admitted to sharing something with him.

He never liked any of the feeding hours of the day or night.

Breakfast.

Lunch.

Dinner.

Why should he have a favorite when all the hours were to feed, but he started taking a particular liking to dinner when he noticed that it was the only part of the day when he mostly got to see her.

Therefore, a favourite.

"Everyone would come together for dinner. It was a rule never to miss it."

She looked up, her gaze fixed distantly and he stared at her through squinting eyes.

She was remembering or maybe reliving memories, as he had noticed that she tended to most of the time.

Her deep-rooted attachment to so many of her kind still baffled him. It was unnatural to put so many people at heart, especially people who weren't truly ones to worry about to begin with.

She had an unnatural heart.

The workings of which he would never understand.

"That night we were sitting around the pack's table. Being the Beta's family, we were invited to the table as always; we picked out meals, and we started eating, talking, laughing..." Her voice broke. "The table was always loud, we always had something to talk about, it was always..." Her voice choked with tears. "So full of life."

The image in front of her, of the beautiful flowers, the noise of the fountain some distance away, and the melody of the night insects, they all faded away.

She could remember that night, like a distant memory coming closer and closer, till it was all she could see, till it was all she could relive.

Over again and again.

"There was blood on my pie. My Father's blood. It was all very fast but I wasn't. I don't know who pushed me to a hiding place, maybe my mother, maybe my father, maybe both of them, but they were both injured."

She blinked her eyes, letting the tears flow.

"Your father ambushed our pack and took everything and everyone I knew, reduced them to nothing, punishing them for nothing." Her grip around the fork tightened, bending it. Her gaze was fixed on him, those eyes that had behind them long-aged grief, seething furry, incomparable loss, and absolute despair. "Your father came to our pack and took my life away from me. And here you are, taking the rest of what is left of it."

The words slammed into him like the cold enchanted wipes his father always used on him whenever he showed his emotions.

The news of the attack on her pack way over a decade ago wasn't a shock.

Some nights ago, he had found out that her pack was the last one her father had taken out. Feeling absolutely lost by the news, he had sent Gwen to bring her in for him. Also, he had felt very strange that day, but he was certain she would be all right because of his blood in her veins; that was why he hadn't pursued her refusal too much.

He remembered that night. His father was filled with magical power that made him quest for more, so he sent out vampires to take down many packs.

He said the mere presence of werewolves irritated him and he wanted them all done.

Sadly, the werewolves' death had not led to enough courage for him to fight his father. They were unfortunate; he wanted to sympathize with them, but he could not; he had been taught not to. It was, however, a stepping stone that led to his Father's absolute demise.

His hand moved a little before clenching on his thighs as he deliberated on reaching out for her hand and comforting her.

He wasn't sure if that was in the book guide though, but he really wanted to hold her.

Yet, was it wise?

He represented everything she despised. The very thing that destroyed her world. Would his presence be any consolation?

"They told me to run." She started to say again, her voice a little shaky, and he clenched his fists on his thighs, banishing the idea of holding her once and for all. "Imagine how a ten year old child running in that kind of catastrophe would look like, the fear, the uncertainty, everything. Now, imagine worse because I was younger. Blood was everywhere; the faces I knew were dead and ripped apart. Imagine what was going through my head as I ran." She smiled, cutting the meat finally and popping it into her mouth.

"Must be hard for you to imagine it, your Majesty. What do you know about fear? You are the fear."

His demeanour became cold. Really cold.

That wasn't true.

He knew fear, and whatever fear he was right now was because he knew fear.

"I do know who saved me though."

His gaze moved to her and as much as he loved her smile, he hated this one because of the name she said along with it.

"George."