The Tyrant's Queen

17: to ensnare

"My sweet king. Are you all right?"

Rudabel, or Rusah- Lucien couldn't quite remember the name. The woman sitting by his side peered at his face curiously.

"...I apologize for the disturbance."  With a slight dip of her head, Thalia's long brown tresses had fallen to conceal half her face, before she retreated with a curtesy.

The first time she'd seen him with the two women in his chambers, she'd been an open book of shock, horror and embarrassment.

One could so easily discern the emotions and thoughts swirling around in that little head.

Thalia still didn't possess the crucial tool of maintaining an inscrutable face- it still flushed red in anger at his words, promptly and predictably.

But her face moments ago, when she'd uttered that sentence- had been calm. So calm, a little weary.

A look of resignation, or acceptance, perhaps.

How dare she? How dare she resign, accept, so easily without much suffering?

The woman's hand grazed his shoulder- and instinctively, swiftly, he jerked away, as he would from dirt.

His body had reacted quicker than his head had registered her hand.

Goosebumps surfaced on his skin and a streak of sweat snaked down his back, despite the coolness of the room.

The effects of alcohol had worn off. Minutes ago he'd tolerated lying on her lap, and now, he could barely look at her face without his stomach churning.

"Leave," he muttered, without looking at the woman. "Take the gold with you."

"Why do you pay me so much, when we haven't even slept together? We haven't even kissed," she grumbled, pulling on her stockings. "Am I not your type?"

Lucien chuckled mirthlessly, his body shuddering at her voice.

"I'm not paying you for you to sleep with me. I'm paying you to go around telling people you slept with me."

"Well. That's good for my business. Clients will wonder at the charm I hold, that I managed to seduce the king."

Tucking the gold bag into her purse, the woman made a playful curtesy, before popping a macaroon into her mouth.

"Good day, Your Majesty. At your service any time."

Even after she'd left, the smell of her perfume lingered heavily in the air.

Grimacing, Lucien opened the windows, and took a long, sharp inhale.

The wintry breeze filled his lungs, and some lucidity returned to his head.

As an especially strong gust of air hit his face, realization punched him in the gut.

Alcohol.

His hand cupped the back of Thalia's head and lifted her face. Her eyes, wide and clear- so, so clear they stunned him- looked into his face.

He hadn't been drunk then.

"Or do you order me to love you?"

As if retreating from the realization, Lucien backed away from the window.

He hadn't been drunk, when he'd gone so close to Thalia that day. When he'd kissed her. 

Why? Were bloodlust and hate the solutions to his pathetic phobia of women so intricately crafted by Estel? Women in their twenties to thirties- those who looked remotely close to Estel in age.