The Mouse and The Monarch

10

~MOUSE~

Ophelia approached König, looking from his large boots to his muscled legs and chest.

His tall, muscular frame was accentuated by the snug fit of his sniper hood, concealing most of his face.

Yet, his piercing blue eyes remained visible, cold and unyielding and locked on her with a burning intensity that made her avert her gaze.

je suis baisé. She told herself as she quickly made her way across the room.

As Ophelia stood before him, her head reaching just to his chest, she tilted her chin upward, meeting his gaze with a raised brow.

He scared her more than anyone in Thunder Corps, but she would not bow her head.

The room seemed to shrink in comparison to the intensity radiating from König as he stared down at her, arms crossed over his chest.

"Do you need me for something, Sir?" Ophelia spoke with the ease and precision of a seasoned soldier, despite the nervousness she felt.

Her words hung in the air, waiting for him to tell her what she needed to do.

He had been watching her too much to not give her an order.

König stared down at her, his blue and green eyes unwavering.

A curt nod was his only response.

Without a word, he inclined his head towards the punching bags.

Pulling a role of white tape from his pocket he tossed it into Ophelia's waiting hands

Her gaze followed the trajectory of the tape before she focused on the task at hand.

König's hands, long, scarred and strong wore the same tape.

He was giving her his tape to use?

Without asking why, she unrolled the tape, her fingers tracing the contours of her own hands.

They weren't as scarred as his.

"Work on your form if it needs work," he commanded with a stiffness in his voice, the soft accent lingering in the air.

Ophelia nodded, acknowledging the order, and began to wrap her hands with the white tape.

What did he mean 'if it needs work'?

The fabric wound around her knuckles, a ritual of preparation and focus.

"Yes, Sir," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of discipline.

He watched her silently, hard blue eyes scrutinizing every movement.

"You can stop when I say so," he uttered as he walked past her, heading towards a table stacked with an arsenal of weapons.

His hands expertly selected tools and pieces as he began to clean them meticulously.

Without waiting for a reply, he sat down on a metal chair next to the table.

Long legs stretched out in front of him as he began to clean and tune the weapons while facing her.

It became apparent at that moment that he hated her.

The realization was like a cold wind, chilling her despite the warmth generated by her spar with Askel.

She had invaded his space, tackled him, threatened him with a knife and openly flirted with one of his men.