Where Flowers Don't Belong

Chapter 12-Darling Girl

This chapter is dedicated to Ellie Fletcher-Lobo who loves this book more than anyone else. ❤️

----

After dressing himself in casual slacks and a cream shirt, the king carried me to the dining hall, keeping my body close to his the entire time. We passed several pack members probably wondering what the hell was going on, but I was sure to keep my head down so no one would be able to see my face. If I was lucky, they might even think I was being punished by the king and not feel the need to punish me themselves.

As he carried me, I was once again shocked by how gentle the king's hands were against my skin, never going near any part of me that was sore or still healing. It was like he knew what hurt and was doing his best to avoid it. Sparky tingles appeared everywhere he touched, causing delicious heat to travel from the top of my spine all the way down to my toes.

I decided I didn't mind the king's hands on me—so long as they remained tender. In fact, I rather enjoyed his touch. Probably more than was appropriate. He would probably shove me away from him and never touch me again if he knew how much I liked his arms around me.

While the king's hands seemed so confident, I had no idea what to do with my own. My arms hung loosely at my sides and I leaned back to avoid pressing my chest against his. It was more than a little uncomfortable to keep this position—especially since it caused agonizing flames to ignite across my injured ribs—but there was no way he actually wanted me touching him. And I liked his touch too much to risk losing it when he discovered he hated mine.

"Evangeline?"

The king's quiet voice made me jump even as my body heated at the sound of that name on his lips. Ugh, I was a walking contradiction. Why was everything so confusing?

"Is something wrong?" the king continued when I didn't immediately answer. His steps slowly came to a halt as he studied my face closely.

I kept my head down out of habit. "W-Wrong?"

I flinched when he raised a hand, thinking he was going to hit me for speaking, but relaxed when he gently lifted my chin until my gaze was meeting his. His dark-blonde brows were drawn down in concern and it left me feeling unsettled.

"Are you uncomfortable? Am I hurting you?" he asked. His gaze traveled down my form. "I thought you would be okay until after lunch but now I'm thinking I should bring you the pack doctor now..." His voice trailed off as he thought through his options.

My heart dropped at the suggestion. No. No, I wasn't allowed to go to the pack doctor. I would come out in worse shape than I was in now.

"I don't need the doctor, your ma—Elijah. I'm sorry." The apology came out of my mouth before I remembered that he didn't like it when apologized over and over again. I snapped my mouth shut so it wouldn't happen again.

Instead of getting upset though, the king tenderly brushed one of my curls from my face, still studying me as if I were a puzzle he needed to solve. "But are you in pain?"

I struggled to come up with a response that would appease him. Yes, I was in pain. But I was always in pain. Pain was good; it reminded me of my place and my wrongdoings. I deserved my pain.

But was that what he wanted to hear? What if he thought I was complaining if I admitted my ribs felt like they were on fire, my skull pounded as if broken in two, and every inch of my body ached with the need for sleep? In the past, it seemed to make him upset to hear about my pain. Could that be the case this time? I never wanted to upset him.

Perhaps I should tell him I feel fine. Then I wouldn't be a burden to him. But what if he was asking to ensure that I was feeling pain because he knew it was what I deserved? Would he strike me if I told him I felt perfectly alright? Or would he know I was lying and punish me for being untruthful—