King of Blood

Chapter 39 - Lyanna

Lyanna stirred awake, her body aching in all the familiar places, her mind foggy and heavy. She blinked against the pale morning light filtering through the curtains, her gaze catching on the deep indigo and silver embroidery of her chambers—the trappings of her new role. Her head throbbed as memories of the night before threatened to spill over, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing them away.

The faint creak of the door startled her, and instinct took over. Her hand darted under her pillow, fingers curling around the handle of the knife she had stashed there years ago. "You dare to enter here without permission?" she barked, sitting upright, the blade gleaming in her grip.

The door opened fully, and a familiar figure stepped in. Jehovah froze in the doorway, his hands raised in surrender. In one of them was a small pastry wrapped in cloth.

"Easy," he said softly, his voice steady. "It's just me. I didn't expect you to be back so early. I thought you'd still be... elsewhere."

Her heart slowed its frantic pace as she lowered the knife, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. "Jehovah," she breathed, exhaling a sigh of relief. "Don't sneak up on people like that. The wrong person will gut you."

"Noted." He stepped inside cautiously, closing the door behind him. "I brought this for you," he said, holding up the pastry. "Thought you'd want something decent after all you drank."

Lyanna managed a weak smile, her fingers brushing his as she took the offering. "Thank you," she murmured, unwrapping it. The rich, buttery scent hit her nose, and her stomach growled in response. She took a bite, humming in approval as the warm, flaky pastry melted on her tongue.

"This is incredible," she gushed, glancing up at him. "Did you make this?"

He grinned, leaning against the bedpost. "I told you I knew how to cook. You didn't believe me?"

"I believe you now," she said, taking another bite. For a moment, the world felt normal again, the weight of her crown and title lifting as she focused on the simple joy of food.

But the lightness didn't last. Jehovah's expression shifted, his smile fading as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. "Lyanna?" he began, his voice careful, "What happened?"

Her chewing slowed, the pastry suddenly heavier in her hand. She placed it on the cloth beside her, avoiding his gaze. "What do you think happened?" she asked quietly. "Are none of your friends married?"

He nodded, his jaw tightening as his eyes dropped to the floor. His leg began to bounce, a subtle but telling sign of his unease.

"Are you... alright?" he asked finally, his voice thick with concern.

Lyanna forced a bitter laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I am. Surprisingly. It was less... aggressive than usual. But then again..." She trailed off, her throat tightening. "This time, I didn't fight him."

Her admission hung in the air, raw and heavy. She dared a glance at Jehovah, her heart twisting at the pain she saw etched into his face. "Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Don't look at me differently."

He moved closer, his large hand cupping her cheek with a tenderness that made her chest ache. "Lyanna," he said softly, his voice steady and resolute. "I could never."

The warmth of his hand steadied her as he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. The gesture was simple, yet it spoke volumes, unravelling the knot of shame and fear that had wound itself around her heart.

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, drawing strength from the quiet reassurance he offered. "Will you stay for a while?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.