The Lycan King & I.

//eleven//

Part I: Chapter Eleven
Elliette Mercer
  The King's Home
October

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next few days are mind numbing. So soft and slow, almost dreamlike. But dreamlike in a way that can't quite be classified as good nor bad. Fuzzy, repetitive, and thunderously silent. Each day plays itself out in a muted symphony: cautious footsteps against wooden floors, silverware clinking against glass plates, a hoarse clearing of the throat here and there. And in the most uncomfortable moments... the soft rustling of leaves brushing against the tall windows of the house.

The silence is peppered with polite exchanges at appropriate times. 

Good morning, My King. 
I slept well, Sir.
Yes, Sir.
No, Sir.
Thank you, Sir.
No, thank you, Sir.
Goodnight Sir.

For such a mighty king charged with thousands of souls, King Benjamin's productivity is worryingly low. I hope for humankind, the lack of work is for my benefit and this is not the typical care he places into his leadership. This leaves all the more time for him to hover around me. He is always careful to keep a respectful distance and stay within my eyesight, like I'm some stray feline. Yet he's somehow precisely close enough to make me aware of his close proximity. This, as well, feels far too accurate to be purposeful.

I can't break my habit of rising with dawn just yet, unfortunately. I would welcome sleep to escape the loneliness and boredom of my situation. The king doesn't like to see me clean too deeply, so I have to be strategic and slow with any housework, not that there is much of that to do. The king and I both keep tidy, I quickly run short of tasks to keep myself occupied. I get desperate in my pursuit of items that will ease my boredom and provide reason to avert the King's eyes.

I make the massive bed with severe precision, smoothing the creases. After meals, I wash each plate meticulously, polishing until it shines. I refold the items within my trunk with each dressing, morning and night. I draw out each action in a weak attempt to pass time. The king will tolerate chores to a reasonable limit, before grabbing the broom out of my hands or taking over dishes the moment my fingers begin to wrinkle.

Sometimes, he inhales and opens his mouth as if to speak, only to close it without a word. 

I'm foolish enough to think that I avoid rousing Benjamin this morning, already dressed and half out the door before he startles. His eyes, dark in the predawn light, are heavy with sleep. At first, he'd taken to ordering me back to bed each morning, where I lay patiently until a more decent hour. 

"I will start the teapot," I softly inform the king, mostly to distract from the way he runs his hands clumsily through the mess on his head. He sleeps in just his underwear, leaving his brick wall of a body on display. The king is tanned all over, as is common with the Lycans of the mountains.

This morning is different however, once he finally joins me in the kitchen. 

Rather than dissolving into silence following our morning pleasantries, Benjamin tells me he needs to get some work done in his office. He says it in many more words, explaining how he's had a break from his duties over the last few days and needs to catch up on something with a deadline. I'm not sure why he looks so sheepish, nor why he is even explaining. He certainly does not need to answer to me for what he does in his own home.

"Of course, Sir." I nod, blowing on my tea. I wonder if our awkward maneuvering around each other these past few days scared him off. I don't know the underlying reason, but I do know that my painful silence couldn't have possibly provided him anything worthwhile.