Lycan's Affection

Eleanor held her breath as loud instruments suddenly started to play joyous war sounds. She turned to the large window, her hair falling on one side of her shoulder as she bent over the window to catch a glimpse.

People were gathered in the palace grounds, each dancing and howling, some shifting and displaying tricks as they jumped through the air and shifted back at insane speed.

She bent even closer to check, but Conaan didn't seem to be anywhere. Disappointment pierced through for the second time this evening, and she started to withdraw, her hand gripping the window sill to help her cope with the disappointment.

"Attention all!" Came another yell, and she stopped, her brows furrowing.

"His Highness, Sovereign King Conaan has just arrived. And with him, is the slain head of the Three moon's Chief of War!"

Her eyes widened as she strained to see. It wasn't hard to catch a glimpse anymore, as the crowd started to make way, all falling into deathly silence.

Even her heart seemed to want to still in her chest, as the beating slowed, her fingers now gripping onto the sill for dear life.

Slowly, but surely, Conaan emerged. He was wearing a simple black robe donned only on his back, to show his chest and stomach. It was stained with claw marks of blood, most probably of the wolves he has now conquered.

His hair fell in waves down to his shoulder, and it was flicked back, and tucked behind his ears. His neck, however, boasted of fresh wolf skin he'd used as a shawl.

His hand dripped with blood as he emerged, his eyes thin, a small, proud smile playing on his lips.

Brandon stood by, his hands clasped together, pride in his eyes as he watched Conaan with big, adorable eyes.

Slowly, Conaan raised the slain head of wolf that was still in transit between human and wolf.

It was like a trophy, but a small one compared to the many he already had. The crowd erupted in another loud cheer, everyone yelling almost out of their minds. The lycans knew just how secure they were under his rule, and that alone, called for celebration.

Eleanor let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding, her hand coming up to her chest, a smile lifting up her lips. It suddenly felt too strange to smile now, she hadn't done it in so long.

Slowly, Conaan, rather unaffected by the loud cheers, moved his head, tilting it slowly to the left. His eyes flicked up to her window, and Eleanor's eyes widened.

His eyes met hers, sending her heart running miles as if to avoid the sudden jolt of electricity. It was too late however, and his gaze held hers in place, like someone under some sort of hypnosis.

Slowly, Conaan turned away, indignantly flipping the slain head away for the crowd to rejoice over. They bowed as he walked through, then returned to their celebrations, musical instruments going up in flames of the celebration.

Eleanor swallowed as she struggled to keep herself in check, her hands wiping away the tears that stood in her eyes.

The entire city was illuminated now as the sun had already fallen, and her room too. She wiped her face away, then slowly walked to the door, her hand on her chest again.

Slowly, she opened it to Conaan's steely voice right beneath the stairs. She could have run straight into him, kissed him senseless till he couldn't breathe, tell him how much she missed him, but she stood there, watching him in awe.

And she knew that was probably what hurt him the most. Just how much he wanted her to be on and by his side, how expressive he wished she was, but she simply could not bring herself to, so much that he felt she wasn't accepting him for who and what he was. She knew that was the biggest fault she had.

"How was it when I was gone?"

Brandom shrugged. "Not much happened. As you wanted, I have severed Anderson's right foot. He is still locked aaway in his house, and he is neither allowed visitors nor is he allowed to receive anything."

"And the council members?" Conaan asked, flicking his eyes to the female servant who had rushed to him with a scented wet towel.

"They have accepted the date you gave them. I do wonder what they would think of this conquest, though."

"I do not particularly care," Conaan replied as the woman bowed, then gently took his hand in her right hand, while her left held the towel to clean off the blood.

He turned to send her away, when Eleanor suddenly appeared.

"Let me do that," she said, her eyes lowered.

Brandon raised a brow but said nothing, and the two watched as Eleanor collected the towel from the servant.

She swallowed, stretching her hand to take his hand. He said nothing as she slowly took it, his hand feeling warm in hers. It was like the cold sensation left on a wound after an ointment is applied, the one that gives instant relief.

He watched her as she kept her eyes away from his, lowered to his hand.

Before she could use the towel, however, he moved his hand away from hers, causing her to look up to him.

"I am already headed for the bath house," he said simply.

Brandon decidedly excused himself from the brewing tension, leaving them both alone.

"I will run a warm bath for you, then."

His eyes thinned even further. "Do you think your job here is to run baths and clean my hands?"

She swallowed. "I just...I was just trying to..."

"Where is the Eleanor that I know?" He suddenly asked, his right brow raising. "Do not tell me that the strong woman I met practicing archery instead of embroidery has been so broken by Alexander that she can not even find herself anymore."

"Your Highness," she breathed, her eyes darting across his.

His showed no emotion whatsoever, like the Conaan she had met first.

"Do not tell me that you try to stop me every single time because your perception of a man is now defined by his cowardice. Look at me, Eleanor. I am all drenched in blood. This is the man that I am."

He did not wait for her to say anymore, as he walked away, heading for the bathhouse.