Lycan's Affection

One Week Later

"Your Highness?"

Conaan slowly opened his eyes, a small sigh escaping his lips. Eleanor was above him, lightly propped up on her elbow. She let her eyes quickly skim over his face, her hands reaching for him.

He had visibly lost a lot of weight, his eyes sunken, dark circles covering them.

She swallowed. He had spent the entire week digging in Brandon's death, and there was currently a price for any witnesses. None of his efforts had yielded any results yet, and he had grown even more frustrated, even more livid by the day.

He moved a little, his hand cupping his forehead, a wince passing his face.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, concern lacing her voice.

"It does," he answered quietly. She knew he meant something else, but she said nothing more.

She slowly moved to him, her hand holding his. "How about a soothing bath? I woke up earlier to..."

"No," Conaan answered, his eyes averting hers. "I will use my private bath house."

Eleanor let out a small breath, her eyes saddening. She watched him as he slowly let himself out of the bed, then smoothened his robe around him.

"Can I help you?"

He shook his head again, then swiftly removed the robe, dumping it onto the floor. He had grown increasingly unbothered about anything, and sometimes, she felt including her.

He rarely spoke, and left most of her questions unanswered too.

"Conaan..." she trailed off as he turned to her.

"Yes?"

She swallowed, then bit down on her lips. "Let me help you."

"I can take a bath on my own."

She sighed resignedly, and he turned away. Resolving at the last minute, she reached for his hand, the tar drop stopping just below her eyes.

"I...I know this has been hard on you. Accepting everything has been extremely hard, but let me help you. Please."

He said nothing for the longest time, his eyes blinking slowly.

"Conaan, please. I do not mean to help you with a bath. I mean to help you heal. Or at least, be able to live with the pain. I know you want to keep this anger boiling for when you find the culprit. But...but I can not watch you derail like this."

She slowly covered the distance, her hand dropping from his to slowly cup his face. His eyes dropped so he wasn't looking at her.

With a sigh, she pulled his face up, her eyes pleading.

"At least, look at me. Please."

He swallowed, then shook his head. "Maybe I do not like you seeing me this way."

"Conaan..."

"Maybe I want to be a worthy man in front of you. I failed Brandon. What if I fail you too?"

She moved closer, cupping his face harder. "Conaan..you are a worthy man. No. You are what a worthy man strives to be. And Brandon...if he was here, he would tell you how bad this looks on you. How can King Conaan not be worthy?"

He swallowed, but said nothing more, his eyes still trained on his feet. He had read that letter enough to know it by heart now, and even as he stood there, the words wrote themselves in front of him, weaving and breaking.

Eleanor slowly moved, then propped herself on her toes. She leaned forward, her eyes trying to gauge if she was doing the right thing.

Conaan gave no signs, and she moved further, her lips slightly brushing his. He held a breath, then looked up, his eyes meeting hers now. He seemed almost, almost like the man she knew to be obsessed with her.

And she hadn't seen that man ever since that morning, a day before Brandon's death. She hadn't gotten this close to him either.

She moved further, holding his gaze now as she slowly leaned in to him. He tasted completely new, even though she had not forgotten how he tasted. But he felt new, slow, a little closed off.

His response was slow, but deliberate, his hand gently resting on the sensitive curve of her neck. She gave a small sigh, the taste of his sadness and his love mixing into one potion of eternal need, and she gulped it all.

He slowly pulled away, his eyes meeting hers now. She took her time opening her eyes, and she knew how needy she looked once she did.

He said nothing more, pulling her into his warmth, like she belonged right next to his heartbeat, filling the places they both knew to be empty.

"Can I help you with your bath too?"

He gave a rather strained chuckle, unable to watch her try so hard to pull him out of his infinite sadness.

"Just bath," he said in a small whisper, and she smiled, tightening her hold around him.

"Just bath."

He managed a small smile as hr leaned further into her, pulling her closer into him. He had missed her warmth, her scent, the way she wiggled in his arm, the way she fit perfectly.

He pulled away from her, then placed a small kiss on her forehead, smoothening her hair back. She smiled up at him, and he smiled too, then moved away from her.

Suddenly, a knock came on the door. Eleanor turned to the door, then gestured to Conaan to wait. He nodded, watching as she walked to the door, then opened it to a servant.

"There is someone looking for His Highness. He claims to have something important to tell him."

Eleanor turned to Conaan. He was barely holding on, and she hoped it wasn't some other bad news.

"Who is he?"

"He only told us his name. Eric."

"Eric?" Eleanor asked, the name not ringing any bells. "Did you check him for weapons?"

"Yes, my lady."

She nodded. "His Highness will be with him shortly."

The servant nodded, then walked away, leaving her by the door.