Falling in Love with the King of Beasts

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LERRIN - Anima

In his tent—the largest in the encampment, big enough for four wolves, which was a stupid waste—Lerrin sat on the chest at the end of his furs and stared at the ground.

After a morning with the security council that had been frustrating, but productive, he'd made excuses to return to his tent to review reports from the trackers and scouts.

But there were no new reports coming until that evening.

He was a coward, pure and simple.

He needed to go to Lucine's tent, to clear her personal things, to make room for Asta to take it. But… but he was balking. He was strung so tightly he worried he would break down. He had to find his calm, or risk making a fool of himself. Asta alone would never let him hear the last of it. But there was also the potential to open himself to challenge from one of the more ambitious youths who saw weakness in his emotion. He would beat them, of course, but it was a waste of time and energy to fight amongst themselves. He had to be the strongest among them, burn his confidence into them.

He couldn't give in to grief.

Grimacing, he ran a hand through his dark hair and cursed himself. He was being stupid. He only needed to walk into the tent, gather her things, and get out. It would take minutes.

But her smell would be there…

Even the thought of her smell brought images from his years as a cub—snarling at his golden younger sister when she followed him and his friends into the forest. Teaching her to track. Battling the first male that tried to urge her to give the signals when she'd already stated she was remaining Pure in hopes of the Rite. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder against their father when he became more erratic towards the end…

He shook his head to clear it and for the briefest moment, considered shifting. Going to the tent in beast form so his face wouldn't be seen. But in truth, it was much harder to keep the pack mind out when he was in beast form. And he just didn't have the energy for the fight.

"Get on your feet, you fucking pussy," he muttered to himself, and made himself stand and pick up the large swing sack that he used for travelling.

He would cross to her tent. Open the flap. Gather her things, and leave.

He would keep himself alone in his head for the duration.

He wouldn't think about her.

He would close his nose as best he could.

He would get this done.

Taking a deep breath and shoving away the flutter of nerves and emotion in his chest, he strode out of the tent, ignoring the guards that saluted, and stalked across the dirt to the tent, three rows away that was almost as large as his and was—had been—his sister's.

Stopping his breath, ignoring the spear that cut through him because there were no guards here, nothing to guard, he pushed the tent flap aside and strode in, letting it fall closed behind him.

Then stopping dead.

In the corner near the bed, a female in the white hood of a dedicated servant stood, her shoulders forward and head down so that he couldn't see the upper half of her face behind the hood. She made herself submissive, but he caught the set to her jaw that was anything but.

A male stood over her, his teeth bared and eyes narrowed when he turned to see who'd entered—but immediately dropping his head and saluting with a fist across his chest when he saw Lerrin.

"Sire," the male said, his voice a rasp. "Forgive us for intruding. We will leave."

He reached for the female's wrist, but she pulled away to avoid his grip and said quickly, "I am to help the King. It is my last duty for the Queen."

Whip-fast, the male turned on her and for a split second Lerrin's nostrils flared. But the male caught himself and snarled, "Very well!" then bowed to Lerrin again and stalked out of the tent, the flap snapping because of the force with which he threw it closed behind him.

Lerrin blew breath out of his nostril, glaring at the tent flap.

Had the male been about to touch her? To hurt her? Then he looked at the servant. "Are you… well?"

"Yes, Sire," she said and bowed evenly, though her voice shook.

"What are you doing here?"

"I am… I was Lucine's maidservant."

Lucine had a maidservant? Why? She was hardly incapable. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware. I came because… I… I need to clear this tent for my Second." He cursed himself for the stumble, but she only nodded once as if she'd anticipated it.

"I have been gathering her things. I was almost done when I was… interrupted."

The tang of fear that twisted through her scent when she said the word set Lerrin's teeth on edge.

He blinked when she indicated the furs. Setting atop them were a variety of items, and neatly folded clothes. Lerrin swallowed and remembered not to breath through his nose.

"Thank you," he growled and stalked to the bed, throwing the bag on it and picking the things up as quickly as he could—refusing to look closely at anything—he began putting them into the bag.

"I could do that for you, Sire?"

"There's no need," he snarled. "Gather anything else that was personal to her… please."

She dipped her chin then began to move around the tent. Lerrin swallowed when she was behind him and didn't let himself see any of the items, didn't let himself smell his sister's scent. Just stacked everything in the bag, taking things as the servant laid them to his right.

It was the work of five minutes, which he should have been grateful for. But he hadn't expected to have an audience. His tension was rising. 

The last thing she lay on the bed was a small mirror, in a rough, unfinished frame, just large enough to see ones face within when it was hung on a wall.

Lerrin's stomach dropped and he stifled calling his sister.

He'd made that for Lucine after her first breeding season when she'd suddenly become beautiful. He'd teased her that she needed something to help her more properly admire herself, but in truth, he'd been very proud—of her beauty, and her strength. And her resolve.

She'd had her eyes on the King, even then.

Lerrin gritted his teeth and picked up the mirror, rubbing his thumb across the surface.

"She always spoke highly of you, Sire," the servant whispered from his right.

He almost startled. He hadn't realized she was there.

"Thank you," he said gruffly, and stuffed the mirror into the bag, between two layers of Lucine's clothing, praying it wouldn't break. "Thank you for your help. Your duty is fulfilled. Please… come see me after the evening meal. I will reward you for your faithfulness," he muttered, then pulled the tie on the bag and threw the leathers over his shoulder, turning for the tent-flap.

"Wait!"

He stopped abruptly, turning. The servant had reached for his elbow, but when he turned she pulled her hand back before she actually touched him. "Please," she said more softly. "Could I speak with you… just for a moment?"

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