A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 48 - 47

Chapter 48: Chapter 47

I let out a low, humorless chuckle, pressing the wooden sword back into the maid’s hands, my grip tense but steady. "Your Majesty, I wouldn’t dare," I said, forcing a calm tone that felt brittle, like it might shatter at any moment. I kept my eyes on the sword as if focusing on it alone would get me out of all this.

But he wasn’t planning on letting me off the hook so easily. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his gaze piercing, making it clear he wasn’t planning on taking "no" for an answer.

I swallowed hard, and though every instinct screamed at me to look away, I raised my gaze, meeting his stare with what little defiance I could muster. "Then it wouldn’t be fair," I murmured, the words slipping out before I could second-guess myself. "A mere half-shifter werewolf against the Lycan King? I would look like a fool."

He paused, his eyes narrowing, and for a brief, terrifying second, I wondered if I had gone too far. But then his mouth curved into a smirk—a slow, dangerous smile that did nothing to ease the tension coiling in my stomach. He held my gaze, unblinking, as if he could see right through me, as if he could peel back the layers and see everything I was trying so hard to hide.

Our eyes locked in a battle of wills that felt like it stretched on forever, each seconds ticked by, stretching out until they felt like minutes. His stare was unyielding, darkly amused, as if daring me to keep going. Finally, he let out a soft chuckle, tilting his head as though considering something beyond words. Then his hand reached out, almost lazily, his fingers grazing my cheek in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. His touch was both cold and searing, like fire and ice combined, leaving a trail of conflicting sensations as his hand slid down to my chin. He tilted my face up, his grip firm yet strangely gentle, as if he was savoring the moment.

"It’ll be just a friendly spar, mate," he said softly, his voice carrying that edge of command that left no room for arguments.

I jerked my head back, yanking myself free from his grasp, though his gaze remained locked onto mine. "I would appreciate it if you refrained from calling me your ’mate,’ Your Majesty," I replied, my words spilling out in a rush before I could think them through. "Everyone knows, as well as I do, that half-shifters can’t form such bonds. I’m just your bride, Your Majesty—your match."

The training grounds went silent, the air thick and almost suffocating as if every soul present had stopped breathing. I could feel the weight of countless eyes on me, every gaze prickling against my skin like tiny needles. My words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving, and I could feel the tension building, the weight of countless unspoken thoughts pressing down on me. A part of me wondered where this boldness had come from—why I had suddenly decided to push back, to speak with a directness that I had always avoided.

But today, something in me was breaking, shattering into pieces I could no longer hold together. Anger, frustration, helplessness—they all swirled together, bubbling over into a fury that burned hotter than I had ever felt before. And somehow, the Lycan King felt like the perfect target, the embodiment of every misfortune I had been forced to endure. Even my nightmares—yes, I was sure he was somehow responsible for them too. It was like I could feel it, deep down in my bones. And if I was even a fraction as strong as a true Alpha’s daughter, I might have insisted on sparring with him, if only to try and land a single, satisfying hit. But I knew it was hopeless—a fool’s errand for someone as weak as I was, a half-shifter with barely enough strength to hold her own.

The silence stretched on as if the world itself had frozen around us. And then, finally, he spoke.

His gaze remained locked onto mine, and his smirk grew wider, colder. "It seems my bride is in an... uncooperative mood today," he drawled, the words dripping with amusement. "Having a bit of an attitude, are we?"

I gritted my teeth, barely resisting the urge to snap back, my fingers clenching at my sides as his eyes sparkled with something darker, something that made my blood simmer with irritation.

"Very well," he said, his voice soft but carrying that unmistakable tone of command. He glanced over at the maid standing at my side, whose face had paled, her eyes darting between the two of us like she wished she could disappear. "Fetch something suitable for sparring," he ordered, his tone calm, as he returned his gaze back to mine.

I felt a wave of disbelief wash over me, but I bit back any protest. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and I wasn’t about to make a scene in front of his soldiers, not when he was clearly enjoying every second of this. So I let the maid lead me away, her steps swift and almost frantic as we made our way back toward the castle in tense silence.

The maid’s gaze stayed fixed on the ground, her fingers wringing together as we walked. I could tell she wanted to escape, to put as much distance between myself and the Lycan King as possible, though she didn’t say a word. Once we reached my chambers, she moved with quick, efficient motions, bringing out a set of clothes—loose trousers, a tunic, and sturdy boots, clearly intended for physical activity rather than ceremony. She glanced at me nervously, as if waiting for some sign of my approval.

I nodded, though inwardly, I felt anything but calm. These clothes were nothing like the elaborate gowns I was forced to wear after getting wrapped up in here with the Lycan king. And as I slipped into the trousers and tunic, a strange sense of familiarity washed over me. They were practical, comfortable—the kind of clothes I had worn almost every day in Sy. A life that now felt like a distant memory.

Once I was fully dressed, I looked at my reflection in the small mirror beside the wardrobe. It felt strange, almost like looking at a ghost of someone I used to be, a version of myself I barely recognized anymore. But there was something freeing about it too. In these clothes, I could almost pretend, for a fleeting moment, that I was someone else—someone who could push back, who could fight.

The maid shifted nervously behind me, her hands wringing together as she waited. "It’s time, my lady," she murmured, her voice soft and almost apologetic.