A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 82 - 81

Chapter 82: Chapter 81

LAYLA

"I can feed myself!" I snapped, glaring at him as he held the spoon up to my lips.

His Majesty, in all his infuriating arrogance, only grinned wider, his red eyes glinting with amusement. "Why not humor me, darling?" His tone was light, teasing, yet carried that infuriating undertone of command he always seemed to wield so effortlessly.

I huffed and turned my head away, folding my arms over my chest. "Please don’t treat me like a pup."

That earned a deep chuckle from him, rich and warm, a sound that sent an uninvited shiver down my spine. I hated how it made me feel, how it ignited this strange sensation in the pit of my stomach, almost like... butterflies? No. Absolutely not.

"You’re pouting," he teased, and when I shot him a glare, he had the audacity to laugh again.

"Stop laughing at me!" I demanded, though my voice didn’t carry nearly as much authority as I hoped it would.

"Laughing at you? Never." He leaned in closer, his grin widening. "Laughing because of you? Absolutely."

I grumbled under my breath, determined not to let him get to me. But then he did something I didn’t expect—he brought the spoon to his own lips and ate the bite of food himself, all while maintaining eye contact.

It was such a simple action, yet for some reason, my gaze lingered on his lips as they pressed against the spoon. The way his jaw moved, the slight curve of his smirk as he swallowed—it was ridiculous how captivating it was. My face burned, and I quickly looked away, silently cursing myself for even thinking about his lips.

This was insane. Completely insane. What was wrong with me?

"You were staring," he said casually, his voice laced with amusement.

"I wasn’t!" I shot back, perhaps a little too quickly.

His smirk deepened. "Whatever you say, darling."

I clenched my fists, willing the blush on my cheeks to disappear. "Just leave me alone, Your Majesty."

But, of course, he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back slightly and set the spoon back onto the tray before sliding it toward me. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing to the tray like it was some grand invitation.

I stared at the spoon, suddenly hyper-aware of how ridiculous this entire situation was. For some inexplicable reason, the idea of using that same spoon now felt... wrong.

I couldn’t bring myself to reach for it, let alone lift it to my mouth. It was as if the mere thought of it carried some deeper, unspoken meaning. My face burned hotter, and I knew my blush was betraying me yet again.

I peeked up at him through my lashes, only to find his gaze fixed squarely on me, sharp and knowing. His smirk hadn’t faded; in fact, it had only grown more smug, as if he could read every single thought running through my mind.

"You’re making this harder than it needs to be," he said, his tone almost mocking.

"I’m not!" I protested weakly.

He arched a brow, his expression the perfect picture of amusement. "Oh, really? Then what’s stopping you? Surely you’re not shy about sharing a spoon with me, are you?"

"I—" My words caught in my throat, and I couldn’t find a single excuse that didn’t make me sound utterly ridiculous.

He leaned in closer, his gaze unwavering. "Or is it something else? Something more... ?"

I gaped at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "You’re insufferable."

He chuckled again, low and deep, and the sound wrapped around me like a warm blanket I didn’t ask for. "And yet, you can’t seem to stop blushing around me."

I wanted to argue, to wipe that smug expression off his face, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I grabbed the tray, determined to end this conversation once and for all.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I lifted the spoon, ignoring the way my hands trembled slightly. I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move, and it made my heart race for reasons I refused to acknowledge.

As I finally took a bite, I risked a glance at him, only to find him leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Well?" he asked, his tone casual but his smirk anything but. "Satisfied?"

I swallowed quickly, nearly choking in the process, and set the spoon down with far more force than necessary. "Delighted," I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

He laughed softly, and the sound sent another unwelcome shiver down my spine. "You’re very entertaining. I’ll give you that."

"Glad I could amuse you, Your Majesty," I replied, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Always." His grin widened, and for a moment, I thought he might say something else, something that would push me even further over the edge. But instead, he simply stood, straightening to his full, imposing height.

"Get some rest," he said, his voice suddenly softer, almost... gentle."

Before I could respond, he turned and strode toward the door, leaving me sitting there, breathless and frustrated.

I hated how he got under my skin, how he made me feel things I didn’t want to feel. But more than anything, I hated the fact that, deep down, a part of me didn’t want him to leave.

With a deep groan I steadied myself against the edge of the bed, my fingers trembling as they gripped the wood. The effort of standing was already making my legs quiver, but I clenched my jaw and forced myself upright. After a few days of lying in bed, enduring the His Majesty overbearing attempts to feed me, I couldn’t stand the helplessness anymore. I had to get better, had to do something.

Taking a deep breath, I released the bedpost and took a shaky step forward. My knees wobbled, but I managed to hold myself up. Another step. Then another. A flicker of pride sparked in my chest. Maybe I could—

My foot caught awkwardly on the rug, and before I could catch myself, I stumbled forward.

"No!" The word escaped me in a sharp cry as my knees buckled. My hands shot out instinctively, but the floor rose up to meet me far too quickly. Pain lanced through my palms as they slapped against the cold stone, my body crumpling in a heap.

I stayed there for a moment, gasping for breath. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the silence of the room.

I wasn’t getting better.

The realization hit me like a blow to the chest. Days of effort, of trying to rebuild my strength, and I was still as weak as a newborn pup.

"Pathetic," I muttered under my breath, the word slicing through the stillness.

I clenched my fists, the sting of tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I refused to cr. But no matter how hard I tried, the frustration and despair clawed at my throat, threatening to spill over.

The door creaked open behind me, and my head snapped up. I quickly swiped at my eyes, refusing to let whoever it was see me like this.

"Why are you on the floor," came the low, smooth voice that could only belong to him.

Of course, it had to be him. His Majesty, in all his infuriating glory, stepping into the room as if summoned by my misery.

I turned my face away, my cheeks burning with shame. "I’m fine," I said quickly, though my voice cracked.

"Fine?" His boots clicked against the floor as he approached, his tone dripping with skepticism. "You’re lying on the ground, darling. That hardly seems fine to me."

I didn’t respond, keeping my gaze firmly fixed on the floor.

I heard him sigh, and a moment later, his hands were on me, firm and steady as he lifted me off the floor with infuriating ease. "You’re as stubborn as ever, I see," he murmured, his breath warm against my temple.

"I can do this myself," I protested weakly, though my body betrayed me by leaning into his strength.

"Clearly," he said dryly, carrying me back to the bed as if I weighed nothing. "That’s why I found you sprawled on the floor."

"I don’t need your help," I muttered, even as he gently lowered me onto the mattress.

"Your body seems to disagree," he replied, his tone maddeningly calm.

I glared at him, but the heat in my gaze faltered when I met his eyes. There was no mockery there, no amusement—just something deep and unyielding that made my heart skip a beat.

"You’re pushing yourself too hard," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Healing takes time."

I turned my head away, staring at the wall. "Time I don’t have."

His hand lingered for a moment before he pulled it away, his expression unreadable. "You’ll have to make time, darling. Unless you enjoy falling flat on your face."

"I don’t enjoy any of this," I snapped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I don’t enjoy being weak or useless or—"

"Enough," he interrupted, his voice firm.

I looked up at him, startled by the sudden edge in his tone.

"You’re not useless," he said, his red eyes locking onto mine. "And you’re certainly not weak. You survived something most wouldn’t, and now you’re here. That’s strength, darling. Whether you see it or not."

The lump in my throat threatened to choke me, but I refused to let the tears fall. "Why are you suddenly nice to me?" I whispered.

His gaze softened, and for a moment, I thought he might answer. But then his lips curved into that infuriating smirk, and he leaned in closer.

"Because watching you stumble around like a drunken pup is the most entertainment I’ve had in years," he said lightly, though his eyes betrayed the truth behind his words. "Being Nice, let’s say it’s my humble way of showing appreciation."

I shoved him away, a weak laugh escaping me despite myself. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you can’t seem to get rid of me," he replied, standing and straightening his tunic. "Now, rest, darling. And no more falling off the bed while I’m gone."

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "I’ll try my best."

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on me longer than necessary. Then, with a curt nod, he turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

I sank back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling as his words replayed in my mind.

"You’re not weak."