Grave’s pov

She was mine now. The fiery green eyed princess, shades of Auburn hair that whispered beautiful secrets and deadly promises.

Mine to have… mine to protect.

“ You knew, didn't you ?” She asked, hands clenched.

I smiled–just a slight tilt on the edge of my lips. I exhaled, not out of exhaustion, it was interesting.

“ Of course I know..that you slept well” I dropped, watching as her expression hardened.

She didn't look like the girl I met yesterday. Well, apart from green eyes and Auburn hair, she appeared different. Like she was ready to pounce on me and slit my throat into two.

As expected of a crimson fang princess. I would have been disappointed if she was any less than what she exuded.

She smiled…slowly as if waiting for effect, then looked down at my leg.

“ Your boots” she said, then glanced up, pressed an edgy smile, one so forced, it looked unreal.

Interesting!

“ Sorry about the previous night. I was…might have offended you” she added. Her eyes, a big contrast to her words.

It wasn't an apology, it sounded more like a taunt.

I smiled, kept my spanner on the floor beside the sea of bikes. The scent of oil and motorbike engine hung heavy on the air, clashing with her steel like demeanour and scent of lilies promising a slow death.

I looked forward to it.

“ Let's have breakfast” I said and walked away, slippers sliding against the tarred floor. I heard the soft crunch of gravel behind me.

She was following.

A few minutes into breakfast, the table was laid with a variety of food. The aroma hovering around the dinner table, thick and heavy.

“ Relax” I said, noticing her tense muscles, flexed jaw and keen gaze. She was glaring at the food with precision. Trying to pick up any trace of poison.

Except she won't find any.

She leaned back, picked her cutlery and dug into the food, hands firmly on the spoon.

Then Killian walked in, neat and groomed, stinking of failure and incompetence. Probably drowned himself in bottles of whiskey and drove around the city like a pitiful dickshit.

Then dosed on drugs to knock him off his drunken state..except the drugs knocked him into a pale piece of shit.

Pathetic!

His gaze fell on Lyra, her expression was dark, like a brewing storm, with death as a companion.

His son should have gone for a bride he could control. Lyra– she was a storm that couldn’t be caged, a ticking bomb waiting for the right time to explode.

“ Good morning” Killian drew, voice low. An inexcusable evidence of sleeping all through the night, drunk and weak.

“ To me ?” I asked, left brow raised in utter disdain..

He exhaled, glanced at Lyra. Then, returned his gaze to the plate of steak before him.

“ Good morning wife” he said, voice tight as he passed me a glance.

I sneered inwardly.

Lyra glanced up, pressed a slight smile. Anyone could see the lies it held.

“ Good morning…husband” she gritted out, then a smile accompanied with a light glint in her eyes.

Wasn't she a sight to behold?

“ Slept well?” Killian drew out again. The words came out as a memorized recitation.

“ Yes, you did?” Lyra said

A smirk and a brow lifted.

I relaxed, watching both of them. Their hatred, palpable.

“ I did,” Killian replied and dug into the steak. Shoulders trembling from the drug he had taken.

He couldn't even keep up his groomed pretence for long before shaking like a chicken.

What a pitiful excuse for a son !

“ You don't look like you did” I said, eye sharp as my jaw worked.

He stiffened, turned to look at me, then forced a smile.

Great! A breakfast of pretenders and forced smiles? Well, very much except me!

“ What drug is it this time ? Marijuana? Cocaine?”

“ Father..”hia voice came out pleading…

“ Answer me” I barked and he shrunk into his shell of endless incompetence.

My mood soured. Didn't expect him for breakfast.

Killian? Nothing like me or his mother! He was an evidence of the sentence ‘born a king but grew into a failure’.

“ None.” He answered with a gaze lowered as he dropped his utensils.

Good! Breakfast is over.

“ Leave” I said, voice cold.

His lips moved but just one glare from me, he went mute.

Nodded. The chair scraped in the marble as he stood and walked away. His steps, a blur.

I inhaled, then exhaled … returned my gaze to the Auburn haired.

A smile …long.

She did well to reduce her presence. Eating like nothing concerned her. No–more like she enjoyed watching a father and a son quarreling.

Not a son he'd be proud to call his anyways.

“ Tell me Lyra,” I said. Her head snapped to me, gaze lingering, “how are you settling in? It's your first time here”

She smiled, dropped her cutleries, “ very well. Didn't you see how groomed and authoritative my husband was?” She asked, voice dripping in sarcasm.

My lips tugged up in amusement. “ Very good at playing with words,” I said.

“ You seem to know better…at playing with lives” she drew, slow and deliberate.

Almost hunting at something.

I raised a brow. Playing with lives? No, I played with bikes, bullets and how they end up in people's skulls. Lives–not entirely.

She stood up, bowed slightly. Back stiff as if finding it a very big task to bow.

“ Thank you for breakfast. I'd take my leave now” she dropped, then our eyes met.

It lingered…

A second …

Two …

Then, she broke off eye contact, walking away. Hips swaying from left to right. Something women did deliberately to garner attention from male folks, except her body was perfect, swaying without much effort.

I exhaled…i was looking too hard. I shouldn't, but I was and that, I couldn't control it.

I held control of everything …

Empires, lives under me, underground factories, the border.

Alot …and I handled them just fine.

Except, my son’s bride. She was igniting a flame she couldn't handle in me

And simply wanting her was something even a man of great restraint like me couldn't control