"Do we really have to do this?" I muttered, glaring at the floor as His Majesty’s arm steadied . My legs were shaky, weak from disuse, and every step felt like a monuntal effort. The last thing I wanted was to make a fool of myself in front of him—again.
"Yes," he replied firmly, his voice leaving no room for argunt. "You will have to do this if you want to get better."
I clenched my jaw, swallowing the urge to groan as I forced myself to take one step at a ti. My pride was already hanging by a thread, and the last thing I needed was for him to see stumble and whin like a pup.
His hand remained on my arm, guiding with a strength that felt both reassuring and unnerving. He was too close—so close that I could feel the heat radiating from him. The scent of him, a mix of woods and sothing darker, like the sharp tang of iron, wrapped around like a second skin. It was intoxicating, distracting, and far too appealing for my liking.
To make matters worse, being this close to him stirred mories I desperately wanted to bury. My dream. No scratch that. My nightmare.
A blush crept up my cheeks, burning hotter the longer he stayed close. His proximity igniting an unmistakable warmth that refused to fade. I hated it. Hated how my body betrayed with its reactions. Why did he have to be so... infuriatingly present?
"Why do I have to learn how to walk like a pup?" I grumbled under my breath, earning a sharp glance from him.
He smirked, that ever-present expression of smug amusent flickering across his face. "Because you’re as stubborn as one," he said, his tone teasing. "And pups who don’t walk eventually beco wolves who can’t run."
I rolled my eyes, though the effort made my head spin. "That’s not comforting, Your Majesty."
"It wasn’t ant to be," he replied, his smirk widening.
I wanted to snap back, but my breath hitched as my foot caught awkwardly on the floor, and I stumbled. His hand moved instantly, catching before I could fall. His grip was firm yet careful, his other hand coming to rest lightly on my waist.
"Careful," he murmured, his voice lower now, almost gentle.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my heart skipped a beat. I was weak, tired—that’s all it was. It had nothing to do with the way his touch lingered for a mont too long or the way his eyes seed to pierce through .
"I’m fine," I said quickly, brushing his hands away and taking a shaky step forward. My legs felt like jelly, but I refused to let him see just how fragile I truly was.
"Stubborn as always," he muttered under his breath, though I caught the faint hint of amusent in his tone.
He didn’t step back this ti, instead remaining close enough that his presence was a constant reminder of my precarious state. It was maddening—how was I supposed to focus on walking when he was hovering over like so overbearing hawk?
"Why are you always around?" I blurted before I could stop myself. The words hung in the air, sharp and accusing, but I was too irritated to care.
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading into sothing more serious. "Shouldn’t I be?" he asked, his tone calm but carrying an edge I couldn’t quite place. "After all, you’re my responsibility."
I frowned, unsure how to respond. Responsibility. That’s what I was to him. Not a person, not even a nuisance—just another obligation to fulfill.
"Besides," he continued, his voice softening slightly, "if I weren’t here, who else would make sure you didn’t collapse on the floor?"
I glared at him, though the heat in my cheeks betrayed my frustration. "I don’t need your help," I said stubbornly, though my wobbling knees told a different story.
"Of course not," he replied dryly, stepping back just enough to give a semblance of space. "But humor , darling. Pretend you do, just for now."
I gritted my teeth, swallowing the retort that burned on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I focused on moving forward, one unsteady step at a ti.
The truth was, I hated how dependent I had beco—on him, on everyone. I hated the weakness that clung to like a second skin, the way my body betrayed at every turn. But most of all, I hated the constant reminder of what I’d lost.
A wolf without a soul. That’s what I was now.
The thought gnawed at , a dark and heavy weight that settled in my chest. It wasn’t just my wolf I had lost—it was a part of myself, a piece of who I was ant to be. Without it, I was... nothing. Less than nothing.
"Stop thinking so much," he said suddenly, breaking through my spiraling thoughts. His voice was sharp, commanding, and it startled enough that I stumbled again.
"I’m not—" I started, but he cut off with a raised hand.
"You are," he said firmly, his eyes narrowing. "I can see it all over your face. Stop wallowing in self-pity and focus on the task at hand."
I parted my lips to protest, but the sheer intensity of his gaze stole the words from . It wasn’t just a look—it was a command, leaving no room for debate, no space for excuses.
With a weary sigh, I gave in, letting my shoulders slump as I forced myself to take another step forward. Then another, each one heavier than the last.
Each step felt like a war waged against my own body, every movent draining what little strength I had left. Yet, with him by my side, steady and unyielding, I sohow found the will to keep moving.
And for just a mont—a fragile, fleeting mont—I almost forgot how shattered I truly was.
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