Page 12 of His Lost Lycan Luna

“Right away, my King. Come with me, girls,” the woman says, giving us both a friendly smile as she motions for us to follow her.

Abbie and I quickly obey, and she leads us through the kitchen and down another shorter corridor. Turning a corner, we find ourselves in a giant laundry room.

Rows of uniforms line the shelves. She looks us up and down before handing each of us a gray button-up dress with short sleeves and aprons with pockets on the front. The material is thick yet soft.

“What are your names?” she asks just as the King suddenly walks in, making her turn her attention to him. We turn to look at him.

His movements are calculated and purposeful as he strolls into the room, stopping in front of us. He looks at both of us and then walks slowly around us, only to stop in front of us again. His gaze is scrutinizing, his eyes glowing like polished silver. My breath lodges in my throat when they fall on me, and he tilts his head to the side.

“My King, is there something you need?” Clarice asks gently, clearly shocked that he has followed her and his strange behavior.

I get the impression he hardly comes into the servant station. He shakes his head and leans on a counter, his eyes not leaving mine. Clarice waits to see if he will leave. Only he doesn’t.

Clarice turns back to us, clapping her hands, making us jump and look away from the imposing King that continues to stare.

“Girls, I asked for your names," she says, drawing our attention to her.

“Ivy, ma’am,” I tell her in a rush.

“Abbie, ma’am,” Abbie answers softly, bowing her head.

“Very good. Now quickly get changed through that door,” she says, pointing behind us. We look over our shoulders when the King speaks.

“Not you. You change here,” he says, and Abbie and I look at each other nervously. Clarice also stares at the King, unsettled by his words.

"My King," Clarice asks, clutching her chest.

"Abbie, get changed in the room... Ivy, you will remain where you are,” he says firmly, and my heart thumps erratically in my chest at his words.

Am I in trouble? I try to remember if I did something he might think is offensive or whether it was because I touched him. I thought maybe he had forgotten to hand down the punishment. I know I shouldn’t have touched him, and now I will pay for that mistake.

The look on his face is unreadable, yet his gaze is intense. I don’t remember doing anything else that would have provoked his attention, so it has to be the reason. But Abbie touched him too?

ChapterEight

IVY

Clarice looks uncertain as she glances between the King and me before turning to face us. She gives me a sad smile. Abbie is still frozen beside me.

“Abbie, please get changed, dear,” she says softly, motioning toward the changing room, and I swallow the bile that rises in my throat when she rushes off.

My cheeks heat under the intensity of his gaze, horrified that he expects me to strip before him.

“Forgive me, my King, but is there a reason you have requested her to change in front of you?” Clarice questions gently. I worry about her questioning him over me. However, she does not fear speaking out against him. Which I find odd.

“She lied to my Gamma,” he answers her while I try to figure out what lie I spoke.

“Now change, Ivy. Remove your clothes,” the King orders, and his aura hits me, causing goosebumps to form on my arms. “I’m not going to ask again.”

I don't understand why I am being punished this way. It makes no sense. If he would just explain, I could apologize, yet I have no clue what I should apologize for other than touching him. His sudden anger makes no sense to me.

I glance at Clarice, and she nods, telling me to do what he asked and motioning for me to remove my clothes. The quiver of my lips can't be helped as it dawns on me that he is seriously going to watch me get changed. My fingers tremble as I try to undo the buttons. My hands tremble as I pop the first button on my blouse, my eyes filling with tears.

“Please, sir,” I murmur, even though I know I shouldn’t talk out of turn, but this is dehumanizing. If it were Clarice, it wouldn’t bother me. She is a woman. But stripping off my clothes in front of a man, a King no less, makes me feel sick.

“Quiet. Remove them,” he says, leaving no room for disagreement when a male servant walks in behind him.

“Out!” the King bellows at the man; he rushes off, and Clarice rushes over, shutting the door so no one else walks in. She stands in front of it like she is keeping guard and nods for me to proceed.

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