我洗碗时在厨房要了我

'Of what? The dead body in my tent earlier? Or my husband?' Ophelia dryly wondered.

Ophelia simply peered up at him, slowly blinking and then, gazing to the ground. She was impressed by how well put together this make-shift house was in comparison to the tents of the ceremony.

"Ophelia."

Ophelia always found her name to be boring. Her Papa said her late mother wanted something mystical and sweet-sounding.

"I-I'm a little bit afraid," Ophelia finally admitted. In the corner of her eyes, she saw a mirror was set up. She hated looking at her reflection, for it reminded her of all the flaws she possessed—starting with her unnatural eyes.

When Ophelia was born, they said the wetnurses screamed at the sight of her purple eyes. The nursemaid nearly dropped the baby and everyone had gathered to scrutinize the monstrosity. Purple eyes and white hair, they thought she was some supernatural—a mutated werewolf or vampire. But no, Ophelia was just a regular girl.

"Look at me." It wasn't a suggestion, but neither was it a demand.

Ophelia finally glanced up. Killorn's gaze was deep, angry perhaps, but she still found herself lost within the grey flames. She was still shaken, her body easily blown over by a breeze.

Ophelia tightened her grip on her dress. He frowned, his brows tugging together. She was nervous. Anyone could tell.

"Are you reluctant?" His question resonated within her chest, for no one had ever asked her such a thing.

Killorn thought he had made progress. When she willingly held onto him for reassurance earlier, he thought she trusted him. Now, they were back to where they had begun.

"I-it is a w-wife's d-duty t-to please her h-husband…" Ophelia managed to say, finally making up her mind to do it, even if Neil was just a few feet away. She had been so nervous, she couldn't pronounce a single word correctly.

"You'll please me more if you look at me when you speak."

Ophelia froze. Had she disappointed him further? Her shoulders dropped at the horrible thought. She hoped her hair would shield her reddening expression of shame. Her ears burned, her fingers trembled.

"Is my wife going to continue admiring the floor?"

"N-no, I wasn't!" Ophelia cried out, snapping her head up. "I w-was just…"

Killorn's eyes burned with an intensity that jumped straight to her core. She was at a loss of words, wondering if he was always this seductive. He pressed his lips together, his body taut by her reaction.

"You've finally laid your attention on me, Ophelia." Killorn grabbed her chin, raising her head. He was bewitched by her large eyes, resembling a curious deer pausing to twitch its ears at the admiring hunter.

Killorn had the urge to capture her. He clasped his hand on her lowerback and she came to him naturally with her tiny steps. Her cheeks flushed. He softly exhaled at how beautiful she appeared, under the flickering candle lights. He had never been more bewitched.

Ophelia hesitatingly grabbed his black tunic. Through the thin fabric, she felt his hard stomach, the button-up doing him wonders. His attention fell to her lips, for the briefest of a second, then, he stared upon her.

"I was raised to never look a man in the e-eyes…" Ophelia finally explained, wanting to fill the silence between them.

Killorn's face was mesmerizing. His expression was filled with a burning desire to devour her. He dragged his hand lower, until his fingertips nearly brushed her behind. Then, he lowered his head against hers.

"Yeah?"

Ophelia shakily exhaled, almost getting lost in his sharp features. All warning signs were going off in her head, but she still nodded.

"Mmph," Ophelia mumbled.

Killorn groaned, his voice ripe and throaty. It sent shock waves in between her legs as she felt slickness down there. She was mortified, her heart skipping. He raised a brow, most likely able to smell the arousal, for werewolves had heightened senses.

Ophelia was fascinated by how alluring his eyes were. They were a color so light, it reminded her of pure silver, the kind that harmed vampires at the first touch.

"What else were you taught not to do?" Killorn asked, for he intended to have her break every single rule.

Ophelia timidly bit her bottom lip. His focus grew dark and heated. She instantly stopped, recalling what he had said to her earlier. Before he could speak, she shyly opened her mouth.

"To never talk b-back…"

Killorn gritted his teeth. They taught her what, now? The proximity was messing with his mind. He was growing intoxicated by her sweetness, her soft body, and her vulnerability. She appeared like she'd let him do anything. He saw her play with her fingers, waiting for a response.

"And?"

"A-and…" Ophelia trailed off, her lips parting whilst she was lost in concentration. She didn't want to provoke him further, especially when she saw the strain in his pants. With each passing second, her face only grew warmer.

"To o-obey," Ophelia stated.

"Who?"

"M-my husband."

Killorn let out a harsh breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, her face pulled into a grimace. His temper flared, but he saw her shoulders tremble.

Killorn snuffed down his indignation. Grinding his teeth, he pulled away from her. She softly gasped, almost as if she missed his touch.

"I didn't mean to displease you a-again."

"You didn't—" Killorn cut himself off. He ran a hand down his face in disbelief. "You never displease me, Ophelia. Ever."

Ophelia immediately looked up at him.

"I mean, you—" Killorn didn't know how to say it without devastating her. He sharply inhaled through his nose. Staring her straight in the eyes, he said words straight from his heart.

"You're fine as you are, Ophelia." Killorn thought she knew this already.

House Eves didn't have a title as prestigious as Dukes, but they had royal blood. As descendants from the royal family, they were nobility and held a name older than time. Their branches spread far and wide, their roots deep in the nation.

Every Eves knew their family's long standing legacy. The knowledge made them arrogant, but rightfully so. Not a single Eves was insecure, for they were taught to take pride in themselves.

Killorn thought Ophelia was the same. He still did.

"T-thank you…" Ophelia didn't dare to ask him to elaborate on what he meant.

Ophelia wanted to eagerly ask him "truly?" But that would only strike her as vain and eager for compliments. She couldn't imagine how the other tributes were being treated, for Killorn's abrupt kindness caught her off-guard.

"You respond as if no one has ever told you how perfect you are."

'That's because no one has ever praised me… except, my Papa, of course.' Ophelia found it difficult to accept kind words, for she grew up under the Matriarch's heartless teachings.

Ophelia always believed her Papa was obligated to compliment her. How can a parent hate their own child?

"Has anyone ever said that to you, Ophelia?" Killorn wanted to hold her again.

Ophelia was much more willing to peer up at him when he did. She had nowhere to go in his arms, but him. But Killorn was afraid of hugging her, for she was fragile as thin glass.

"D-did people tell you that you're h-handsome…?" Ophelia whispered, hoping to change the topic.

"Yes—always."

"Oh." Ophelia awkwardly glanced at him.

"The only female opinion that matters is my wife's."

Ophelia turned red from head to toe. She let out a burst of nervous laughter, believing it to be a joke. But when she raised her head, she saw his seriousness.

Killorn meant what he said.