Fated to the Cursed Lycan Prince Chapter 963

Rufus’ POV:

A loud noise greeted me upon my return to my palace. It was an explosion coming from the kitchen, followed by a child’s cry.

I felt my heart quicken its pace. I scurried towards the kitchen and noticed a little girl who had an afro and probably a smudged face. She had her back facing me; particularly, she struggled to climb on a chair, her butt waving at me, as she fiddled with something beside the oven. I lifted my gaze towards the stove, and on it were a scorched pot and bowls on top of the other.

Headache surged through me as the scene left me baffled and speechless. The anger that I wanted badly to vent as I made my way here dissipated when I saw the little girl. I moved towards her.

“Beryl, what are you doing?” I tried to sound gentle. The last thing I would want right now was to frighten the girl, lest her mother would be so petty as to get even with me.

Just the thought of her mother—that she-wolf—had me gritting my teeth. For the first time in my life, someone dared to ditch me and run away. She told me her stomach ached, but only a fool would believe her stupid excuse. It was obvious that she was guilty for a reason I didn’t know. All I could gather was that she must be up to no good.

“Daddy, you’re back!” Beryl turned around, surprised to know I was in the kitchen. Without second thoughts, she gave up on the unrecognizable roast chicken of some sort that was on her hand, jumped off the chair, and circled her little arms around my thighs, leaving it oil-stained.

I frowned instinctively but didn’t push her away. Instead, I picked her up. The stains might have earned a scowl from me, but I remembered something exploded earlier and Beryl might be hurt.

I had no idea why I was acting like this, but I fooled myself into thinking that I wasn’t getting any younger, yet still without a child to nurture. I wanted to see young versions of me running along the hallways of this grand palace, but seeing as I had none, I figured I could care for other people’s children to express my fatherly love I had no one else to give to.

“What are you doing?” I repeated my unanswered question, although I had quite an idea what she was trying to concoct, judging from the burnt chicken-looking food she threw away. I took out a handkerchief and handed it to her to wipe her hands.

“I was too hungry and craving for a roast chicken.” The little girl ignored the handkerchief and stretched out her oily hands confidently, asking me to help her wipe. This girl was cunning, I would give her that.

I sighed and did as she pleaded. “Have you had dinner yet?”

Beryl shook her head, feeling aggrieved, her lips pulled into a pout. “Not yet. I didn’t see you when I woke up, Daddy. I felt scared.”

Seeing her disgruntled rattled and softened my heart, but I still said crossly, “Does that have anything to do with your dinner?”

“Of course! I can eat more when you stay with me.” Beryl scrunched her nose up.

I couldn’t bear to see the butter and salt all smeared all over her face, so I took her to the bathroom to wash it all away. She smelled heavily of garlic and lemon. After drying her face, Beryl looked like her usual cute manner. I asked the maids to bring some food for Beryl right after scolding them severely. How could they let kids choose whether to eat or not? I just didn’t know what they were thinking.

The servants looked submissive before my mercy. Beryl suddenly put a small piece of pie into my mouth, perhaps to appease me, and said in her cute voice, “Daddy, don’t get angry. You’ll get wrinkles.”

I froze for a while and quickly swallowed the pie she shoved into my mouth. Beryl was perched on a chair tall enough beside me to reach for my mouth. I glanced at the maids kneeling in front of me and dismissed them. “You can leave now. Don’t let me catch that happening again.”

The maids answered timidly by doing a small curtsy and hurried to exit the dining room quickly.

Beryl dangled her short legs and dug into the food on her plate, seeming to be in a good mood.

I would admit that although she was a little naughty, she was easy to raise. She was not picky about food. I could tell that was a good place to start.

After dinner, I intended to go to the study to deal with some unfinished business, but Beryl kept tailing me. She even asked me to read her bedtime fairy tales.

But no one had read me fairy tales or stories before, so I was fumbling in the dark about stories a little girl like Beryl would prefer to hear. I had only known the story about a princess who died from eating her step mother’s poisonous apple.

Even in the face of tricky government affairs, I hadn’t felt so cornered and troubled.

It was really another level of difficulty when it came to coaxing a child to sleep.

In the end, under Beryl’s expectant eyes, I tried my best to make up a few nice fairy tales. But to my surprise, instead of seeing her flit slowly into drowsiness, the little girl became more and more excited after hearing my stories one after the other. She even changed all the endings to horrible ones herself. Perhaps, me worrying about not knowing any cute fairy tales was all for nothing.

Her endings made me sleepless that night, and I had no choice but to get up early to deal with the state’s affairs with two dark bags weighing under my eyes.