Lycan king's substitute breeder

Chapter fifty three

Vivian

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "A trainer? Like, a martial arts teacher?"

"Yeah, basically," Oregon replied with a small smile. "I think it would be good for you to have the confidence of knowing you can defend yourself, even if you never actually need to. Plus, if you did need to use those skills, it would be good for you to know what to do."

I paused to consider his idea. "I think I would feel more empowered if I could defend myself. It's a great idea, I like it!"

"Good," he smiled and my face beamed.

Oregon coughed and sat on the bed next to me.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He briefly faced me. "How? What do you mean?" He asked.

"You suddenly started coughing. That's why I wondered if you were okay. I was worried thinking you caught the flu or something."

"Flu?" He scoffed. "I'm fine. Just a little dry throat, that's all. Thanks for asking."

I gave him a smile and he scratched the back of his head.

"Huh... By the way, I have never caught the flu before," he said, breaking the awkward silence between us.

"Okay then, I have heard you," I said and chuckled.

"Have you eaten?" he asked abruptly.

"No, not yet," I answered.

"Why? Are you not feeling hungry?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Well, I wasn't hungry then. I suddenly lost my appetite and the food turned cold," I admitted. "Moreover, I noticed I'm not a fan of cold meals, especially when I started getting the symptoms of my pregnancy," I said.

"Ah, I understand," he said, nodding his head. "But I'm wondering if you're hungry now?"

I laughed and patted my stomach. "Oh, this little one is always making me hungry!"

He smiled and took my hand. "Come on, let's go eat."

"The food is cold now, King Oregon," I said in a soft voice. "I can't eat it, even if I wanted to. I gave you my reasons before. I don't want to start vomiting. I could even get sick."

"Would you like me to ask the servants to prepare something else or reheat the food?" he asked. I pulled my hand away from his grasp.

"No, please!" I said, my voice louder than before. "It's fine. I'm fine. Let's just forget about it."

"Why?" he asked, a concerned look on his face.

I sighed heavily and ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. "The thought of bothering the servants who have been working so hard all day just to reheat some food I might not even want to eat is making me feel guilty," I said. "They would be so disappointed to find out I didn't even try the food."

"But that's not your fault," he insisted.

"They won't understand that from their perspective, King Oregon. Besides, can't you see it's late already? They are definitely asleep," I said.

"I suppose they are," he admitted.

I simply nodded my head.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "It is pretty late. Are you feeling sleepy, by the way?" he asked. Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

"Uh... Not yet. Why do you ask, though? Are you feeling sleepy?" I asked.

"No, I'm not. It's good that you aren't feeling sleepy now. It means you can wait," he chuckled.

"Wait? Wait for what?" I asked.

"Let me prepare something for us to eat. Something new, fresh, and healthy," he said as he moved to the kitchen.

I quickly stood up and followed him. "Wait. Do you know how to cook?" I asked.

Oregon laughed. "Of course. You probably never knew that, did you? Well, I'm a good cook, even if I don't really cook that much. The maids do that, so I never bother," he said and shrugged.

"Wow. That's nice," I smiled, feeling amused.

"I suppose we have food stuffs and other ingredients in the kitchen?" he asked as he held the doorknob.

"I do. The maids stored them there, just in case I needed to cook something for myself," I answered.

"Sweet!" he smiled and pushed the door open. We walked in, and he stood by the counter.

"Get me an apron," he said, and I opened the cupboard, took it out, and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he muttered and got to work.

I watched him move around the kitchen with the skill of a seasoned chef. He chopped the vegetables with precision, dicing the onions into perfect squares. He fried the eggs, expertly turning them over in the pan so that they were cooked to perfection. I was in awe of his culinary prowess, and I couldn't help but wonder how he had learned to cook so well.

He carefully peeled the tomatoes, revealing the bright red flesh beneath. He then diced them with practiced ease, creating perfect cubes that glistened in the light. He did the same with the peppers,

removing the seeds and pith before slicing them into neat strips. He moved through the kitchen like a dance, gracefully dicing and slicing, cooking with an expertise that I had never seen before.

Once the vegetables were perfectly prepared, he began sprinkling them with spices and herbs. He added a pinch of salt, a dash of pepper, and a generous helping of paprika. He mixed it all together, stirring the ingredients with care. Then, he added a splash of oil to a pan and placed it over the heat. As the oil began to sizzle, he added the vegetables, cooking them slowly so that they retained their flavor and color.

"Wow!" I clapped, excitedly. I was indeed astonished and amazed. I never knew or had any idea he was such a good cook.

After an hour and a few minutes, Oregon finished cooking and the food was soon ready and plated. We placed the dishes on the dining table, and he retrieved a bottle of red wine from his room and brought it to the table.

"Let's eat," he winked, pulling the chair for me.

I was quite flustered, and my cheek turned red. I took my gaze down and slowly sat down before he took his seat opposite me.