Sophie's POV

Thick air filled the hut. Tension rose. I stared at Alaric. My heart hammered against my ribs.

He looked at the empty bowl. His vulnerability vanished. A wall of cold stone replaced it.

"Who are you?" Alaric whispered. His voice carried a demand.

I backed away.

"I already told you, I'm just a chef. I know nothing about your mother."

I know everything about your mother, my mind screamed. I know she was murdered when you were very young and you really miss her.

Please don't kill me for knowing.

I swallowed hard and kept my mouth shut.

Heavy hooves thundered outside. Armor clanked. Hounds barked. The door flew open.

Five men in silver breastplates entered. Their swords already drawn.

At the sight of Alaric, they dropped to their knees one by one.

"Alpha! The man in front shouted, breathless.

"We thought we had lost you!" the chief guard shouted, his voice thick with relief.

"Alpha! Are you okay?" The third man asked.

"Do I look fine to you?" Alaric said. Standing up slowly.

The man who had trembled over a bowl of food a moment ago was gone as if he never existed.

He straightened to his full height. His presence filling the tiny room until the hut felt too small to contain him.

He didn't look at his men. He looked at me.

"Capture them," Alaric said. His voice flat and devoid of emotion.

For a heartbeat, I thought I'd misheard.

"Wait. What?" I gasped.

He pointed a finger at Martha. She was already trembling at a corner.

"The girl lives on forbidden pack grounds. That is a crime of treason. And this one..."

He looked at me. His eyes trailing over my ruined blazer and messy hair. "This spirit disrespected the King. Chain them."

"Are you serious?" The words came out of my mouth as a guard grabbed my arms. He pulled them behind my back.

"I saved your life!"

"You were literally crying two minutes ago!" I yelled.

Alaric didn't say a word. He walked past me like he didn't hear me.

He intentionally brushed his shoulder against mine. Close enough that the scent of pine washed over me again.

"The ghost is loud," he muttered to his commander without looking back. His eyes fixed on the door.

That was when it hit me.

He wasn't cruel because he doesn't feel anything. He feared the feelings I triggered.

The trek to the palace was long. Mud coated my legs. My muscles felt like lead.

We reached the stone gates of the Blackwood fortress. Guards dragged us into a courtyard. The air smelled of horses and incense.

A woman stood in the center of the courtyard.

She was beautiful in a dangerous way. She wore a deep wine color silk. Gold pins held her dark hair.

As we approached. Her eyes locked onto mine.

This should be Elara. Alaric's concubine. History called her the Viper of the North. My mind whispered.

Alaric, she called. Her voice was musical. Her eyes stayed on me as she rushed to him. She reached for his wounded shoulder.

"The guards said you had been taken by the Moon Ghost." She stated while giving me a stern look.

"Why is it still breathing? Why is it in our home?"

Alaric caught her wrists. He stopped her touch. 'The ghost has skills." He said. "Skills that would be wasted in a grave."

Elara's lips tightened. For just a second, the mask slipped. Jealousy flashed raw and ugly across her face.

She smoothed her expression.

"Skills?" She echoed lightly. "She's a curse. The elders say..."

"I don't care what the elders say," Alaric barked, his voice cracking like thunder.

"She will be given a special residence in the palace. She is mine now. To do with her as I please." He added.

He leaned closer to Elara. His voice dropping very low. "Or are you jealous my love?"

Elara braced herself. She forced a fake laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Jealous? Of a spirit? No one takes what is mine."

She looked back at me.

You are far too beautiful to stay alive, her eyes said. I will make sure you burn.

Take them away. Alaric commanded. He turned his back. I will pass judgment tomorrow.

Elara followed him closely. Holding him tight.

The special residence turned out to be the palace cell.

It was a small room at the back of the palace, with a tiny barred window up high in the wall and heavy iron gate.

The only furniture was a heap of straw and a single iron bucket.

They threw Martha and I inside. The iron gate slammed shut with a finality that made my heart sink.

"I'm so sorry." I whispered. Sliding down the wall. "This is all my fault. I should never have come to your hut."

Martha was quiet for a long time. She sat in the straw. Hugging her knees.

"Don't be sorry," she said softly.

"I've lived in that hut my whole life. She glanced around the cell. Then up at the tiny window. "At least now I've seen the palace."

"You wanted to be here?" I asked surprised.

She nodded slowly. "I'd always dreamt of working in the Royal Kitchens. My mother said that if one can cook for the King, one can change the world."

A small, sad smile touched her lips.

"Silly, right?"

"It's not silly." I said. Thinking of my own father.

"Food is the only thing that actually reaches people. Especially people like him." I added.

We spent the night curled up. To keep each other warm. I didn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes. I saw Alaric's golden eyes and that single drop of tear.

I wasn't just a chef to him. I was a reminder of something he couldn't escape.

The next morning, the guards returned.

They didn't give us food or water.

They dragged us into the palace hall. The chamber was massive, filled with rows of elderly men in robes; the Council.

Alaric sat on a throne of oak and bone looking every bit the tyrant history has described.

The moment I was brought in. Everyone began to whisper.

"She is the moon ghost..." "See what she is wearing..." "She is a witch..."

I stood in the center of the room. My knees shaking uncomfortably.

Alaric stared at me. His face unreadable.

Elara sat beside him. Her fingers drumming restlessly on the chair's armrest.

An old man with white beard stood up. He spoke for the Council.

"Alpha, the law is clear. Any spirit sent to punish the pack must be returned to the earth. To keep her here is to invite the wrath of the Moon Goddess." He said.

Alaric stood up slowly from the throne.

The room became quiet like a graveyard.

His boots clicking sharply on the stone floor.

He walked straight toward me. Stopped so close that his whole body blocked my view.

He turned to the Chief Guard standing nearby. He held out his hand.

Without a word, the guard took out his sword and placed it in Alaric's palm.

My heart stopped for a second. I saw the steel of the blade flash the light of the morning sun.

The Council demands justice. Alaric roared. And I am a King of my word.

He looked at me.

For a split second. I saw something in his eyes; Regret? Hesitation?

But it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He raised the sword high above his head. His muscles tensed.

Martha was crying behind me.

I closed my eyes. I thought of my father. I thought of the library. I thought of cooking butter on low heat.

I waited for the cold bite of the steel.

"For confusing my senses with your food. This is my judgement!" Alaric roared.

The sword came down with a terrifying force.

Sophie's POV

The sword sliced through the air. The sound was a sharp scream.

It signaled my death.

I squeezed my eyes shut. My shoulders bunched toward my ears. I waited for cold metal to hit my skin

I did not think about history. I did not think about time travel. I thought about the smell of the apron my father wore. I realized I would never say goodbye to him.

Clang!

The sound vibrated through my skull. It reached my teeth. My body braced for pain. The pain did not come.

The pressure around my shoulders vanished. I lost my balance. I stumbled forward.

My arms fell to my sides. I opened my eyes slowly. I did not trust the silence.

The hemp ropes lay on the stone floor. Alaric had sliced them clean.

He stood over me with the sword. He did not look at my neck. He looked at my red wrists.

Guilt flashed across his face before it was replaced with that familiar, tyrant mask.

He turned toward the council. His voice echoed through the hall. "The spirit remains and she will no longer be a prisoner."

Murmurs filled the hall. Men whispered to each other.

The elder with the white beard stood up. He gripped his staff. "Alpha! This is madness! To let a demon roam the freely among us..."

"She is no demon," Alaric cut him off. His voice was a dangerous rumble.

He threw the sword to a guard. The metal hit the floor with a loud bang. The whispering stopped.

"She is my Chief Royal Chef." Alaric announced.

I did not understand the words at first.

My voice came out thin. "Your what?"

The Council members stared at me. They looked at me as if I spoke blasphemy.

Alaric stepped into my space. His shadow covered me. He leaned down. His lips were inches from my ear. I smelled his breath. I smelled the meal I had cooked for him.

"Listen, Ghost." he whispered.

"You gave me a taste of a buried past. You claim to be a master."

I nodded quickly.

"You shall prove it." Alaric said.

"You will prepare a meal for me every day. Every dish must be something I have never tasted. If you succeed, you live. If you give me a taste I already know, you will pay a high price."

He locked his golden eyes on mine. My heart pounded.

"The sword will not miss your neck twice." He added.

My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard. I had no luxury of hesitation. This was not mercy. This was a slow execution. He was betting my life against the limits of my memory.

"Is that clear?" He demanded.

I looked at the Council. I looked at Elara. She rose from her seat. Her face was calm but her eyes burned with hate. She walked out through a side door without looking back.

Alaric ignored her.

Take her to the Royal kitchen, Alaric commanded his Beta. His name was Cassian.

The man inclined his head. "As you command, Alpha."

Release the girl from the hut, Alaric added. If the Ghost is to cook, she will need an assistant.

Cassian led me through stone corridors. He did not treat me like a prisoner. He did not treat me like a guest either.

My wrists burned. My hands remained steady.

Cassian exchange a look with the Chief Guard.

He likes her, Cassian whispered.

He thought I could not hear him.

She is not trembling anymore. She's calculating.

"She's a ghost, Cassian," the guard replied gruffly. "The Alpha is playing with fire."

"She's no ghost," Cassian said, his voice quiet but firm. "She's exactly what she said; a girl from a place we don't understand." He said firmly.

"And if she keeps cooking like she did in that hut, Lady Elara is going to find her bed very cold. I'd rather have a girl from the future as our Luna than a viper." He added.

The word Luna chilled me. They saw me as a pawn. I did not want a crown. I did not want power. I wanted my phone. I wanted my kitchen. I wanted my old life.

We reached the kitchen. Martha was there. She hovered by the central table. She looked nervous. Her face lit up when she saw me.

Her joy was cut short. A woman entered the kitchen. Her footsteps were heavy and regal. Two guards followed her. Elara followed her too.

The woman was old. Her skin was stretched thin across her face. My mind identified her. She was the Grand Queen Mother.

So, the woman said. This is the creature that confused my grandson with tricks.

I straightened my back. I hid my shaking hands.

"I'm just a chef, Your Grace." I responded with respect.

A chef? the Grand Queen Mother mocked. We do not rely on tricks in Blackwood. We rely on tradition. Elara says you are a danger to this pack.

I looked at Elara. She stood behind the Queen Mother. A faint, victorious smile playing on her lips. She had clearly been busy while I was being moved.

"I have decided to test your worth," the Queen Mother said.

"Since you are so confident in your skills, you will participate in a Trial of Skill. You will compete against the finest royal chefs of this dynasty. If you win, perhaps you are truly meant to be here."

She stepped closer. Her cane clicked on the stone. She grabbed my wrist. She inspected my palm like an object.

"But if you lose," she whispered, her eyes boring into mine, "the hands that dared to play tricks on the Alpha King will be cut off. You will leave this palace, but you will never hold a knife again."

She released me abruptly.

Elara lingered for a second. The Grand Queen stormed out. Elara's eyes trailing over me with a look of pure resentment.

"Good luck, Ghost," Elara whispered. "I've already picked out the blade they'll use on you."

The kitchen became silent. I looked at my hands. My father had trained these hands. They were my connection to my life.

The King threatened my neck. The grandmother threatened my hands.

Every breath was borrowed time. I looked at the orange flames in the furnace dance like they were mocking me.

I was five hundred years from home, and I was officially fighting for my life.

Sophie's POV

The chamber of the Grand Queen Mother felt like a tomb. High stone walls trapped the cold air.

I stood in my assigned space. My heart throbbed against my ribs. I felt the pulse in my throat.

Beside me, Martha shook with fear. I heard her teeth click together.

Two older men stood at the stations to my right. These were the palace chefs. They possessed broad shoulders and thick forearms. Their skin looked like leather from years near the fires.

They sharpened their knives with slow, rhythmic strokes. The steel sang against the whetstones.

They did not look at me.

They viewed me as a corpse.

"A festive gathering." A deep voice echoed from the doorway.

Alaric entered the room. He did not look like a man who survived a murder attempt two days ago. He looked like a commander.

His golden eyes moved across the room. He surveyed the stone floors and the boiling pots.

He looked at Elara. She sat next to the Grand Queen Mother.

Alaric smiled. He saw through her plan.

"I heard there was a spectacle to be seen," he said mildly. He walks toward the center of the room. "A competition to while away the afternoon. And the stakes... I heard they involve the loss of hands?"

The Grand Queen Mother struck the floor with her cane. The sound was sharp.

"Don't try to be funny, Alpha Alaric." She said.

"We are testing the 'ghost'. People believe she used a trick on you. She will cook under our observation. If she fails, the hands she used for the trick will be removed. These men are masters. They have nothing to fear." She added.

Alaric stopped.

He turned to the two royal chefs.

"And where is the challenge in that Grandmother?" He asked softly.

"A hunt is only exciting if every wolf faces the same teeth." he continued.

He turned to the guards. His voice suddenly dropping into that terrifying, kingly register. "Bring out the bone-cutter."

"If the ghost wins, the losers will face the blade. If the rule applies to one, it should apply to all. Or should I call the whole thing off?"

A suffocating silence fell.

The two chefs turned a sickly shade of grey.

The Grand Queen's jaw tightened. She looked at the chefs. She looked at Alaric. She nodded.

She knew she could not disobey the Alpha King.

"You have thirty minutes to gather ingredients." The Grand Queen Mother announced. Her voice sounded strained. "The theme is Mother Love."

The pantry became a scene of chaos.

The royal chefs pushed me aside. They grabbed the best cuts of venison. They took the freshest cream and the finest butter.

I stayed back. I watched the Grand Queen Mother. She stood up to write the theme on parchment. Her hands shook. She almost fell back into her seat.

This was not just age. I saw a deeper weakness.

I turned to an elderly cook near me. Why did she shake? I asked.

The woman sighed. She did not look up from her work.

"The Grand Queen Mother hasn't had an appetite in decades. Since her mother died, the light left her." She said.

"No one has been able to replicate the flavors of her late mother's cooking. That clean, fresh and savory flavour. Just like the forest after rain. The old woman is starving in a palace of plenty."

Fresh and savory flavor! My heart raced.

The other chefs took fat and salt. they wanted to overwhelm the palate.

They cooked for a King.

They forgot the judge was a grieving daughter.

I reached the pantry late. The shelves were empty. Only wilted spinach and basic aromatics remained. I grabbed them.

I ran back to my station. Alaric leaned against a stone pillar. His arms were crossed. He looked at my empty station with worry. When I arrived, his face softened. The change was small but clear.

The chamber was filled with noise. Knives hit wood. Fat hissed in pans. I worked with speed.

The hourglass moved fast. The sand fell without stopping. I looked at my spinach and broth. I needed more. I needed a specific savory depth.

A memory surfaced. It was a rule from my father. Clams provide a clean, savory flavor.

Clams were the answer.

I did not have them. I dropped my spoon. I ran toward the pantry house.

"I need one more thing!" I yelled.

"Stop her!" Elara shrieked.

Two guards crossed their spears. They blocked my path. They dragged me back toward the royal table.

Elara stood up. She laughed. The ghost is running, she shouted. She knows she lost.

"I am not running!" I yelled. I struggled against the iron grip of the guards. "I need an extra ingredient!"

You had your time, witch, Elara spat. This is a trick. You saw the other dishes. You know you have no chance.

"You had your time in the pantry, witch," Elara spat. "This is a trick. You've seen the other dishes. You know you have no chance. Now you want to change it." Elara yelled.

The Grand Queen Mother looked at me. "Are you playing a trick on the royal household?" She asked.

You will stay here until the end

"No one forbade adding ingredients." I said. The rule says we must cook within the time. I have time left.

Elara's face turned red. She stood up to scream. "Are you challenging our authori...?"

"Enough." Alaric said. His voice cut through the noise like wind. He looked at the hourglass.

"She is right. The rule is about the total time. If she wastes her time in the pantry, that is her choice."

So let's make the stake higher. He continued with a corny smile. "If she fails to finish then she dies."

"Let her go." He commanded.

I looked at Alaric. I felt disgust.

Is this tyrant for me or against me? I asked myself quietly.

Alaric didn't look away. He gave me a slow, deliberate wink.

It was shocking. The gesture was human. My heart beat faster.

Ewww, did he just... wink at me?

I looked at Elara. She looked like she wanted to reach across the table and rip my throat out.

I didn't wait.

I leaned toward Martha. I whispered the location of the clams in the palace stores. "Run, Martha! Go!"

Martha ran. She returned with the clams just in time. I added them to the pot. I finished the dish as the sand ran out.

"Time up!". The Grand Queen Mother called out.

The first two chefs presented their work. They served rich venison stews. The bowls were heavy with wine and butter.

The Council tasted the food. They hummed with approval.

"Exquisite," one said. "I could eat this until the moon falls."

Then, it was my turn.

I walked forward. I held a simple stone bowl. The spinach was vibrant green. The broth was clear. Small clams sat among the leaves.

"What is this?" an elder sneered. "Clams in a spinach soup? We are wolves, not seagulls. Are you trying to poison us?"

"Be quiet and taste." Alaric commanded. His eyes on me.

The room went still. Elara grinned. The Grand Queen Mother lifted her spoon. Her hand trembled. She took the broth into her mouth.

The silence lasted for a minute. Then a choked sound broke the air.

The Grand Queen Mother dropped her spoon. It hit the stone floor with a clatter. She did not look at it.

Tears ran down her face. She began to eat with desperation. She ate like a hungry child.

"Grand Mother!" Alaric called out.

"It's her," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "This is... this is the taste of the garden after the rain. This is the last meal my mother made for me."

Elara jumped up. "This is nonsense! The theme was Mother's Love, and she made a peasant's soup! It doesn't represent..."

"It represents everything!" the Grand Queen Mother snapped. Her eyes flashed with life.

The air in the room turned cold.

Alaric stood up.

"The Grand Queen Mother has spoken. The ghost is the winner."

He looked at the two royal chefs. They were crying on the floor.

"Guards! To the cutter." Alaric said. His voice sounded excited.

The men screamed. Guards dragged them toward the iron blade in the corner.

My stomach turned. The guard lifted the heavy handle. Alaric raised his hand. He prepared to give the signal.

"Stop!" I screamed.

The room froze. Alaric's hand stayed in the air. He looked at me with a furrowed brow.

"They lost. This was the deal." He said.

"A chef's hands are their life!" I ran toward him. I knelt down on the floor.

"Please your Majesty. Show mercy." We said in unison.

"They are good men; they were just following orders." I added.

Elara hissed. She gathered her skirts and ran from the room. She looked defeated.

"Please," I whispered to Alaric. "If you want me to be your chef, don't start my reign with blood. Punish them with work. Let them work under me. Let them learn."

The Grand Queen Mother wiped her eyes. "The girl is right, Alaric. There has been enough shedding of blood in this palace."

Alaric looked at his grandmother. He looked at me. He lowered his hand.

The guards stepped away from the chefs. The men collapsed in relief.

Alaric stepped toward his grandmother. He leaned over her chair with a cold smile.

"Grandmother, you seem unusually nice today," His voice was sarcastic.

"You do not seem like the woman who disrespected my authority by setting up this trial in the first place." He added.

The Queen Mother turned pale. She stiffened in her chair.

Alaric did not wait for her to speak. He walked out of the room.

As he passed me, his hand brushed mine. It was a warm, fleeting touch. I had survived the day.

But the war for his soul was only just beginning.