Elara's POV

The stone of the corridor felt like ice against my spine. I pressed my body into the uneven surface of the wall. I held my breath. Every second felt like an hour.

Just a few feet away. The heavy boots of the King clicked against the floor. I watched through a narrow gap in the masonry.

My eyes were fixed on the movement of hands. Cassian stood with Alaric. I saw Cassian reach into his tunic. He pulled out a small note.

The parchment was yellowed. The wax seal was a deep royal purple. I heard the name fall from Alaric's lips.

Queen Mother Isolde.

I watched Alaric's face. It shifted into a mask of suspicion. He did not look in my direction. He does not look at me at all anymore.

To him I am a threat. I am a nuisance to be ignored. I waited until their footsteps faded toward the keep.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I could not ask the King what the message said. He would only sneer.

He would see my curiosity as a weapon.

I turned and rushed toward the north wing. I needed the Queen Mother's quarters.

Information is the only currency that matters in this palace. Without it, you are a servant. With it, you are a master.

I navigated the dim hallways. The air here was different. It was thick with the scent of old lavender and stagnant power.

I reached her double doors. The wood was carved with the symbols of the old moon. I smoothed my skirts. I forced my breathing to slow.

I entered without being summoned. Isolde sat in her high-backed chair near the window. The moonlight caught the silver in her hair.

She looked at me with judgmental eyes. She did not offer me a seat. She did not offer me wine.

"You have never visited me before Elara." Isolde said.

Her voice was like dry parchment rubbing together.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"We are not quarreling Your Majesty." I replied.

I forced a smile. I made my voice soft and melodic.

"We have always been on good terms. I have simply been busy with the Alpha King. His needs are many."

Isolde let out a short sarcastic laugh. She tapped her ring against the arm of her chair.

"The same Alpha King who now sees you as a threat?" She asked.

I did not let the insult show in my eyes. I did not get angry. Anger is a weakness that reveals your cards.

I needed her to speak. She was a piece in the game Magnus and I were playing. She would play a great role.

"It is the ghost chef." I said.

I sighed deeply.

I looked at the floor as if I were a grieving lover.

"She is taking the King's eyes away from me. She uses her strange spices to cloud his mind. With time, he will return to the only woman who can comfort him. He will remember who stood by him when he had nothing."

Isolde leaned back. She looked satisfied by my supposed misery. She enjoyed seeing the favorite fallen from grace.

"We have all heard of the ghost chef." She said.

"The kitchen smells like a foreign land. Even Prince Daemon seeks to dine with the Alpha King tomorrow. He wants to taste her meal for himself. He wants to know if the rumors of her skill are genuine."

I acted surprised. I widened my eyes. I let my mouth hang open slightly.

"Really?" I asked.

In my heart, I smiled. I had the information.

The young prince wanted to dine with the King. That was the message. She had given me exactly what I needed without knowing it. The trap was forming in my mind.

"Why would you let the Young Prince eat the food of a ghost?" I asked.

I made my voice sound worried. I leaned forward as if to protect the boy.

"She is an outsider. We do not know her origins."

"We have all eaten her food." Isolde replied.

She shrugged her thin shoulders.

"Nothing happened to us. The Alpha is still standing. I do not think it is a bad idea. Daemon is curious."

"I must go." I said.

I stood up quickly.

The silk of my gown hissed against the rug.

"It is getting late. I only came to greet you. I wanted to let you know we are at peace. I want no enemies in this house."

"Why leave so soon?" She asked.

She looked suspicious of my haste.

"It is late." I said.

"And I have much to prepare for tomorrow."

I fled from her quarters. I did not look back. I rushed to my chamber.

My mind was a storm of calculations. I grabbed my heavy wool coat from the chest. I pulled the hood over my head. I needed to be a shadow.

I had a great idea to destroy the ghost chef once and for all. This was the opening I needed.

I headed for the Secretariat of Grand Prince Magnus. I moved through the shadows of the servant halls. I avoided the main torches.

I reached his heavy oak door. I entered without knocking. The room was hot and smelled of fermented grain.

Magnus was sitting close to the fire. He was drinking from a silver goblet. He looked like a man drowning in a stupor. His eyes were bloodshot. His tunic was stained.

Anyone who saw him would think he's useless and foolish. They would see a drunkard. They would not know he is the mastermind behind the chaos.

He laughed when he saw me. It was a drunken, grating sound that filled the room.

"I told you to stop visiting me." Magnus said.

He slurred his words.

"Someone will see you. Then our little play ends."

"What I have to discuss cannot wait." I said.

I pulled my hood back. My face was flushed with the cold.

"What is so important?" He asked. He took another long swallow of wine.

"I have a way to destroy the ghost chef once and for all." I told him.

I stood over him. I blocked the light of the fire.

Magnus waved a hand dismissively. He stared into the flames.

"I am already getting my trained rogues ready for that. They will snatch her from the market or the path. It is simple."

"No." I said.

I shook my head.

"This is the best way. No one can trace it back to us. No blades. No kidnappings."

He paused. He looked at me over the rim of his cup. The drunken fog in his eyes cleared for a moment. He saw the fire in mine.

"Which way can we use that would not be traced?" He asked.

"Young Prince Daemon wants to dine with the King tomorrow." I explained.

I watched his face for a reaction.

"We will use the food she prepares to trap her in Queen Mother Isolde's wrath. We will make the boy the weapon."

Magnus laughed again.

"How?" He asked.

"She is a perfectionist. She does not leave the kitchen until the food is served. We cannot poison the food. Poison is clumsy. It leaves a trace in the blood. The royal healer is not a fool."

"We are not tempering with the food." I whispered.

I leaned closer to him. I could smell the stale ale on his breath.

"The ghost chef always uses ginger when she prepares a meal. It is her signature. She thinks it cleanses the palate. She uses it in almost every dish she serves to Alaric."

I looked at the fire. My plan was perfect. It was a work of art.

"There is something we can add to the young prince's medications." I said.

Magnus was the one supplying the boy's medicine. He controlled the apothecary.

"It is something that is poison but not poison. It is simply rat poop. On its own, it does nothing. But when mixed with ginger, it causes the throat to close. It causes the heart to erratic. It looks like a sudden, violent illness."

Magnus's eyes widened.

He set his goblet down on the small table. He sat up straight.

"You are truly a viper." He said.

He let out a loud, dark laugh that echoed off the stone walls.

"We can sicken the prince without being caught. It is not an actual poison. It is a biological reaction. The healer will find nothing but the ingredients of a meal. The ghost chef will be the one who cooked it. The Queen Mother will demand her head for harming the boy."

I smiled. The plan was set. The boy would eat. The girl would fall. I would remain the only one left to comfort the King.

Alaric's POV

The morning sun broke through the curtains of my chamber. It casted golden streaks across the floor.

I woke up with a sensation. I had not it felt in years. I was happy. My mind immediately went back to the market square.

I could still feel the weight of Sophie in my arms. I remembered the way her pulse jumped when I caught her. I remembered the scent of her hair. It was like wild herbs and rain.

I lay there for a moment. I stared at the ceiling. I let the memory settle. I am a King who has spent his life expecting blades. To hold something so vital felt like a shift in the foundations of my world.

A knock disturbed my thoughts. It was Roland. I recognized the disciplined strike of the Chief Guard.

"Your Majesty." Roland's voice came through the thick wood.

"The Young Prince is ready to see you. He is waiting in the leisure garden."

I sat up. I cleared the sleep from my throat.

"Give the Alpha a second to prepare." I commanded.

I stood up. I grabbed my tunic. It was a deep crimson wool. I pulled it over my shoulders.

I called for the maids. They entered with silent. Their movements practiced. They arranged my attire. They fastened the buckles of my belt. They smoothed the fabric of my cloak.

I looked at myself in the bronze mirror. I looked like a King. But inside I felt like a man who was finally beginning to breathe.

I left my chamber. My boots echoed in the corridors. I walked toward the leisure garden. It was a private expanse of greenery hidden within the palace walls.

I found Young Prince Daemon there. He was sitting on the stone bench. He was kicking his small legs. His face lit up when he saw me.

He is a boy full of energy. He is the opposite of the shadows that define this court.

"Brother." Daemon said.

He stood up. He bowed with a clumsiness that was almost charming.

"We do not dine together more often. I see you in the hall. But you are always surrounded by men with sour faces."

I sat across from him. I felt a rare pang of guilt.

"We eat the same food Daemon. The kitchens serve the same bounty to us all."

"That is not true." The boy argued.

He crossed his arms.

"I am given specific food because they say I am young. It is bland. It is boring. And eating together is different from eating separately. Food tastes better when you have someone to talk to."

I laughed. It was a deep sound. I realized he was right. I had spent my life eating in silence. Or staring at my enemies.

"I promise you." I said.

I reached out. I ruffled his hair.

"We will eat together more often now. I will make sure of it."

I looked toward the palace entrance. I saw Sophie approaching. I had summoned her earlier.

She walked with a grace that was becoming familiar. She looked at the Young Prince with curiosity.

"Sophie." I said.

I gestured for her to come closer.

"This is Young Prince Daemon. I want you to prepare something special for us today. I loved the meal you made for Grand Prince Magnus. It was exceptional. But I want you to make it differently this time. Show the Prince your skill. Add a side dish."

Sophie nodded.

Her eyes were bright.

"I understand Your Majesty. I will prepare something that fits a Prince's palate."

She turned. She headed for the kitchen. Her pace was brisk. She always looked like she was on a mission when food was involved.

Daemon watched her go.

"So that is the ghost chef? The one the servants whisper about? They say she fell from the moon."

"She is not a ghost." I told him.

I leaned back against the stone.

"She is just a woman from a far away land. Her world is different from ours."

"She looks like a person." Daemon noted.

"I would love to eat what you eat every day. I am tired of mashed grains and boiled mutton."

"You will see." I said.

"She does not cook like the others."

We sat in the garden for an hour. We talked about horses. We talked about the wooden sword he practiced with.

He was a little boy. He just wanted to talk to his brother. He didn't care about taxes. He didn't care about border disputes. He just wanted to know if I could teach him how to ride a horse.

Soon the scent reached us. It was savory. It was complex. Sophie appeared at the end of the walkway.

She was leading a small procession. She held a large silver tray. Two other chefs followed behind her. They each carried trays covered in linen. It looked like a buffet fit for a coronation.

They reached the table. They bowed together in unison.

"Your Majesty the food is ready." They said.

I gestured for them to set the table. They moved quickly. They laid out the plates and the silverware.

I looked at the trays. Then I looked at the royal taster who was standing nearby. He was ready to take the first bite.

"Leave us." I commanded.

I looked at the taster.

"All of you. I want to eat with my brother in private."

The servants bowed. They all retreated.

Only Sophie remained standing by the table. I looked at the main dish. It was beautiful.

"Tell me what you have prepared." I said.

"It is a chicken dish." Sophie explained.

She pointed to the golden-brown meat.

"It is different from the one I served the Grand Prince. I have used ginger. I used other medicinal herbs inside the bird. I cooked it slowly. Until the meat was soft. Then I used pumpkin water to coat the skin. I poured hot oil over it. To create a crunch on the outside."

I looked at Daemon. He was already salivating. He was staring at the chicken like it was made of gold.

"What about the sauce?" I asked.

"The root I used last time." She said.

"I brought it fresh today. You can chew the root for its health benefits while using the sweet sauce for the poultry."

I looked at Daemon.

"Do you understand what she said?"

"No." He answered honestly.

"But it smells better than anything I have ever seen."

"Cut the chicken." I told him.

"It is soft. Dip it in the sweet sauce."

Sophie stepped forward.

"Wait. Let me taste it first."

She took a small bite of the chicken. She dipped it in the sauce and ate it. She waited a few seconds.

She was ensuring the food was perfect.

After she nodded. Daemon did not hesitate. He cut a large piece. He dipped it deep into the sauce. He stuffed it into his mouth.

"Hmmmm." He moaned.

"This is delicious! It's like magic."

I laughed. I took a piece for myself. The crunch of the skin was perfect. The ginger was subtle but warming.

"This is what we enjoy every day since Sophie arrived." I told him.

I pointed to the fresh root on the side.

"Eat the root Daemon. It is part of the experience."

He grabbed a piece. He bit into it. His face immediately twisted. He looked like he had bitten into a lemon.

"It's bitter!" He cried.

Sophie smiled. It was a soft kind of expression.

"Roots are often bitter, Little Prince. But they are good for the body. They make you strong."

"I will only eat the sweet one." Daemon declared.

He went back to the chicken. He was stuffing his mouth as if he hadn't eaten in a week.

"Gentle." I warned him.

"Do not choke. The food is not going anywhere."

I turned to Sophie.

"What is the side dish?"

"They are called Macarons." She said.

She pointed to a plate of small colorful rounds.

"They are like delicate biscuits. I have stuffed them with vanilla cream."

"That is enough." I said.

I didn't understand what Macrons are. I don't even know what biscuits are either. I felt a surge of pride in her skill.

"We shall enjoy the rest of this in peace. Sophie once you are done in the kitchen. Meet me at the royal farm by nightfall. I have something to show you."

She nodded. She curtsied and left the garden.

Daemon and I finished the meal. The maids cleared the plates. He was covered in crumbs and sauce. He looked happier than I had ever seen him.

"I want to do this every day." He said.

"We will try." I promised.

Roland arrived to escort the Young Prince back to Queen Mother Isolde's quarters. I watched them walk away.

I felt light. I went back to my chamber. I picked up my journal. The Ledger of Satiety. I sat at my desk and began to draw the meal.

I captured the shape of the Macarons. I wrote down the word 'Ginger.' I wanted to remember this day.

Evening fell over the Blackwood Kingdom. The sky turned a bruised purple. I left the palace. I headed for the royal farm. It was quiet there. The horses were settled.

I stood in the clearing where Sophie fell on me. I walked through the motions again. I remembered how I caught her at the market. I practiced how I would hold her again. I imagined her falling and me being there to catch her. I found myself smiling at the empty air. I was acting like a fool but I did not care.

I waited. One hour passed. The moon rose high. The crickets began their song. Sophie did not come.

I started to wonder. Perhaps she was delayed in the kitchen. Perhaps she was tired.

But a feeling of dread began to crawl up my neck. Sophie was never late. She was disciplined.

I saw a torch flickering in the distance. It was moving fast. It was Roland. He was running.

My heart hammered. I stepped forward.

"Roland? Where is she?" I asked.

Roland stopped. He was out of breath. His face was pale.. He looked at me with eyes full of grave news.

"Your Majesty." He gasped.

"You must come quickly."

"What happened?" I demanded.

I grabbed his shoulder.

"It's the Chief Royal Chef." Roland said.

"What happened to her?" I demanded.

My heart skipped a beat.

"She has been arrested. She is in the palace prison."

The world went cold. The smile vanished from my face. I felt the wolf inside me growl.

Sophie's POV

The kitchen was finally quiet. The fire had faded. The sharp scent of ginger still in the air.

All my muscles ached. The fatigue was satisfying. I had watched Prince Daemon eat with a great appetite. It warmed my heart.

Seeing the two brothers share a meal. It felt like home.

I wiped my hands. I signaled the other chefs. We were a parade of exhausted souls. We walked toward the servants' quarters.

The stone hall was cold. A welcome relief from the heat of the ovens. I planned to see them to their doors. Then return to my chamber. I wanted to wash away the sweat. I wanted to look presentable. I planned to meet Alaric at the royal farm.

My heart flipped nervously at the thought of the farm. The way he had looked at me in the garden. The look was softer. Less like a King and more like a man.

"You outdid yourself today Sophie." Martha whispered.

She walked beside me.

"The Prince looked like he had found heaven on a plate."

"It was just chicken and roots Martha." I said.

Though I couldn't hide my smile.

We cornered the lower courtyard. But our path was blocked. Two palace guards stood like iron statues. Their spears crossed. Between them stood a woman I had never seen before.

She was older. She dressed in violet silk. Her face was a mask of cold rage. Her eyes weren't just angry. They were predatory.

I stopped. The chefs behind me huddled together. They sensed the shift in the air. I bowed my head respectfully.

"Good evening My Lady." I said.

My voice steady. I attempted to step to the side to pass her.

I didn't see her hand move.

Smack.

A slap landed across my cheek. The force was so sudden and violent. My head snapped to the side. My ears rang.

The world tilted. I felt the sharp sting of her rings cutting into my skin. I heard the collective gasp of the chefs.

I turned my head back to face her. My cheek burned with heat. I tasted copper in my mouth.

"What have I done to deserve this?" I asked.

My voice trembled. Not from fear. But from the shock of the assault.

"You still have the guts to ask such a question?" The woman hissed.

Her voice was a low tremor of fury.

"After you poisoned my son?"

The world stopped. My heart dropped. Poisoned?

"Poisoned?" I repeated.

The word feeling like ash in my mouth.

"Is the Alpha sick? Is Alaric..."

Smack.

She slapped me again. This time on the other side. My lip split.

"So your only concern is the Alpha?" She screamed.

"My son lies gasping for air while you worry about the King! You served Prince Daemon a meal of death this morning!"

The realization hit me. This was Queen Mother Isolde. Alaric's stepmother. Daemon's mother.

"My Lady." I said.

I forced myself to stand straight despite the pain.

"The Alpha ate the same food. Every ingredient in that poultry was fresh. If the Young Prince is ill then the Alpha would be sick as well. We ate from the same bird."

"Lies!" She shrieked.

"You used your charms. You used your tricks to make the Alpha send the royal taster away. You orchestrated the entire thing so you could kill the boy without interference! You are a witch!"

"I tasted the food myself." I argued.

I stepped forward. I tried to make her see reason.

"I took a bite before the Young Prince even touched his fork. If there was poison in that dish I should be dead or dying by now. Look at me. I am standing right here."

Isolde's eyes narrowed. They became nothing but slits of ice.

"I don't want to hear your lies. A viper can swallow its venom and survive. You are a monster sent to destroy my lineage."

She turned to the guards. Her finger pointed at my chest like a dagger.

"Grab her. Take her to the depths. I will torture the truth out of her myself."

The guards lunged. Martha suddenly threw herself forward. She grabbed my arm.

"No! Please Your Majesty!" Martha cried.

Her voice breaking.

"I prepared the food with her! I saw every spice. Every herb! We even ate the remaining portions in the kitchen afterward. It must be a mistake! A sudden illness perhaps, but not the food!"

Isolde turned her gaze on Martha.

"You want to defend a murderer? If you do not keep your mouth shut. You will find yourself in a cell beside her."

The other chefs dropped to their knees. They pressed their foreheads to the floor. They wailed for mercy. Their voices echoing off the high ceilings.

"Your crying won't bring my son back!" Isolde barked.

The guards grabbed my arms. Their grip was like iron. It bruised my skin. They dragged me away.

My boots scuffing against the floor. I didn't fight. I knew that fighting would only give them an excuse to kill me.

They led me down. Away from the light. Away from the scent of herbs and the hope of the farm.

The palace prison was a place of damp stone and the smell of rot. They threw me into a room with chains hanging from the walls.

Isolde followed. She didn't ask questions. She wanted a confession.

The next hour was full of pain. I felt the strike of a whip across my back. I felt the cold splash of water when I tried to close my eyes.

They wanted me to say I was an assassin. They wanted me to say someone had sent me.

"I don't know what happened to the Prince." I whispered.

My voice failing. My back was a map of fire.

"I only wanted... to feed him."

A final blow to the side of my head sent the world into darkness.

I went unconscious. But I wasn't in the cell anymore.

The pain vanished. I was standing in a bright hall. The air smelled of expensive oil. And polished wood.

I looked down. I saw a trophy in my hands. It was heavy. It was silver. I remembered this. This was the last competition I won. I heard the roar of the crowd. I heard the flash of cameras.

I saw my father. He was standing near the stage. His face glowing with a pride. I had worked my whole life to earn. He opened his arms to welcome me.

"You did it Sophie." He seemed to say.

I moved toward him. I wanted to stay there. I wanted the dream to be my reality. I wanted to be back in a world where food brought joy and trophies. Not chains and blood.

I reached for his hand. I was desperate to cross the threshold back to my normal life.

But a voice pulled me back. It wasn't my father's. It was deeper. Sharper. It was full of a terrifying power.

"Touch her again and you die where you stand!"

My eyes snapped open. The transition from the bright dream to the damp cell was agonizing.

I was lying on the cold floor. My head throbbed. I looked up through a haze of blood and tears.

Alaric was there.

He didn't look like the man who had ruffled Daemon's hair. He looked like the Alpha King of legend. His cloak was gone. His tunic was damp with sweat.

He was facing Queen Mother Isolde in a heated argument that shook the very stones of the prison.

"She is a common assassin Alaric!" Isolde screamed.

She was pointing at my broken form.

"Your brother is dying because of her!"

"My brother is ill. She did not do it!" Alaric roared back.

In one swift motion. Alaric reached out. He didn't use his own weapon. He drew the heavy broadsword from Roland's belt. Roland stood frozen behind him.

The steel sang as it left the scabbard. Alaric raised the blade high. His golden eyes were glowing with a murderous light.

"Step away from her." Alaric commanded.

Isolde stood her ground. Her face twisted.

"You would strike your step mother for a peasant?"

The sword began its descent. It came down with a dangerous weight.