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.

Sophie's POV

The atmosphere in the royal kitchen had changed. It was no longer a battlefield. It now felt like a sanctuary.

The suffocating weight of suspicion that greeted me on my first day was gone.

The staff no longer looked at me with hate. They stood straight.

Silas and the other master chef bowed their heads.

Silas spoke first.

"Chef Sophie."

His voice was thick. His voice sounded sincere.

He didn't look up from the floor.

He stepped forward and held out his hands.

The hands I had saved from the blade.

"We owe you more than our livelihood. We owe you our lives. We are at your command." Silas said.

I felt a lump form in my throat.

Back home, my kitchen was a place of high-stress egos and shouting.

But here, it was life and death.

I reached out for his hands. I gently squeezed them.

"No commands, Silas. Just help me keep the Alpha fed. That's all the thanks I need."

Martha stood by me. Her eyes sparkling like she'd just seen a miracle.

"Sophie, that soup... I've never seen the Grand Queen Mother look like that. You didn't just win a competition. You gave her a piece of her mother's love back."

She leaned in. Her voice dropping to a hopeful whisper.

"Will you... will you teach me? I want to know how you make the food speak."

I looked at her eager face. So young and full of dreams in a world that usually crushed them.

"Every secret I have Martha. I promise."

My moment of peace was short-lived.

The kitchen door opened. Armor clanked on the stone floor.

The Chief Guard entered.

He didn't sneer this time. He looked at me with caution. He couldn't decide if I was a savior or a siren.

"The Alpha is in the Leisure Garden." The guard announced.

"He requires his evening meal. And Sophie... he warned that his mood is as dark as the moonless sky. He wants something he has never tasted. Something fresh. Something creative. Failure meant the end of mercy."

My stomach did a nervous flip.

Alaric wasn't just hungry; he was haunted.

I quickly prepared Melon soup. I dished it in a bowl. Headed for the garden.

The Leisure Garden was a hidden gem within the palace walls.

Willow trees hung over a stream. Water moved over stones. Jasmine scented the air.

I saw Alaric. He sat on a bench. An empty wine decanter sat on the table. He gripped a silver goblet so tight. I thought the metal might buckle.

His eyes looked at the water. They were gold and distant. He looked trapped in his thoughts.

I approached the table at the center of the garden.

The air didn't feel peaceful. It felt charged. Like the moment before a lightning strike.

I carried a tray. I had prepared chilled melon soup. I added mint and wild honey.

Something light to balance the wine and his grief.

"Your Majesty," I whispered.

Alaric didn't turn.

"The ghost returns." he muttered.

His voice soft but still holding that dangerous, predatory edge.

"Tell me. Chef... do you have a recipe for forgetting? Because I have searched the bottom of this bottle. The memories are still as sharp as daggers."

I set the tray down.

"Food is for remembering, Alaric." I said softly.

"If you want to forget. You're talking to the wrong person."

The Royal Taster stepped forward.

A thin man who looked frightened to the teeth.

He was about to take a bite.

"Leave." Alaric growled.

He finally turned his head.

His eyes bloodshot. His face flushed from the wine.

"Leave us."

"But Alpha." The taster stammered.

"The protocol..."

"I said leave!" Alaric roared.

He slammed the goblet onto the table.

The man disappeared into the shadows of the willows. He didn't look back.

Alaric turned his gaze to me. It was intense. Raw and frighteningly intimate.

"You taste it." He commanded.

He gestured to the bowl.

"If I am to be poisoned tonight. Let it be by your hand."

I took a careful sip.

"It's safe Alaric. I promise."

He didn't eat. He just watched me quietly. The stream made the only sound.

He looked so small. His massive frame became invisible.

He wasn't a King at that moment. He was a son missing his mother.

I stood up. I turned to leave.

"Please stay," he whispered.

"Just... stay."

He tried to lie back on the cushions. The wine made him clumsy. He tripped over the table.

I reached out to catch his arm. His weight pulled me down.

We fell onto the bench. I landed on his chest. My face was inches from his.

The world narrowed down to the heat of his body. I smelled wine and cedar.

My heart raced.

We were breathing the same air.

I tried to get up.

"I'm so sorry. I..."

"No." He whispered.

His large hand moved to my back. He pulled me down softly. He did not use force.

"Please stay. Just for a moment."

I looked into his eyes. I saw my own loneliness there.

I froze. I should have moved. I should have ran back to the safety of the kitchens.

Then, the world shifted.

Alaric moved his hand to my neck. His thumb touched my jaw. He pulled my head toward him.

He kissed me.

The kiss felt desperate.

It felt like five hundred years of waiting.

My brain issued a warning.

This man was the Alpha King. He was drunk. He was dangerous. He would regret this in the morning. He might execute me for this touch.

My body ignored the fear.

My heart beat against my ribs. I didn't know whether to pull out. I just laid still while he kissed me.

I knew I was playing with fire.

But for the first time in my life. I wasn't scared of burning.

Sophie's POV

I slammed the heavy stone pestle into the mortar.

Each crack echoing against the wall felt good. It felt like a small, satisfying victory. I repeated the motion.

Crush. Grind. Destroy.

I had not slept for a single second. My mind held the scent of cedar and wine. I felt the touch of Alaric on my back. That kiss should not exist.

My hands shook.

I reached for the ginger root. I sliced it with jagged, violent movements.

I was a modern woman. I survived a temporal rift. A hunting net. A fall off a cliff. Even the trial of skill.

I do not accept being a drunken convenience for a tyrant.

"Sophie? You are hurting the ginger."

I looked up.

Martha watched me from the prep table. Her eyes showed concern. She had never seen me like this. In the short time I had been here, I had been terrified, confused, or determined.

But today, I was radiating pure, unadulterated heat.

"I am fine Martha." I said. My voice was tight.

I kept my eyes on the cutting board.

"You are not fine." Martha countered.

She moved closer. Her voice dropped.

"I have never seen you this angry. Your face looks pale. Did something happen in the garden? Did the Alpha... did he threaten you?"

I could not explain a five hundred year mistake.

"The King was drunk." I said.

I focused on the pot of boiling water.

"He was loud. He was difficult. I am simply tired."

I turned back to the stove. I was making a recovery soup. I used bone broth, fresh ginger, honey, and lemon balm. It was a cure for hangover.

It would settle his stomach. It will clear his blood. I dished the liquid into a wooden bowl. I set it on a tray.

"Elspeth." I called out.

The eldest chef hurried over. Her gray hair was tucked neatly under her cap.

I handed her the tray.

"Take this to the King's chambers. Tell him it is for his head. Ensure he drinks it all."

"You are not coming?" Elspeth asked surprised.

"I have stock to skim." I replied.

I didn't look at her.

I watched them leave.

I tried to focus on the steam rising from the pots. I tried to convince myself that I was safe in the kitchen.

Ten minutes later. The peace was shattered.

The kitchen doors flew open. Elspeth ran back inside. Her face pale. Her chest heaving. She was panting hard. She couldn't speak.

Behind her, the other junior cooks looked like they had seen a massacre.

"He destroyed a washbasin. He threw the first tray. He is having fits!" Elspeth screamed.

I frowned.

"Fits? What does that mean? Is he having a seizure?"

"No!" Elspeth grabbed my arm.

"The fits of rage! When the Alpha is angry, he destroys everything in his path. He is yelling."

She lowered her voice. Her eyes darting around.

"Usually, only Lady Elara can comfort him during the fits. She goes in and calms the wolf. But today... he is different."

"What did he say?" I asked.

My heart began to thud.

"He demanded you." Elspeth whispered.

"He threatened to destroy the kitchen if you did not appear."

I stood still. I searched my memory of the history books. My father taught me every legend about Alaric the Tyrant. But he never mentioned these "fits."

It sounded less like a king. It sounded like a man who can't handle his own head.

I grabbed a fresh tray. I dished out a second bowl of the recovery soup. My anger was still there. I walked out of the kitchen. My clogs clicked against the stone floor.

I walked to the royal chambers. Guards stood at the door. They looked afraid. They opened the oak door for me.

I stepped inside. The room was a mess. A chair sat upside down. Broken wood lay on the rug. Alaric stood by the window. His chest was rising and falling rapidly.

As the door clicked shut. I saw him freeze. He didn't turn immediately. He smoothed his tunic. He fixed his hair. He adjusted his posture. He was composing himself. For me.

I set the tray on the table. I kept my eyes fixed on the soup. I did not look at him. I felt his gaze.

It was heavy. It was hungry. Usually, I looked at him with curiosity or defiance.He wanted me to look at him. He now craved that look. My silence bothered him.

"What is this?" he asked.

His voice was a raspy rumble. It was still rough from the wine.

"Ginger and honey broth." I said. My voice was flat. Professional.

"It will settle your stomach. The lemon balm will reduce the pressure in your head. Drink it while it is hot."

I moved to step back. I still did not look at him.

"Sophie," he said. He sounded confused. "Look at me."

"I am a chef, Your Majesty. I am looking at the meal."

"Are you well?" he asked. He stepped closer. I could felt heat radiating from his body.

I couldn't help it. My head snapped up. I glared at him.

"Why would you ask if I am okay? After what happened yesterday?"

Alaric blinked. His storm-gray eyes were genuinely blank.

"Yesterday? You brought me soup in the garden. I drank. I remember the moon was bright. Why does that make you look at me with such venom?"

I felt a surge of pure, hot bile in my throat. "So you don't remember? You truly have no memory of your actions?"

"I woke with a headache" he said softly.

"Did you wake on the wrong side of your bed? Or do you want to me to get you a new bed?"

I leaned across the table. My face was inches from his.

I was so angry I forgot he could have me executed.

"You don't remember... muah?" I twisted my mouth into a ridiculous kissing shape.

I held it for a second. My face burning with the memory of his lips on mine.

Alaric stared at my mouth. He looked baffled.

"Muah? What is a muah? Why are you making that sound? Is that how you say you are sick where you come from?"

I straightened up. I wanted to hit him.

"I knew it. I knew he would do this. He harass me. And now he is pretending it never happened. All because he is a King and I am a prisoner." My mind whispered.

Before I could say a word. A commotion broke out in the hall. Shouting echoed through the door.

"I must see him! Move aside!"

It was Elara. I recognized her melodic voice. She was wrestling with the guards. She sounded desperate. She truly believed she was the only cure for his "fits."

Alaric's head snapped toward the door. The vulnerability I had seen a moment ago vanished. His golden eyes flared.

"What is that noise?" He yelled.

The door creaked open an inch.

A guard's face appeared.

"Alpha! Lady Elara insists on entering. She says she is here to provide your comfort."

Alaric turned back to me. His intensity was terrifying. He looked at me. Like I was the only thing in the room that mattered. Like he wanted to devour me.

"I said I would see no one." Alaric's voice cut through the room. "That includes Lady Elara. Tell her to return to her chambers immediately."

I saw Elara's face through the gap in the door. She was frozen. She saw me standing there. She saw Alaric looking at me with a heat she clearly didn't possess. Her face contorted with pure jealousy.

She turned and stomped away.

The room went silent. Alaric turned back to me. He reached out a hand to touch my arm.

I stepped back. I looked him dead in the eye.

"You have no right." I said. My voice was low but steady.

"You have no right to harass me. You have no right to kiss me like I belong to you. I am your chef Alaric. Not your toy."

I turned on my heel and walked out.

I didn't wait for his permission. I didn't look back.

I left the King of Blackwood standing alone in his wreckage.