Elara's POV
The sight of Alaric in the kitchen was a brand on my eyes. I left the kitchen. I moved through dark halls. My silk skirts hit the stone.
I watched the Alpha King lose his dignity. He wore bells. He danced for a nameless girl.
The pain felt heavy. I reached my chamber. I breathed fast. I did not call my maids. I hid my tears. I grabbed a dark coat with a hood. I covered my face. I had to strike. Before the rot Alaric called "love" destroyed everything I had built.
I used the side door. I moved in shadows. I headed for the east wing. I reached the quarters of Grand Prince Magnus.
Magnus was Alaric's uncle. The court saw him as a drunk. They thought he was useless. But I knew better. I knew his hunger for power. I knew the steel behind his lazy smile.
I reached his double doors. I slipped inside without a knock. The room smelled of old oak and heavy spice.
Magnus was sitting by the fire. A silver chalice in his hand. He looked up. His eyes sharp despite the dim light.
"Lady Elara?" his voice was a low purr.
"You visit at a dangerous hour. If the guards see you here. Your reputation will be ashes by sunrise."
"No one saw me." I snapped.
I pulled the hood back. My hair was a mess of gold tangles.
"I have no choice, Magnus. We are in trouble."
He leaned back. He swirled the liquid in his cup.
"Why the sudden visit? Did our King grow tired of your company?"
"He is distracted." I hissed.
Pacing the floor. "He is losing interest in me. He is obsessed with that... that ghost chef. Tonight, he wore bells for her. He danced in the kitchen like a common jester. And worse, he has threatened me. He vowed to find evidence of my plots against her. He is looking for the strings, Magnus. If he finds them, they lead to me. And if they lead to me, they lead to you."
Magnus let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. He shook his head as if I were a child crying over a broken toy.
"At least I am not seen as a threat." He said.
His voice dripping with mock humility.
"I am the useless uncle. Too stupid for politics. Too drunk for power. Even if you are caught, Elara, the Alpha will never look at me. I am invisible in my mediocrity. I can still go on with the plan while you rot in the dungeon."
I froze. Cold fury washed over me.
"Are you telling me you are just using me? That I am your shield while you wait for the throne?"
Magnus smiled. It was a slow, terrifying expression. He stood up and walked toward me. The firelight casted long shadows across his face.
"I am joking, little viper. Do not lose your nerve. I have many plans. They are like the gears of a clock. If one gear breaks, the others still turn. One way or another, Blackwood will have a new hand on the rudder."
"I need his attention back." I whispered.
My voice trembling. "I need him to remember who I am. He looks at her as if she holds the secrets of the universe."
Magnus reached out and tilted my chin up.
"The girl uses food to confuse his senses. It is a primitive but effective tool. If she uses flavor, you must use it too. Prepare something special for him. A meal that reminds him of the luxury of his station. Not the dirt of the commoners."
"I am not a cook." I spat.
"You are a woman of resources." Magnus countered.
"I will visit Alaric tomorrow. I will speak highly of you. The Alpha still listens to me because he thinks I have no ambition. I will remind him of your loyalty. But you must do your part."
He nudged me toward the door.
"Leave now. Before the moon sets. No one must see the future Queen in the room of a 'drunkard'."
"My loyalty lies with you, Magnus." I reminded him. "Do not forget that."
"I never forget a debt." He replied.
I slipped back into the hall. I did not go to my chambers. I headed for the basement levels. The air was cold and smelled of damp earth.
I reached the servants' quarters. These rooms were small. Cramped. Foul. I stopped at a door at the end of the hall. I kicked it open.
Chef Damien sat on a small stool. He was sharping a knife.
He was a bitter man. He had deep lines around his mouth. He had expected to be the Chief Royal Chef. He had been passed over for a girl who fell from a tree.
"Lady Elara?" he stammered. He stood up quickly.
"Sit down, Damien." I commanded.
I stepped into the room. The shadows of my hood masking my eyes.
"I know you are not pleased. I know you hate the 'ghost' as much as I do."
Damien's grip tightened on his knife.
"She knows nothing of our traditions. She uses strange herbs. She insults the craft."
"I want you to cook a meal." I said. "The best meal the King has ever tasted. I want it to be a masterpiece of tradition and elegance. Something that makes him realize what he is missing in that girl's kitchen."
"The King has ordered only her food." Damien whispered.
"The King will eat what I bring him." I said.
"And if you succeed, Damien. I will see to it that you become the Chief Royal Chef. The girl will be removed. One way or another."
Damien's eyes lit up with a greedy fire.
"I can do it. I have a recipe from the old lands. It requires time. It requires the finest cuts."
"Do it." I told him.
"And keep your mouth shut. If a word of this reaches the Alpha, I will have your tongue."
We discussed the details in hushed tones. He agreed. I left the quarters. I moved quickly. My heart hammered.
I reached my chambers. I slipped inside. I stripped off the dark coat. I lay in my bed. I stared at the ceiling.
I am a daughter of a noble house. I am feared by the elders. A girl who smells of smoke will not replace me.
