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.
