Dionne
"These are the King's private quarters," Hannah said as we stood outside the ornate oak doors. "You'll clean the sitting room, bedroom, and bathroom. Everything must be spotless. Dust the furniture, sweep and mop the floors, change the linens, empty any waste. Don't touch any of his personal belongings or move anything on his desk. Just clean around them."
She unlocked the doors and pushed them open. The scent of pine and something darker, almost like leather, drifted out. It was the same scent I had noticed the night I collided with him in the auction house corridor.
"I'll return in three hours to check your progress," Hannah continued.
She handed me the key and left, her footsteps echoing down the corridor until they faded completely.
I stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring into the King's chambers before I stepped inside.
The sitting room was larger than any space I had ever occupied. A massive fireplace dominated one wall. Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with books. A large desk sat near the windows, covered in maps and documents weighted down with smooth stones.
Everything was neat, organized, but there was a heaviness to the air that made my skin prickle with unease. The entire suite felt sterile and ominous, as if the room itself was afraid of its owner.
I set to work, starting with dusting the furniture. My hands moved quickly as I tried not to think about whose space I was invading. But it was impossible not to notice small details that spoke of the man who lived here.
Dark obsidian floors gleamed like black water beneath my feet. Tall windows stretched up toward vaulted ceilings, veiled by thick velvet curtains that drowned out every ray of the sun.
It was in the study, while carefully dusting a shelf lined with leather-bound books, that I found it.
A portrait, smaller than the others that hung on the walls throughout the castle. It was tucked between two volumes, as if someone had hidden it there deliberately. The frame was ornate silver, and looked tarnished with age, but it did nothing to soften the intensity of the eyes staring out from the portrait.
The woman in the portrait was breathtaking.
She had long, flowing auburn hair that cascaded over her shoulders like fire. Her eyes were a striking amber color, warm and intelligent, holding a spark of mischief that seemed to leap off the canvas. She wore a deep crimson gown that complemented her coloring perfectly, and there was a crown of delicate silver leaves woven through her hair.
But it was more than her beauty that held me captive. There was something in her expression, a fierce joy, a confidence that spoke of someone who'd known her worth and hadn't been afraid to claim her space in the world. She looked like she'd been laughing at some private joke when the portrait was painted, her lips curved in a smile.
I found myself staring, transfixed by this woman who seemed so alive despite being trapped in paint and canvas. Who was she? Why was her portrait hidden away in the King's study rather than displayed prominently like the others throughout the castle?
My fingers traced the edge of the frame gently, careful not to disturb it too much. There was something achingly beautiful about her, something that made my chest tighten with envy. What I would give to be someone who smiled like that, who carried themselves with such certainty.
I was so lost in studying her face that I didn't hear the footsteps approaching until it was too late.
"What're you doing?"
Margaret's sharp voice cut through the silence like a whip. I jerked in surprise, my fingers losing their careful grip on the portrait. It slipped from my hands, and though I lunged to catch it, the frame struck the edge of the shelf on its way down.
The sound of cracking glass made my heart stop.
I caught the portrait before it could hit the floor, but the damage was done. A thin crack now ran diagonally across the glass, bisecting the woman's beautiful face. It wasn't shattered, the portrait itself remained intact behind the fractured glass, but the damage was visible.
Horror crashed over me in waves as I stared at what I'd done. My hands shook as I quickly tucked the portrait back between the two volumes where I'd found it, trying to hide it in the shadows of the shelf. Maybe if I was fast enough, maybe if Margaret didn't look too closely she wouldn't notice.
"I asked you a question," Margaret said coldly, stepping further into the room. "What are you doing snooping through the King's personal belongings?"
"I was dusting," I stammered, positioning myself between Margaret and the shelf, my body blocking her view of where I'd hidden the damaged portrait. "I was just dusting the shelves like I was assigned to do." The lie came too quickly, shocking me.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Had she seen what I'd dropped? Had she heard the crack of glass? I kept my eyes fixed on her face, terrified that if I looked back at the shelf, I'd draw her attention to it.
But Margaret wasn't looking at the shelves. Her eyes were fixed on the rags in my hands.
"Never mind that," she said dismissively, waving a hand. "You're needed elsewhere."
I stood frozen, hardly daring to breathe.
"The King decided to have his meeting in the War chamber today," Margaret said, "You're to serve them tea."
My blood turned to ice. The War chamber. Where the King would be surrounded by his council, where I'd have to walk directly into a room full of Lycans.
"Can't someone else do it?" The words escaped before I could stop them, desperation making me bold.
"Are you questioning your assignment?" Margaret's eyes narrowed dangerously.
The threat in her voice was unmistakable. I shook my head quickly, my protests dying in my throat.
"Go to the kitchen," Margaret commanded. "The snack tray has already been put together. All you have to do is, serve the tea and try not to embarrass yourself further."
Margaret turned and walked out, I looked at the portrait tucked into the shelf and for a second I thought about pulling it out and going to confess what I had done. But I couldn't. I didn't even want to imagine what the King would do to me.
Maybe he wouldn't notice anytime soon.
With shaking legs, I followed Margaret out of the study, and towards the kitchen where the heavy tray was waiting for me like she had said.
The walk to the War chamber felt like a march to my execution. Every step brought me closer to that imposing door, closer to having to face him.
As I approached, I could hear the low rumble of male voices beyond the thick oak doors. The sound made my stomach clench with fear. How many Lycans were in there? How close would I have to get to them? To him?
I could smell them even with the door closed, that overwhelming scent of power and dominance that made my wolf whimper.
Once I was invited in, I took a deep breath that did nothing to steady my racing heart, and pushed the door open wider and stepped into the War chamber.
The silence that fell was immediate and absolute. Thirteen pairs of eyes turned toward me, predatory and sharp. But I felt only one gaze truly see me, burning into me with an intensity that made my knees weak.
At the head of the massive table sat the King.
His gunmetal gray eyes locked onto mine, and the world seemed to narrow to just that connection. I couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was something in his expression I couldn't read, something that made my pulse hammer even harder against my throat.
I dropped into a deep bow, using the curtain of my hair to hide my face, to break that terrible eye contact. The tray shook in my hands, and I heard the delicate clink of porcelain against porcelain.
Five minutes, all I had to do was survive this room for five minutes.
I forced myself to move, to approach the far end of the table where the first elder sat. My hands trembled as I poured the tea, careful to keep my eyes down, to focus only on the task. Don't spill. Don't make a mistake. Don't give them any reason to notice you more than they already have.
The conversation around the table resumed and although I felt relieved that the attention was no longer solely on me, I could still feel his eyes on me with every step I took around the table. That burning gaze tracked my movement, making my skin prickle with awareness and fear, so much that I couldn't even make out what they were discussing with the ringing in my ears.
One by one, I served the elders. One by one, I moved closer to the head of the table. Closer to him.
And then there was no one left but the King himself.
My legs felt like water as I approached him. The teapot seemed to weigh a thousand pounds in my shaking hands, even when it was almost empty. Don't spill. Don't make a mistake. But I was trembling so hard I could barely keep the pot steady.
I lifted it to pour into his cup, my entire focus narrowed to that single task. Just pour the tea. Just finish this and leave.
But my wrist chose that moment to betray me.
A violent tremor ran through my hand, and the pot tilted too far. Hot tea gushed out in a torrent, overflowing his cup and splashing across his pants.
I watched in horror as the dark stain spread across the fabric.