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TO SATE AN ALPHA'S FURY Novel Cover

TO SATE AN ALPHA'S FURY

A modern chef trapped in an ancient blood feud, must choose between the timeline she knows and the Alpha she loves before history repeats itself. Can a woman from the future rewrite a destiny written in blood, or is she just the final meal for an Alpha king marked for the grave?
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Chapter 11

Alaric's POV

I pulled the mask from my face. The cold kitchen air hit my skin. I watched Sophie's expression change.

First, I saw fear. Then, I saw a flash of pure delight. She did not expect a King to play the fool. My heart hammered against my ribs. I liked the way she looked at me.

"I am sorry, Sophie." I said.

My voice was thick. I did not sound like a King. I sounded like a man.

"I apologize for the garden. I apologize for the wine. I ask for your forgiveness."

I stood in bells and bright fabric. I humbled myself to see her smile. The jingle of the cap was worth the result.

I waited for her answer. My ears twitched. I heard a faint shuffle. It was silk on stone. Elara was peeping through a gap in the wood. Her eyes showed shock and fury.

I leaned toward Sophie. I smiled a sharp smile at the door. I wanted Elara to feel jealousy. Her plots only brought me closer to Sophie.

"I forgive you, Your Majesty." Sophie whispered.

The tension in my shoulders snapped.

"Then prove it." I said.

"Come out with me tonight. Let the palace see that we are at peace."

I did not wait for her to argue.

I stripped off the jester clothes. A guard handed me my tunic. I pulled the fabric over my head. I adjusted the fur. The clown vanished. The King returned.

"You have forgiven me." I said.

I looked at her.

"Now, I must give you a gift. Tell me what you desire. Do you want gold hairpins? Or jewelry from the southern mines? Name it."

Sophie shook her head. She looked at the empty pots on the hearth.

"I do not care for jewelry, Alaric. I only want fresh ingredients. My kitchen needs life. I need things that grow."

I looked at the door. Elara was shaking with rage. She loved gold. Sophie rejected jewelry for vegetables. It must have felt like a personal insult to her entire existence. Elara turned and walked away in the shadows. I felt satisfied.

"Since you do not care for shiny rocks." I said to Sophie.

"I will take you to the royal farm. We grow our own crops there. You can take whatever your heart desires."

Joy flashed in her eyes. She tried to hide it with a professional mask. I saw the light anyway. It was brighter than any diamond.

We walked through the silent palace grounds. The moon was high. The air smelled of earth and flowers. Soon, we reached the gates of the farm. I showed her rows of grain and vines.

"It is beautiful," she said. She touched a leaf with a gentle hand. "It is so full of life."

We walked further into the experimental plots. We passed familiar greens and roots. Then, we reached a restricted area.

I stopped her. I pointed to a row of long, bright red crops. They looked like teeth.

"Be careful." I warned.

"This is Poison. We do not use it for cooking. It is planted only for experiments. Many who tried to eat it died or suffered greatly. Their throats burned. Their stomachs failed. Nobody touches the red crop."

Sophie let out a loud shout.

"It is not poison! Your Majesty. We call this pepper!"

She moved forward with sudden excitement. She reached out to touch the red fruit.

"No!" I barked.

I was not standing on firm ground. The soil was wet from the evening dew. I lunged forward to grab her arm. To pull her away from the danger. My weight caused me to slip.

I fell backward. Sophie, caught in my grip, tumbled with me.

The world spun for a second. I hit the soft earth with a thud. Sophie landed directly on top of me.

Her face was an inch from mine. I felt her breath on my lips. My hands around her waist. I held her steady.

The farm was silent. I heard her heart race. Her eyes reflected the moon. The crown did not matter. The poison did not matter. I felt the heat of her body.

I just stare into her eyes. I saw a different version of myself.

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