TO SATE AN ALPHA'S FURY

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.