Assigned to the alpha

The castle was alive with sound that morning. The kind of noise that carried purpose and nerves. Boots clattered against stone floors, voices overlapped in hurried whispers, and the smell of soap, polish, and freshly baked bread filled the air. Servants rushed through the long corridors, balancing trays, folded linens, and buckets of steaming water. Someone had lit every torch in the halls, and the golden flames danced along the walls, chasing away the gray light of dawn. Even the guards, usually still as statues, stood straighter, their armor gleaming under the new light. Something was happening.

Elysia noticed it the moment she stepped into the kitchen. The usual dull rhythm of the morning—bread, fire, silence—was replaced by the tense energy of expectation. She frowned as she stacked loaves of bread onto a wooden tray.

“What’s going on?” she asked one of the other boys, her tone casual.

The boy glanced around as if afraid someone might overhear. His face was flushed, his eyes bright with excitement. “You don’t know? The Alpha’s back. Came in before dawn.”

Her heart stumbled. The Alpha. For days, she had waited for that name to become real, and now it was. Alaric Varyn, the man she had sworn to kill, was here inside these walls. She forced herself to look calm, her hands stilling over the bread.

“Back from where?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

“From the border,” the boy said, leaning closer as if sharing a sacred secret. “They say he killed twenty rogues himself, moving faster than the wind. Our master is truly great.” His voice dropped into something like reverence.

Elysia only nodded, pretending to be impressed. Her face stayed neutral, but inside, her pulse pounded hard enough to shake her bones. The man she had come for, the reason she had buried her name and her past, was back. Finally.

She wanted to ask more, to gather every detail she could, but before she spoke, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Eli!”

Her head turned sharply. Bren, the guard who had let her through the servants’ gate a week ago, stood in the doorway. He looked uneasy, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his gaze swept across the kitchen before landing on her.

“Come with me,” he said.

Elysia wiped her hands quickly on her apron and followed him, her steps quiet against the floor. They slipped out through the narrow passage behind the kitchen, a place where the smell of cooking gave way to damp stone and cold air. The walls were slick with morning mist, the light dim and silvery.

“What is it?” she asked, keeping her tone even even though her heart hadn’t settled since she heard the Alpha’s name.

Bren rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but her face. “You’ve been moved.”

Elysia frowned. “Moved?”

He nodded. “They needed someone new in the Alpha’s wing. One of the regulars fell ill last night, and the steward picked you. Said you’ve been quiet and hardworking.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. When they did, she went still. The Alpha’s wing. Her chest tightened, and she felt the tray of bread slipping from her thoughts entirely.

“His wing?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” Bren muttered, lowering his voice. “You’ll be attending him directly. Cleaning, serving meals, that sort of thing.”

For a breath, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt heavy.

This was it. The opportunity she had been waiting for. The reason she had risked everything to come here. She had dreamed of this moment, pictured it over and over. The first time she would see him. The first time she would stand close enough to drive her blade into his chest.

She had imagined it would feel easy. Simple. But now that it was here, she felt something else too. A quiet, cold fear.

Her palms were slick, her throat dry. She swallowed hard, forcing her expression into calm.

“Good,” she said softly. “That will make things easier.”

Bren gave her a wary look. “Just… be careful, alright? And do your Job right. Don't screw this up or you will be hanged. You have the honour of serving our master”

She blinked, not sure what he meant. “Do I?”

He shrugged. “You'll see how awesome our master is soon enough”

Elysia wasn't surprised that the people of this kingdom respected their Alpha and were sacred of how powerful he was, the same rumors that had drifted through the kitchen all week. That the Alpha was cruel. That he killed his own men in battle. That he was cursed, but they didn't seem to care about it it didn't stop them from loving the man. To her, curses were stories told by frightened people to make monsters sound human.

All she knew was that Alaric Varyn had destroyed everything she loved.

By midday, the castle had settled into a new rhythm. The kitchens were quieter, though tension still hummed under every movement. Servants carried food and wine through the long halls that led toward the Alpha’s quarters. Elysia followed, her heart pounding with every step.

When she reached the doors of his wing, she stopped. The corridor here was different from the rest of the castle quieter, colder. The walls were lined with tall windows that looked out over the mountains, their peaks still shrouded in morning fog. The air smelled faintly of smoke and iron.

A soldier outside the chamber gave her a brief glance, then motioned for her to enter. “Take it in quickly,” he said. “Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

She nodded, adjusting her grip on the tray. Her fingers trembled slightly, though she prayed he didn’t notice. This was it. The moment her entire life had been crawling toward.

Elysia took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and stepped forward.

The door loomed tall before her, dark oak carved with the sigil of the Varyn line, a wolf’s head wreathed in flame. She stared at it for a heartbeat longer than she should have. Then she knocked once, softly.

Inside, there was a pause. Then a voice. Deep. Steady. Commanding.

“Enter.”

Elysia’s hand tightened around the tray. She pushed the door open.

The first thing she noticed was that the room was dimly lit. The room was vast, the windows unshuttered so that daylight poured across the stone floor in pale gold. The air carried the faint scent of steel, smoke, and rain.

And then she saw him. Alaric Varyn. The man she had sworn to kill.

He stood near the hearth, his broad frame silhouetted against the fire. His dark hair fell loosely to his shoulders, damp from what must have been a recent wash. His tunic, black trimmed with silver, fit across his chest like armor, though he wore none. And when he turned toward her, his eyes, storm grey and cold as winter, met hers.

Elysia froze.

For the first time, she was looking into the face of the man who had burned her world to ashes. And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she could breathe.