The price of Loyalty (chapt.2)

Akira's POV

The kitchen was weighed down with subdued heat, the fireplace crackling over the air full of warmth; with the heavenly aroma of fresh-baked bread from the next oven in between, with the pungent smell of the dried, salted meat leaning against the wall, and the pungent smell of roots and herbs, it was essentially one of the most joyful corners of the castle.

I stood at the end of the long wooden counter making my way through the task of kneading dough, with hands now sticky and flour-covered. The air was warm and heavy, heavy with steam and the tittle-tattle of the other maids fawning about so very rudely.

"Hear what?" Maren sliced through the hushed gossip, barely containing her thrill as she stirred the stew in her pot. "Alpha Ryker literally pleaded with the Lycan King for help."

A maid named Kira snorted. The wooden spoon slammed against the iron pot. "Groveled, you mean? I heard he sent a message last night-roughly around midnight, on his knees, nearly crying in it."

Laughter filled the kitchen.

Staring at the dough, I folded it and folded it and folded it until my hands ached.

"He deserves it," Maren went on, slapping a hunk of raw meat onto a chopping board. "He has ruined this pack. All he does is drink, gamble, and spend the last penny we have left."

"And Luna Aurelia?" Kira broke in with a scornful smile. "She doesn't give a damn if the entire pack burns to ashes, as long as she's got silk dresses and jewelry."

The kitchen became heated with their laughter, mixed with fear and bitterness.

And they weren't wrong.

I remained quiet.

Yes, it was for the best.

Best to pretend that I was concentrating on the dough in front of me and not the delicate strands that held the pack together.

"Akira, you've been awfully quiet," Maren teased, flour-covered hands on hips. "You've got something on your mind, don't you?"

I made an effort at half-hearted smiling but still refused to look up.

"Just getting the whole operation lined up for breakfast before plates fly again."

It made them giggle some more, but it left me to myself afterward.

That's exactly how I liked it.

That fragile peace was shattered by a further occurrence.

The muted thud of deep, drumming thunder reverberated against the palace walls, faint at first, as if an echo, increasing in volume, in weight, the throb pounding in my chest.

There was silence in the kitchen.

"Is that.?" Kira's eyes widened.

Maren clattered her ladle into the stew; her whisper. "It's him. King Kaidën."

The sound of his name was like a knife thrust straight into my heart.

The deeper, slow, cold beat of drums echoed only to be broken by the braying, harsh, loud blast of horns. A thunderous tread marched out along the edge—crushing, in strict step—far different from Ryker's reckless shambles of a guard.

The Lycan King has come.

"Take the food out into the dinning hall immediately!" the master chef bellowed with cracking, fearful voice.

And all of hell broke loose. Platters were grabbed, trays were filled, and I found myself sending a silver tray full of hot bread and roasted meats, trembling with heaving hands.

The din increased outside—the cheering, the sharp piercing of the horns.

Holding my breath sounded like the best decision ever, as one step after another saw us go through the hallway while balancing the food on shaking hands.

Do not trip. Do not spill. Do not raise attention.

The grand dining hall stood wide open, almost suffocating with the air thrumming in that very moment.

He was here.

King Kaidën sat at the head of the long table, his presence curving the room to his will. Not even required to say a word, his presence alone was heavy enough to smother the nervous buzz of the courtiers and guards.

Looking over at him as I walked along the table, placing the tray down.

Not like Ryker.

Slumped over his throne, fat and greedy and arrogant, Kaidën was straight, shoulders wrapped in black furs, sharp jawbone glowing in the lanterns suspended from the ceiling. His hair was black as night, cut short, and piercing blue eyes scanned the room like a wolf scanning a herd for the weakling.

And beside him was, another man—his brother—Lyrien.

Nothing at all like Kaidën.

His were smoother features than his brother's, and matted brown hair fell into warm amber eyes. Stone was Kaidën, sunlight Lyrien, soft and radiant, curious perhaps.

I tried not to look at either of them as I arranged the food.

Tried not to register the scent of Kaidën—a burning smell of pine and something dark, something feral—welling up my nostrils and igniting instincts I hastily suppressed.

"State your purpose," Kaidën's deep voice cut through the thick silence, reminding me of where I was.

He hadn't so much as picked up the food.

Before him, Ryker was wriggling like a child caught with his paws in the cookie jar. "My King, I—"

Kaidën raised a hand to silence him. "Spare me the fawning."

Ryker gulped, his Adam's apple jouncing. "I need your help. The Shadow Clan is getting more and more bold—they're stealing our women and children. We can't hold them off ourselves."

A hesitation.

Then Kaidën laughed, low, dark, merciless. "You brought me here to deal with a minor second-rate pack? That's what this is about?"

Ryker flushed deep red. "They've been relentless—"

"They're gnats, Ryker. And you'd have me waste my time smashing them?"

I felt the secondhand embarrassment as a lump in my gut.

Ryker was grasping at straws. "I'll make it worth your while."

Kaidën raised an eyebrow. "Three hundred pounds of gold."

The atmosphere in the dining hall was thick and cloying with silence.

Ryker bobbed his chin. "I-I don't have that."

Kaidën leaned back into his chair, the breadth of his body exuding simple, cordial danger. "Then what've you got, Ryker? Because I don't do charity."

I almost heard Ryker unraveling within, the self-assurance seeping out like air from an exploded pouch.

Then from far down the table Aurelia's biting voice intruded into the tense air.

"There's an alternative payment."

Every head turned.

Aurelia, in a gown far too expensive for a pack on the verge of failure, lazily twirled a jeweled ring on her finger. Her painted smile curved into a wicked grin.

Kaidën didn't even blink. "This better be worth my time."

Aurelia bent her chin, her eyes flaring with nasty glee. "I possess a she-wolf. Pure, untouched. Fertile." She spoke in voice dripping with pretentious sweetness. "She would be a maid, a breeder… or more."

Those words pierced me, rough-edged and overwhelming.

No.

And then Aurelia's manicured fingers swooped—directly at me.

"Akira."

My heart halted.

Blood thundered in my ears as the other maids parted like the sea, and I, exposed, was revealed. Feet frozen to the ground, shallow breathing.

"Come forward," Aurelia spoke.

I needed to run. To vanish in the darkness. But my limbs seemed to obey without my command, stiff and unresponsive, until I found myself in the center of the room, everyone's eyes blazing into me.

Kaidën's gaze drew over me slowly, measuring. His expression showed nothing, but I could sense the weight of his attention—how his eyes lingered on my contours, the sweep of my neck where the skin was unbroken and plain.

The silence stretched out painfully long.

Then Kaidën spoke.

"Deal."