Chapter 3 The Price Of A Taste

Sophie's POV

The sword sliced through the air. The sound was a sharp scream.

It signaled my death.

I squeezed my eyes shut. My shoulders bunched toward my ears. I waited for cold metal to hit my skin

I did not think about history. I did not think about time travel. I thought about the smell of the apron my father wore. I realized I would never say goodbye to him.

Clang!

The sound vibrated through my skull. It reached my teeth. My body braced for pain. The pain did not come.

The pressure around my shoulders vanished. I lost my balance. I stumbled forward.

My arms fell to my sides. I opened my eyes slowly. I did not trust the silence.

The hemp ropes lay on the stone floor. Alaric had sliced them clean.

He stood over me with the sword. He did not look at my neck. He looked at my red wrists.

Guilt flashed across his face before it was replaced with that familiar, tyrant mask.

He turned toward the council. His voice echoed through the hall. "The spirit remains and she will no longer be a prisoner."

Murmurs filled the hall. Men whispered to each other.

The elder with the white beard stood up. He gripped his staff. "Alpha! This is madness! To let a demon roam the freely among us..."

"She is no demon," Alaric cut him off. His voice was a dangerous rumble.

He threw the sword to a guard. The metal hit the floor with a loud bang. The whispering stopped.

"She is my Chief Royal Chef." Alaric announced.

I did not understand the words at first.

My voice came out thin. "Your what?"

The Council members stared at me. They looked at me as if I spoke blasphemy.

Alaric stepped into my space. His shadow covered me. He leaned down. His lips were inches from my ear. I smelled his breath. I smelled the meal I had cooked for him.

"Listen, Ghost." he whispered.

"You gave me a taste of a buried past. You claim to be a master."

I nodded quickly.

"You shall prove it." Alaric said.

"You will prepare a meal for me every day. Every dish must be something I have never tasted. If you succeed, you live. If you give me a taste I already know, you will pay a high price."

He locked his golden eyes on mine. My heart pounded.

"The sword will not miss your neck twice." He added.

My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard. I had no luxury of hesitation. This was not mercy. This was a slow execution. He was betting my life against the limits of my memory.

"Is that clear?" He demanded.

I looked at the Council. I looked at Elara. She rose from her seat. Her face was calm but her eyes burned with hate. She walked out through a side door without looking back.

Alaric ignored her.

Take her to the Royal kitchen, Alaric commanded his Beta. His name was Cassian.

The man inclined his head. "As you command, Alpha."

Release the girl from the hut, Alaric added. If the Ghost is to cook, she will need an assistant.

Cassian led me through stone corridors. He did not treat me like a prisoner. He did not treat me like a guest either.

My wrists burned. My hands remained steady.

Cassian exchange a look with the Chief Guard.

He likes her, Cassian whispered.

He thought I could not hear him.

She is not trembling anymore. She's calculating.

"She's a ghost, Cassian," the guard replied gruffly. "The Alpha is playing with fire."

"She's no ghost," Cassian said, his voice quiet but firm. "She's exactly what she said; a girl from a place we don't understand." He said firmly.

"And if she keeps cooking like she did in that hut, Lady Elara is going to find her bed very cold. I'd rather have a girl from the future as our Luna than a viper." He added.

The word Luna chilled me. They saw me as a pawn. I did not want a crown. I did not want power. I wanted my phone. I wanted my kitchen. I wanted my old life.

We reached the kitchen. Martha was there. She hovered by the central table. She looked nervous. Her face lit up when she saw me.

Her joy was cut short. A woman entered the kitchen. Her footsteps were heavy and regal. Two guards followed her. Elara followed her too.

The woman was old. Her skin was stretched thin across her face. My mind identified her. She was the Grand Queen Mother.

So, the woman said. This is the creature that confused my grandson with tricks.

I straightened my back. I hid my shaking hands.

"I'm just a chef, Your Grace." I responded with respect.

A chef? the Grand Queen Mother mocked. We do not rely on tricks in Blackwood. We rely on tradition. Elara says you are a danger to this pack.

I looked at Elara. She stood behind the Queen Mother. A faint, victorious smile playing on her lips. She had clearly been busy while I was being moved.

"I have decided to test your worth," the Queen Mother said.

"Since you are so confident in your skills, you will participate in a Trial of Skill. You will compete against the finest royal chefs of this dynasty. If you win, perhaps you are truly meant to be here."

She stepped closer. Her cane clicked on the stone. She grabbed my wrist. She inspected my palm like an object.

"But if you lose," she whispered, her eyes boring into mine, "the hands that dared to play tricks on the Alpha King will be cut off. You will leave this palace, but you will never hold a knife again."

She released me abruptly.

Elara lingered for a second. The Grand Queen stormed out. Elara's eyes trailing over me with a look of pure resentment.

"Good luck, Ghost," Elara whispered. "I've already picked out the blade they'll use on you."

The kitchen became silent. I looked at my hands. My father had trained these hands. They were my connection to my life.

The King threatened my neck. The grandmother threatened my hands.

Every breath was borrowed time. I looked at the orange flames in the furnace dance like they were mocking me.

I was five hundred years from home, and I was officially fighting for my life.