Chapter 7 A bite from the king

Zephyra

"It's okay, Zephyra. You can do this." I mumbled to myself, pinching my left arm to make sure I am still on the path of following Maria and Deliah who's in front of me.

My skin still prickled with the sensation of exposure beneath the flimsy black silk, each frill and ruffle feeling like a public declaration of my new, degrading status. But the discomfort was secondary to the chilling anxiety that had settled in my gut.

"This is where our guide will end," Maria spoke as they faced me, stepping closer to give me a hug before whispering the next thing. "Promise you'll come back to us safely?"

Feeling her genuine care, I hugged her back. "I will."

Before we end up getting even more emotional, Deliah pried Maria away from me. "Good luck, newbie. He isn't that bad if you'll obey right away." She spoke, giving me a firm nod before pulling Maria to the left halls.

Taking a deep breath, I faced the Throne Room-It was unlike anything I had expected. It was grand, vast, carved directly from the living rock, with soaring ceilings that disappeared into shadow, giving it the feel of a sacred, terrifying cavern.

Torches set in intricate iron sconces illuminated massive tapestries depicting fierce battles and mythical creatures, their vibrant colors muted by the cavern's inherent gloom. A colossal, unadorned stone throne sat on a raised dais, radiating an ancient, formidable power that seemed to hum in the very air.

Clearing my throat, I opened the doors with all my might. I wonder why they are no stationed knights here in-

BY THE GODS!

My eyes widened as I was welcomed by the air inside which was thick with tension, tinged with the metallic tang of fresh blo*d.

Two men were on the verge of de*th, their tunics torn and stained, lay crumpled near the dais. Another official, still standing but swaying, clutched his side, a dark stain spreading rapidly across his robes and coughing bl*od.

There no knights outside because they're INSIDE waiting to pick up the beaten-up bodies!

"-utter incompetence!" Malachi's voice was a low growl, vibrating with controlled rage that still shook the very foundations of the room.

"Embezzlement of my resources? Diverting pack funds meant for our growth, for our strength, into your own pockets? You undermine my authority, you weaken my base. I took you in because you low lives beg to have a place, and this is what I get?!" His voice rose, a chilling crescendo that seemed to echo off the cavern walls.

"There will be consequences for such blatant betrayal, far beyond this immediate lesson!"

My stomach churned, a cold dread seeping into my bones. This was the rogue king in his true element. Ruthless. Unforgiving. This was not just a punishment; it was a brutal, terrifying display of absolute power, a stark warning to anyone who dared to challenge his rule.

Malachi's blazing eyes swept across the room, cutting through the fear-laden air, and landed on me. His gaze, even from across the large chamber, felt like a physical weight, pressing down on me, making my already precarious balance waver. He dismissed the cowering, whimpering officials with a curt, disgusted wave of his hand. They scrambled away, limping, leaving behind a trail of fear and a few drops of blood.

"You," Malachi's voice, now calmer but no less dangerous, addressed me directly as he wiped his fists clean of their filth. His gaze, hot and possessive, burned into mine.

"Your first assignment: clean this mess." He gestured to the blo*dy floor, the overturned furniture, the scattered debris of his wrath.

"The rest of you drag their sorry as*es to the dungeon, you know the drill." He ordered his men who, without preamble, obeyed, picking up their limp forms and dragging them outside, leaving a trail of red stains for me to clean up with.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I forced my legs to move. Fortunately, I found a bucket of murky water and a rough cloth near a side entrance, probably left by a previous maid. The water was shockingly cold against my skin, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of Malachi's presence.

I knelt, the flimsy fabric of my uniform stretching uncomfortably, the short skirt riding higher with the movement. The metallic tang of bl*od filled my nostrils as I began to scrub. The floor was slick in places, the dark crimson stark against the polished stone, clinging stubbornly to the rough bristles of the cloth.

Calm down, Zephyra. This sight is nothing new from the dungeon you stayed in, remember?

My movements were slow, methodical, trying to keep my breathing even, trying to pretend I wasn't utterly terrified, trying to disappear into the mundane task. I could feel his gaze on me, a constant, heavy weight that seemed to strip away layers of my composure, even when I didn't dare to look up.

"Tell me, little maid," Malachi's voice broke the suffocating silence, deep and resonant, making me flinch so hard I almost dropped the cloth.

He made no move to approach, yet his words seemed to fill the vast space, wrapping around me, drawing me into his orbit.

"Why were you locked up in that wretched dungeon in Moonstone? You were once the light, yes? What made them turn on you so violently?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

How the hell did he knew a lot about Moonstone pack?

My mind raced, searching for an answer that was polite, truthful enough to not incur his wrath, but vague enough to protect myself, to keep the true depth of my past pain hidden.

"I... I was deemed a threat to their stability, Your Majesty," I murmured, my voice barely audible over the scrape of the cloth. I focused on a particularly stubborn bloodstain, pretending it required all my attention.

"A... a disruption to their order, their carefully constructed peace."

I continued cleaning, scrubbing with a feigned diligence, hoping the simple act of labor would signal my desire to avoid further conversation.

"A disruption," he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue with a hint of dry amusement. He finally moved, the soft thud of his boots on the stone floor echoing loudly in the silent chamber, each step bringing him closer.

I kept my head down, scrubbing furiously, as if my life depended on getting the floor spotless.

"And why," he continued, his voice closer now, a low rumble that vibrated through the air directly above me, making the hairs on my arms stand on end, "are you still marked by him? Why does his scent still cling to you, hm?"

The question hit me like a physical blow, sharper than any of Carina's taunts.

"It lingers. Sometimes... some bonds simply linger, even when... when they shouldn't." I hated the helpless sound of my voice, the desperate plea for understanding that flickered through it.

His scent, raw Alpha power mixed with the faint, unsettling smell of blood, intensified. A deep shadow fell over me, deeper than the torchlight, plunging me into his immediate, oppressive presence.

I braced myself, knowing he was right behind me, his every breath a tangible force. He stopped my hand mid-scrub, his fingers closing around my wrist.

He pulled me up, effortlessly, his strength absolute, until I was standing, facing him, dangerously close. My uniform felt even more flimsy, more exposed, under his direct, searing gaze, as if it would simply disintegrate under the sheer weight of his presence.

His thumb, rough yet precise, found the tender skin around my nape and began tracing the edge of Emerson's mark.

His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper, a silken threat that wrapped around me, promising both menace and a terrifying intimacy.

"What will you do," Malachi rumbled, his voice a chilling caress that promised a world of pain and submission, "if I bite you right now?"