Chapter 2: The Scent of Fate

Annora

I had spent the morning trying to forget what happened at the coronation ball. It was foolish to think he would even remember me—let alone send for me.

Yet here I was, breathless, clutching the fabric of my dress as I hurried down the halls, following the head servant who had nearly yanked me out of my duties the moment the summons came. The King has requested you.

I thought I had misheard at first, but the frantic excitement on Livia and Elsa’s faces confirmed otherwise.

“The King, Annora,” Elsa whispered in awe, practically vibrating as she helped fasten the laces of my bodice. “Do you know how rare this is? No one just gets summoned to his private chambers!”

Livia, always the more practical of us, narrowed her eyes as she brushed out my hair. “It’s not just a summons—it’s a promotion,” she murmured. “Only a handful of people ever serve in the King’s personal quarters. It means he’s taken an interest in you.”

That was precisely what worried me.

My hands had been shaking the entire time, my stomach twisted in knots. Why would he send for me? Did he know that I had fled from him last night, slipping away into the crowd before he could catch me? Had I offended him?

I had spent the night convincing myself that he hadn’t even noticed. After all, he was the King. There were dozens of noblewomen surrounding him, women with beauty and grace leagues above my own. Surely, by morning, I had been forgotten.

But the sealed parchment with my name scrawled in elegant ink had proved otherwise.

And now, as I followed the King’s silent servant through winding halls, my nerves only worsened. I had thought we would go the usual way toward the royal chambers, the grand corridor with high-arched ceilings and embroidered banners. Instead, we took a different path—one I had never walked before.

The air grew colder the deeper we went, the torches dimmer, the walls bare of the usual decadence found throughout the castle. There were no guards posted here, only heavy wooden doors with iron locks. Some bore strange carvings, symbols I did not recognize but felt deep in my bones.

The servant never looked back, never explained.

My breath came shallower. What was this place?

By the time we reached the final set of doors, polished and grand despite their age, my pulse was a hammer against my ribs. The servant pushed them open without hesitation, stepping aside.

I hesitated.

Then, slowly, I stepped forward into the King’s domain. The chamber was large, but not ostentatious. A fire roared in the massive hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Thick crimson drapes hung from the towering windows, their heavy fabric absorbing much of the light, leaving the room in a perpetual half-darkness. A long oak table sat in the center, its surface scattered with parchment, maps, and a single silver dagger with a darkened hilt.

And then, my gaze landed on him.

I had only caught fleeting glimpses of King Alaric before—the intimidating figure standing before the court, the sharp-eyed King watching over his people like a wolf among sheep.

But this? This was different.

He sat in a high-backed chair of dark wood, one leg casually bent over the other, one arm draped lazily over the armrest. The crown was absent from his head, his attire far simpler than the regal finery I had seen him wear before. Instead of embroidered robes, he wore a loose tunic of deep burgundy, the sleeves pushed up to reveal strong, corded forearms. A leather belt cinched his waist, and dark woolen breeches fit snugly over his powerful legs. His boots, worn but well-crafted, suggested a man who walked his own lands rather than one who simply ruled from a throne.

But what struck me most—what unnerved me—was his face.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he was devastatingly handsome in a way that did not belong in this world. His black hair, thick and slightly tousled, framed his strong, angular features—a chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, and an aristocratic nose that might have made him look cold, were it not for his lips, soft yet firm, hinting at something almost dangerous.

Then there were his eyes.

Deep brown, dark as aged oak, warm yet unsettlingly perceptive. They watched me as though they had already stripped me bare of every thought I might have, as though I were a puzzle he had already solved.

Silver rings adorned his fingers—some simple bands, others etched with symbols that matched the carvings on the doors I had passed. His hand, resting idly on the arm of the chair, flexed slightly as though he were considering something.

I felt my pulse quicken.

He was beautiful. Utterly beautiful.

And yet, every instinct I had screamed that he was dangerous.

"You came promptly."

His voice was smooth, deep—like velvet laced with steel. It sent a shiver down my spine.

I forced myself to bow, hoping he did not notice the trembling in my hands. "I would not dare delay when summoned by my King."

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, studying me.

"Last night," he said, tilting his head. "You ran from me."

The blood drained from my face.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

King Alaric’s lips curled, his gaze sharp yet unreadable. "You thought I wouldn't notice?"

"My King, I—"

"Relax." He leaned back again, his tone shifting, almost amused. "I am not angry."

My breath caught.

He was not angry?

I had spent the entire day dreading this moment, convinced that my brief encounter with him at the coronation ball had offended him somehow.

"You intrigue me, Annora," he said at last, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Not many would dare flee from their King."

I swallowed hard, unsure if that was meant to be a compliment or a warning.

He studied me for a long moment before speaking again.

"I have summoned you for a reason," he said, his voice quieter now, measured. "I want you to serve among my personal attendants. It is a position given only to a select few."

My lips parted in shock.

A promotion. A position of honor.

And yet, the weight of it pressed down on my chest.

To serve in the King’s quarters meant more than just privilege—it meant being close to him, near him at all times. It meant stepping into the den of a wolf, willingly.

"You are not bound to accept," King Alaric said, watching me closely. "But if you do, you must understand—things will change for you."

The fire crackled in the silence that followed.

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my heart thundering.

I should have been grateful. I should have bowed and thanked him for the honor. But all I could think was—what does he truly want from me? And why did I feel as though I was stepping into something far greater than I could ever understand?

The silence stretched between us, thick and weighted. The fire crackled softly, filling the space where words should have been. My mind raced as I stood before him, knowing my next words would shape my fate.

This was an honor. A promotion. A chance to rise above my station. Any servant would kill for this opportunity.

And yet… I had heard the stories.

Young female servants, handpicked by the King himself, only to be discarded when a Queen was chosen. Some were given lands or dowries to soften the blow, others simply faded into obscurity—used, tainted, and no longer worthy of a noble match.

I was young, but not naive.

I would not be so foolish as to believe I had been chosen for my skill alone.

Even so, refusing was not an option.

I took a slow breath, bowing my head in deference. "I am honored, Your Majesty."

King Alaric said nothing. He only watched me.

Then, suddenly, he inhaled deeply. His eyes fluttered closed, and his entire frame tensed as though something unseen had passed over him. When he opened them again, it happened so fast I thought I had imagined it.

With just the blink of an eye, he was there, standing directly in front of me.

I stiffened, a gasp catching in my throat. Had I been so deep in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed him move? Or had he really just…?

My pulse pounded as he leaned in, his sharp gaze lowering to the delicate curve of my neck.

"Your scent is… exquisite," he murmured, his voice deep and slightly strained.

Heat crept up my throat, my breath shuddering in my chest.

"Thank you, my lord," I managed to whisper. "I was given new oils before coming to you."

His lips parted slightly, and he hummed to himself, as though amused. "No… it's not the oils."

Alaric reached up slowly, his fingers twirling a loose curl of my hair around his finger, his touch lingering.

"It’s much more than that."

I swallowed hard, frozen under his gaze, under the warmth of his breath brushing against my skin.

Again, he inhaled, closing his eyes as though he were savoring something only he could perceive.

A shiver ran down my spine.

Then, just as suddenly as he had closed the distance, he was gone.

King Alaric stepped back, his expression unreadable. His jaw clenched briefly before his face settled into that same quiet control.

"You will be moved to the servants’ quarters immediately," he said, his voice smooth, yet slightly clipped. "Gather your belongings."

I blinked, my heart still hammering from his nearness, from the sudden shift in his demeanor.

Was he dismissing me?

Had I done something wrong?

But I knew better than to question him.

I dipped into a low bow, my hands clasped tightly at my sides. "As you wish, my King."

And with that, I turned and left his chambers, my mind spinning with more questions than answers.