Chapter 3: The encounter

~Storme~

I had lost track of the days I spent in the dungeon. My body ached from the cold, and my stomach was hollow from the little food they gave me. I had fallen from an alpha’s daughter to a prisoner in a place that was more a grave than a room. My body trembled, both from the cold and the horror that had become my life.

King Marcellus had thrown me down here like I was nothing, his punishment for my unwillingness to submit on that first terrible night. I had been naïve to hope that he might show mercy. But mercy was not something men like Marcellus possessed. He had taken from me, broken me, and now he had left me here to rot.

When the guards finally came to release me, my first instinct was disbelief. I was released with orders, barked at with as little care as if I were a dog. “Wash up,” the guard said with a sneer. “The alpha wants you to prepare his food, and it better be perfect.”

My throat was so dry that I couldn’t respond even if I had the strength. They left me in a small, dim room with a basin of water and a ragged towel, my clothing clinging to my bruised skin. I scrubbed the filth from my body as best I could, but the feeling of filth lingered.

My reflection in the cracked mirror didn’t even look like me. Pale skin, hollow cheeks, and haunted eyes. I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me.

After washing, I dressed in the plain, rough clothes that had been left for me and searched for the kitchen. It was bustling, but the servants didn’t meet my eyes as I moved about, gathering what I needed to prepare King Marcellus’s meal.

I worked in a trance, my hands moving mechanically as I chopped, stirred, and seasoned. Every movement was calculated and careful, ensuring that nothing would be out of place. I couldn’t afford any mistakes.

When the food was ready, I arranged it neatly on a tray and lifted it. My steps were very cautious, as I made my way down the long corridor toward King Marcellus’s chambers.

But then, just as I turned the corner, it happened.

I didn’t see him coming. I didn’t notice the figure until it was too late. I collided with someone; a solid, warm, rocky body that sent the tray tumbling from my hands. The sound of the plates crashing to the floor was deafening, and I gasped, stumbling backward.

“No!” I cried, dropping to my knees to pick up the mess, my hands shaking. King Marcellus would kill me for this. “I’m so sorry!” I blurted out, my voice trembling as I scrambled to gather the broken plates and spilled food.

“I should be the one apologizing,” a deep voice replied, smooth as velvet.

I froze, my hand hovering over a broken plate, as the man knelt beside me. I looked up, and the breath caught in my throat.

He was the most handsome man I had ever seen. Dangerously and sinfully handsome. His dirty blonde hair fell in long waves around his shoulders, and his deep golden eyes seemed to burn with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. His skin was tanned, his lips full, and as we knelt there, our hands reached for the same plate at the same time.

Our fingers touched.

It was like a jolt of electricity shot through my body. My heart hammered in my chest, my skin tingling where his fingers had brushed mine.

I looked up at him, and he was already staring at me, his gaze locked onto mine. Time seemed to slow as we knelt there, neither of us moving, neither of us able to tear our eyes away from the other.

I didn’t understand what was happening. I couldn’t think. I could barely breathe. The air between us crackled with something that I couldn’t explain, something that made my skin flush and my heart race. Just like the feelings I get whenever I hump my pillow.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

I nodded, but the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t explain why, but for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t thinking about King Marcellus, or the dungeon, or the pain.

All I could think about was the man in front of me, the warmth of his hand as it lingered on mine, the way his eyes seemed to see right through me, the way I suddenly wanted to feel how good his weight on me would feel.

But then, reality crashed back in, and I remembered where I was. Who I was. I was a prisoner in King Marcellus’s home, and I couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now.

My cheeks burned as I pulled my hand away, breaking the spell. I couldn’t believe I had allowed myself to forget, even for a moment, the danger I was in.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered as I hurried to gather the ruined food. “I have to— I have to make it again. I—”

“Wait,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “There’s no need to rush.”

I shook my head, my heart still racing, but this time it wasn’t from the touch of his hand. It was from fear. “I can’t. King Marcellus is waiting. He’ll be furious if I don’t bring it quickly.”

Something flickered in his eyes at the mention of Marcellus’s name. His expression darkened, just for a moment, before softening again. “Let me help you,” he said, reaching for one of the broken plates.

“No,” I said quickly, standing up and stepping back. “It’s my fault. I’ll fix it.”

He stood as well, towering over me, his presence commanding and yet not threatening. His eyes softened as he looked at me, and for a moment, I could almost believe he cared.

I don’t know how or when, but our faces were suddenly so close…so close that it would only take a slight movement for our lips to touch. And I desperately wanted to find out how those lips tasted.

I couldn’t meet his eyes. I couldn’t stand there any longer, feeling the weight of his gaze, the strange pull between us. It was too much. Too confusing. My mind was already a mess, and now this? I didn’t know how to handle it.

“I have to go,” I muttered, backing away. “I have to... prepare the food again.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned and hurried back down the hallway, my heart pounding. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

As I rushed to the kitchen to start over, I couldn’t shake the memory of his touch, the warmth of his skin against mine. My heart still raced, not from fear, but from something else.

Who was he?

It didn’t matter. I couldn’t allow myself to think about him. I had more pressing matters to deal with. I had to survive King Marcellus first.

But even as I tried to push the memory of him aside, I couldn’t ignore the electrical jolts I'd felt, no matter how hard I tried.

This was scarier than King Marcellus. This feeling stirring inside of me… feelings I had no right to feel.

But there was one thing that I was sure of though – I really wanted to dabble very close and play with this fire.