The Cruel Alpha's Fae Slave

Chapter 4- TheKitchen

Evander's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "True." He reached over and unlocked the chain around my wrist. "You heard her. Get up."

I rubbed my sore wrist, my eyes darting between Evander and Maeve. "What are you going to do with me?"

"You're going to the kitchens," Evander said, his tone dismissive. "Consider it a lesson in humility."

Before I could protest, Evander called for one of his men. A burly lycan warrior entered the room, his eyes cold as he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to my feet.

"Take her to the kitchens. Hand her over to the chefs. She could be of good use there," Evander ordered. "Make sure she doesn't run away, she's quite cunning."

The warrior nodded and pulled me toward the door. I stumbled, my legs still weak from sleep, but I didn't slow down.

The kitchens were a stark contrast to the opulence of Evander's chambers. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and sweat, and the room was filled with the clatter of pots and pans. A few people in the same tunic as I moved about, their faces drawn and weary, their eyes downcast. It wasn't hard to tell that they were shaves too.

I was shoved into the room, and the warrior left without a word. I stood there, feeling out of place and exposed, as the other slaves turned to stare at me.

"Well, well," a voice said, breaking the silence. "What do we have here?"

I turned and saw a young woman approaching me. She was human, I could tell by her distinct smell, she had curly brown hair and freckles dusting her nose. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked me up and down.

"You're the fae princess, aren't you? Princess Lirael?" the woman asked, her tone teasing.

Lirael crossed my arms, my chin lifting in defiance. "And who are you?"

The woman grinned. "Name's Tessa. I'm one of the kitchen slaves." She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "You're causing quite the stir, you know. The lycans don't take kindly to fae around here."

My eyes narrowed. "I've noticed, doesn't faze me one bit."

Tessa laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But you'd better be careful. The others won't be as friendly as I am."

I glanced around the room, noticing the hostile glares directed my way. "I don't exactly understand what I have done to warrant such hateful looks. Or treatment. My father ended the war by signing a truce and giving me as a leave offering. They should be grateful."

Tessa's expression sobered. "Faes aren't exactly popular in this kingdom or many others. Most of the slaves here have lost family or friends to the fae wars. They see you as the enemy."

My chest tightened. "The fae wars? We weren't fighting alone you know? We were fighting against the other kingdoms who thought they could subdue us. I'm not their enemy."

"Maybe not," Tessa said, shrugging. "But you're fae, and that's enough for them." She reached out and patted my arm. "Just keep your head down and do as you're told. It's the only way to survive here."

I nodded, though my mind was racing. I didn't belong there, and I wasn't going to stay. But for now, I had no choice.

Tessa handed me a wooden spoon and gestured to a large pot of stew. "Start stirring. And try not to burn it. The chef doesn't take kindly to anyone burning his food."

I took the spoon, my grip tightening as I stared into the bubbling pot. I would bide my time, I decided. I would learn their ways, and their weaknesses.

And when the time came, I would make them all pay.

I stirred the pot of stew with a wooden spoon, my mind far away from the kitchens. The heat from the fire made my skin prickle, and the smell of onions and herbs was overwhelming. Tessa had been kind enough to show me the basics, but the other slaves kept their distance, their eyes filled with suspicion and disdain.

I didn't belong here. I wasn't one of them. And I refused to accept this as my fate.

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the kitchen, and I turned to see a lycan warrior striding toward me. He was tall and broad-shouldered, he had his black hair in a bun and the sides of his head were shaved, his face scarred, with a long scar marring his face and his eyes were cold.

"You," he barked, pointing at me. "Come with me."

I hesitated, my grip tightening on the spoon. "What?! Where are you taking me?"

He didn't answer, just grabbed my arm and yanked me forward. I stumbled, nearly dropping the spoon, but he didn't slow down. The other slaves watched in silence, their faces unreadable.

The warrior dragged me out of the kitchens and into a large courtyard. The cold air hit me like a slap, and I shivered, my thin tunic doing little to keep me warm. I forgot how cold it was. The fortress was so well built and heated that it kept the cold of the mountains out, but now in the courtyard, I could feel everything. The biting cold.

In the center of the courtyard stood a group of lycans, their laughter loud and boisterous. At the front of the group was a man who looked strikingly like Evander, but younger. His hair was the same colour, but cropped short, his features softer, but his eyes held the same predatory gleam.

"Well, well," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "If it isn't the fae princess."

The others laughed, their eyes raking over me with a hunger that made my skin crawl.

"Xavier," the warrior said, releasing my arm. "I brought her, as you asked."

Xavier stepped forward, his gaze lingering on me. "So this is the famous Princess Lirael Ashthorn," he said, his tone mocking. "The pride of the fae, reduced to a mere kitchen slave."

I glared at him, my hands balling into fists. "What do you want from me?"

Xavier smirked. "I've always had a fascination with faes, you guys look weird. Those pointy ears of yours and your well concealed fangs and the powers you have," he said, circling me like a predator stalking its prey. "And you, my dear, are quite the specimen. The finest specimen one could have."

His friends laughed, their voices harsh and grating.

"Let's see what she's made of," one of them said, his eyes gleaming with malice.

Before I could react, one of the men grabbed me from behind, his hands rough as he tore my tunic from my shoulders. I was grateful for the undergarments that I was wearing, but I had s sinking feeling it wouldn't remain on me for too long. They wanted to humiliate me. The cold air bit into my skin, and I gasped, struggling against his grip.

"Stop!" I shouted, my voice trembling with rage.

But they didn't listen. They laughed, their hands reaching out to touch me, their lewd remarks making my stomach churn.

"Look at her," Xavier said, his voice filled with mock admiration. "Can you believe she's a princess? A princess, stripped bare for all to see."

Something inside me snapped.

I didn't think, didn't plan. I just acted.

My magic surged, raw and untamed, and I threw out my hands. A wave of force slammed into Xavier, sending him crashing into the stone wall behind him. The others froze, their laughter dying in their throats.

"You think you can touch me?" I snarled, my voice shaking with fury. "You think I'm powerless? You're lucky I'm not at my full strength here!"