Chapter 5

Cecilia's POV

I can’t shake the thought, even though it doesn’t really make sense to me. That kind of communication shouldn’t be possible.

And furthermore, the way Leopold was behaving gave off the impression that he had zero control over his own wolf.

He looks down at the grisly scene. The temporary madness has been replaced by something else, as if he’s come out of some sort of trance and is ashamed of what he’s done.

He hangs his head and places his palms on his forehead, looking as defeated and tired as I feel.

We both sit in the uncomfortable silence for what seems like an eternity, processing the events that have just occurred.

He finally speaks, and his voice startles me a bit. “What’s your name?” He doesn’t sound nearly as angry as before.

I have to actively struggle to get the words out: “My name is Cecilia, Your Highness.”

The Alpha King sighs. “Cecilia, would you please fetch Landon and have him come here to collect and dispose of the body?”

It’s a question, but I can tell he isn’t asking. I respond immediately, “Yes, Your Highness. Of course, Your Highness.”

I get up and bow, taking one final look at him before hurrying out the door. My heart is still racing, but I try to ensure that my breaths are even and measured.

I find Landon by the main entrance, humming to himself while he expertly oils the hinges on the doors.

“Excuse me, sir,” I timidly say.

He looks up at me in surprise. “Cecilia. What is the matter?”

His eyes scan my face and land on the collar of my uniform. I follow his gaze, looking down at myself, and notice a few flecks of fresh, red blood splattered on the white fabric.

“His Majesty… requests your presence,” I reply, my words stilted and unnatural. “There’s a… body that needs to be… retrieved and disposed of.”

It’s a painstaking ordeal just to get the message out, but I manage. Landon’s expression falls.

“I see,” he says after a moment lost in thought.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He meets my eyes. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I– I didn’t– I mean, we had only just begun serving him this morning, and…” I trail off feebly.

“No,” he says somberly. “This was unexpected for me, as well. Usually it never happened this early on. Something about your fellow handservant must have touched a nerve and caused him to react this way.”

I feel a pang in my chest. Lucy may not be the nicest person I met, but I still don’t think anyone, not even her, deserves to die in such a horrible way. But I’m not about to argue right now.

We make our way back to the king’s quarters without saying another word, and Landon goes to enter the room first.

“Wait here, please,” he instructs me quietly. I nod in agreement.

I am certainly not in any rush to go back to my duties.

But it doesn’t take long for Landon to return, carrying Lucy’s body wrapped in a large black sheet. The smell of blood is pungent, and I can almost taste the wet metallic tang still pervading the air.

“The Alpha King Leopold would like to see you now,” Landon murmurs as he passes me, holding the door open for me to enter.

I swallow hard. “Yes, sir.”

I slowly walk across the room to where the Alpha King is still sitting on his bed, unmoving. I hesitantly approach the foot of the bed, looking over the scene.

The blood on the floor is mostly mopped up, although the wood itself appears to be permanently stained darker in several patches I didn’t notice at first. I wonder if every one of those darkened areas was once a former servant who got on the wrong side of the other voice I heard.

“Cecilia,” the king says abruptly.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Please bring me a new set of garments. These... I don’t want to wear them anymore.”

My breath catches in my throat as I peer at the bloodstains on his shirt. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

I walk over to the dressing room as if on autopilot, avoiding looking in the mirror on the back wall. My hands seem to move by themselves, picking out a clean silk shirt and a new pair of trousers.

Lucy’s death plays on loop in mind, while I hear the echo of Landon’s voice from earlier, warning us that no handservant who has been ordered to change the king’s clothes these past few months has survived the task.

Most importantly, I was an Alpha daughter and I've never served any one dressing before. Not to mention a man.

I wrack my brain for some sort of plan, any plan, that can ensure my safety. I don’t want to die– not with so many questions left unanswered about my family.

When I emerge, he is perched calmly on the edge of the bed. I tuck the clothes under one arm and grab a basin of washing water to bring over to him, just in case he’s gotten any blood on his skin.

Sure enough, there are a few spots on his neck and under his jaw. I hold steady, wetting and wringing out the washcloth exactly like Lucy had done (albeit less flirtatiously).

Almost ironically, his aura has taken on a soothing tranquility, almost meditative in nature. It successfully starts to calm me down as well, and I can feel myself relaxing a bit now.

Lora, too, doesn’t seem to be on high alert, and I dare to hope this means that the danger is no longer present.

I meticulously begin to unbutton the shirt he’s wearing, starting at the top. My fingertips brush his chest lightly. The heat on his skin sends sparks over my body. His breath ghosts across my wrist, steady and controlled, and I suddenly feel far too aware of my own pulse.

I almost recoil but stop myself.

It feels intimate in a way I’m not prepared for. I swallow hard and force my hands to keep moving, even as my heart pounds. This is just a service, I remind myself.

The rest of the way down, I take extra care not to make contact with his skin.

I muddle through the undressing process, gingerly lifting the garment off his back and freeing his arms from the sleeves.

Then, I gently dab at the blood spattered across his neck. He remains quiet and motionless all throughout the affair, but I stay vigilant all the same.

When I pick up the new shirt and go to drape it around his shoulders, I am stopped suddenly by the sound of the other voice. It’s low and threatening this time, rather than loud and frantic.

"Don’t touch wound… don’t dare touch…"

I freeze, immediately on guard.

"Wound on shoulder… always hurts."

The Alpha King turns to look at me, the voice chimes in again, "If wound is touched, she must die!"

I know what I am hearing. There’s no mistaking it: that voice has to be Leopold’s wolf. And it is clearly warning me of what will happen if I even accidentally touch the wound in the king’s shoulder.

My hands begin to shake. I take a small wobbly step backwards, my eyes fixed on his shoulder.

Leopold stares directly into my face. I beg my body to stop trembling, but it’s too late. He can already tell there is something wrong.

“Cecilia,” he says in a commanding tone. “Why did you stop?”