"Good morning, Your Highness," Abi greets as slow, deliberate footsteps approach the table.
Ella doesn't bother looking up. Yesterday's fiasco had left her unwilling to show herself, but her stomach has other plans. Ego be damned, hunger wins every time. If anyone deserves to go hungry, it's him.
The night had been long and restless, tossing, turning, and stiff groans filling the darkness. Sleep had been impossible. Every time her eyes closed, she imagined him standing over her, choking the life from her lungs. Every shadow in the room seemed to harbor him, waiting.
"How's your hand?" she asks, her tone casual, masking a flicker of concern.
"Better" Ella flatly replies, her gaze drifts to the table, and she stops cold. The trays are piled high, prawns, roasted meats, delicate pastries, fruits glistening with syrup. The sheer opulence makes her eyebrow lift. "Are you... having a feast?"
"No, His Majesty ordered a proper breakfast for you," Abi replies, tone neutral.
Ella narrows her eyes, suspicion prickling. Breakfast? A tray like this could feed twenty men for an entire day. And they expect her to eat it all?
He's insane. A king with more wealth than sense.
Royalty alone shouldn't create this kind of bank balance, she thinks. Something tells her his wealth is more than just titles and land.
With a small, deliberate sigh, she pulls out a chair and settles in, smoothing her hand over the polished wood. Her gaze flicks to Abi, who watches her like a hawk, waiting for a reaction.
Ella takes a deep breath. Fine. If she's stuck here, she might as well eat. And maybe, just maybe, make him regret having arranged a breakfast fit for a coronation.
"What would Her Highness like to be served first?" Abi asks, poised and deferential.
"Abi, please stop with the formalities. I have a name, use it." Ella's gaze lands on a white china bowl piled with crispy chicken thighs. Hunger wins over etiquette. She reaches for one, fingers brushing the warm, golden skin, and swallows hard as saliva pools in her mouth.
She might despise the cage she's trapped in, but she can appreciate the generosity. If it weren't for The Organization and the mission deadlines creeping ever closer, she might even have considered extending her stay... months, maybe.
"If I'm not allowed to address you as Her Highness, how should I address you?" Abi asks, pausing mid-bite.
"Abi, I already told you. Call me Ella." She sinks her teeth into the chicken, savoring the rich flavor.
"His Majesty won't like that," Abi protests. "He specifically instructed that you are to be obeyed and respected."
"Calling me by my name isn't disrespectful, it's casual."
"Casual is unbefitting of royalty," Abi insists.
Goodness gracious, what is she rambling about? Ella just wants to eat in peace, without a lecture on etiquette.
"They regard royal status highly," Abi continues, voice firm.
Ella rolls her eyes. Well, lucky for me, I'm not royalty.
She sets the chicken bone aside, sneaking another bite. "Listen, you said you were instructed to obey my every order, didn't you?"
"Yes," Abi says, though her certainty wavers.
"So wouldn't it be disrespectful to disobey me now?" Ella asks, flashing a flat, knowing smile.
Abi hesitates. "But what about His Majesty?"
"If he asks, tell him I compelled you," Ella replies with perfect calm.
Abi sighs, finally relenting.
At last, Ella feasts. She eats beyond her stomach's capacity, savoring each bite like it's the last meal she'll ever enjoy. When she leans back, arms stretching overhead, she rubs her belly in satisfaction. Waste would have been the real insult, to the food, and to the cook. Besides, it's been years since she had a feast like this. Why let it slip away?
"Thanks for the meal," she says, flashing Abi a wide grin.
Abi nods, resigned.
"So, what's ne.." Ella starts, but her words die on her lips. Her eyes flick toward the sound of approaching footsteps.
She watches, frozen, as a woman steps into view, ascending the stairs with effortless grace.
Her eyes drink in every detail, the perfectly curled ginger hair cascading over slender shoulders, the hourglass figure hugged by a sleek black dress that leaves her back bare. A sharp, elegant chin, lips painted a bold shade of red, and eyes that match the fiery hue of her hair.
Beautiful, she breathes, captivated.
"Abi, who is she?" Ella asks, voice tight as she continues to watch.
"That's Miss Balu, His Majesty's guest," Abi replies, though her tone carries an edge of caution, like she's hiding more than she should.
A guest? Only half the truth. There's far more to Miss Balu than Abi will admit, but perhaps it's not her place to speak.
"Balu," Ella murmurs, testing the name on her tongue. "She's beautiful" she admits, an unfamiliar flicker of insecurity settling in her chest.
A woman like that, poised and radiant, could command any room... or any man.
Within a minute, Balu is in Steffen's office, needing no guidance. Her voice drifts through the space, smooth, melodic, threading through the air like silk.
"When I got your call, I thought it was a misdial," she says, each word tinged with playful teasing as she draws closer.
Even he hadn't expected her to respond, not after their last heated dispatch. Even more surprising, she accepted his invitation. And now, here she is.
Perhaps his charm on her hasn't faded after all.
"I'm still perplexed," she continues, voice playful, "as to why the great King of Wolves has summoned a lowly bloodsucker like me."
She perches at the edge of his square desk, deliberate and confident. Her fingers trail in slow, teasing circles over the loose fabric of his shirt, where three buttons remain undone, exposing a hint of skin.
"Enlighten me, great king," she murmurs, leaning closer. Her breath brushes against him, warm and deliberate, letting each word drip like honey into his ears. "What service do you request of me?"
Steffen swallows, keeping his expression steady as Balu's presence fills the room. His calm, measured gaze meets hers, and she feels an almost imperceptible tug she can't quite resist.
Memories surged in like an unbidden tide, recollections of a night a year ago in one of his hotels, he had lounged on a plush sofa in a double-sized suite, eyes fixed on her as she stripped off her knee-length dress, revealing a red lace bra and matching lingerie. His gaze lingered on the curve of her long legs, how they wound around the pole he had specifically requested in the room.
The pop of a cork echoed as he uncapped a bottle of rich white liquor, pouring a measure into a short glass. The first sip burned, igniting a familiar, dangerous fire.
She had spun around the pole, sultry and deliberate, letting the dim light catch the sheen of her exposed skin. Her lips parted as she traced the cold metal with her tongue, teasing him, daring him with every calculated lick. Her eyes, dark with mischief, never left his.
"Do you want more?" she had whispered seductively, spreading her legs around the pole in a slow, languid motion. The stroke of metal between her thighs sent shivers through her, fueling the heat in her core.
"Enough playing. Come here," he had demanded.
She had obeyed, crawling toward him with feline grace. Within reach, he gripped her hair and crashed his lips to hers, rough and claiming, leaving them swollen and raw. His fingers tightened around her throat just enough to make her gasp.
He had lifted her off the ground, threw her onto the bed without hesitation, letting nothing but his own need guide him.
The memory dissolved as Steffen's voice cut through the silence.
"Balu."
Her fingers snapped away from his shirt.
Pleasure past, desire present, and business waiting, her role here was no longer personal.
"I called you here to read someone's memories. I need information on her past," he stated, clipped and precise.
Balu's smile faltered. Of course. It had never been about her.
Her fingers curled slightly, forcing a composed expression. "You need my help?" she asked, skepticism threading every word.
Steffen isn't one to request aid, not even in dire situations. If he has come to her, then the problem at hand is more complicated than he let on.
Still, she feels a flicker of satisfaction. If he needs her, then in some way, she still matters .
"So, whose memories am I digging into?" she asked, curiosity flickering.
"A girl who bears my mark."
Her lips parted, but no sound escaped.
The words felt like a cruel joke, impossible to believe. And yet... his eyes confirmed it. Her stomach twisted.
"Your mark?" she whispered, incredulous.
When did he mark someone? He had always claimed no interest in mates. Then why... how? How could he?
Her heart twisted violently. Years of loyalty, devotion, everything given to him, all offered with the hope he might mark her one day. Make her his queen.
"Your mate?" she scoffed, not bothering to hide her bitterness. He needs to know what he has done to her.
"Since when did you start caring about bonds?" Her voice dropped, trembling under the weight of her anger.
"I didn't mark her."
She let out a sharp laugh, her ginger eyes flashing with disbelief. "Right. So your mark just... appeared on her magically?"
Everyone knew marking required consent, a deep, mutual bond. He must have held her close, pulled at her hair like he did with her. Did he kiss her the way he kissed her, roughly, consuming, or was he gentle and polite this time? Did his hands linger in places only hers knew?
"Honestly," she spat, mind spinning, "your lies hurt more than the thought of you marking someone else." She imagined his lips on another woman, his hands on her waist, his demanding, familiar voice echoing in her mind.
No. The thoughts were knives plunging into her chest. She had believed she was special. But apparently... she had been nothing more than fleeting pleasure.
Pain twisted her chest, breaths coming in short, sharp bursts.
"Sorry to interrupt," John's voice cut through, deliberate and sharp as he entered the conversation.
"Can we skip whatever this is and get to the point?"
Balu's head snapped toward him, frustration redirected instantly.
"You," she hissed.
She had always despised John, meddling, interfering, the voice of reason keeping Steffen from getting too close. And now he ruined this moment too.
"Yes. Me," John replied dryly. "Now, can we move on?"
Balu exhaled sharply. "You want me to pry into your mate's mind. Why not do it yourself? Or better yet, have one of your witches do the job?"
"We considered it," John said, clipped. "But you're the best. Unique ability. And, importantly, royal blood."
Balu narrowed her eyes.
"If there were another option, do you think you'd be here?" he added.
A smirk played on her lips, bitterness still lacing it. "Fine," she relented. "I'll do it. But you owe me a favor."
Her gaze flicked to Steffen, daring him to refuse. He only gave a curt nod.
"Where is she?" Balu asked, masking her racing thoughts beneath a veil of curiosity.
In a minute,her eyes darted to the door, anticipation coiling with apprehension. Who was she? What did she look like? Did she possess something Balu lacked?
Her thoughts spun endlessly until the door creaked open.
Her heart thudded.
And then...
John stepped inside, leading someone behind him.
Balu's breath hitched. Her skin went pale. Sharp ginger eyes widened in disbelief as they fixed on the girl standing there.
Her lips parted, trembling.
"It's her?"