Chapter 4: The King’s Maid

The following days passed in a blur. I adapted to the mansion’s routine: waking before dawn, cleaning, serving, keeping my head down and remaining invisible. I was good at that last part. Five years as Ricardo’s despised Luna had taught me how to move like a shadow.

I always wore my black hair like a curtain over my face. My long, thick mane hid the scars that crossed it—those marks that reminded me every morning of what I had lost and what I had gained. I spoke little, ate in silence, worked without pause.

“Why are you always so quiet?” a girl named Sofía asked me during lunch on the third day. She was an omega with large eyes and an easy smile. “You look like a ghost.”

I didn’t answer. I simply offered her a faint smile that didn’t reach my eyes and continued eating my soup. Sofía didn’t insist, but after that she sat beside me every day, filling my silence with her constant chatter.

Through her and the conversations I overheard in the main kitchen, I began learning about the Lycan Pack. The mansion housed not only King Alaric, but also his five guardians—elite men and women who were his right hand and shield.

“The closest to the King is Damián, the redhead,” Sofía told me one afternoon while we peeled potatoes. “They say they’ve known each other since childhood. Then there’s Lyra, the only female guardian. She’s lethal—she can rip your head off with one hand! Then there are the twins, Víctor and Vincent; no one can tell them apart except the King. And finally Klaus, the strategist. He’s the quietest, but they say he’s the most dangerous.”

The chefs—five culinary masters who prepared banquets fit for gods—were also a source of information. While kneading bread or preparing sauces, they spoke about how vast the territory was.

“It’s practically an entire county,” the head chef said one morning. “And part of the pack even includes humans who have married wolves. A crossbreed that would be unthinkable in other packs.”

“King Alaric is severe, but fair,” another chef added. “He allows everyone to live in harmony as long as they respect the laws.”

Little by little, I realized that many of the stories I had heard about the Lycan King were contradictory. Some described him as a ruthless monster, others as a just but inflexible ruler. The only thing everyone agreed on was his power: no one in the wolf world was stronger than Alaric.

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On the fifth day, Amelia entered the kitchen while I was washing the breakfast dishes.

“Emili,” she called in her authoritative voice. “Today you’ll clean the King’s private quarters.”

My heart began to race. Until now I had cleaned hallways, lounges, guest rooms… but I had never been near the royal chambers.

“Listen to me carefully,” Amelia continued, stepping closer so only I could hear. “Clean the hallway, the study, and the sitting room. Under no circumstances are you to enter his bedroom, understood? Only I or his personal maid may do that, and since we haven’t yet found a replacement for the last one…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. We all knew what had happened to the “last one.”

“Yes, Beta Amelia,” I replied, head bowed.

With a cart full of cleaning supplies, I headed toward the east wing of the mansion. As I approached, the corridors grew quieter, more luxurious. The carpets were thicker, the artwork more impressive, the ceilings higher.

I began with the main hallway, then the study—an impressive room filled with ancient books and detailed maps—and finally the private sitting room. As I neared the door to the royal bedroom, I began to hear sounds.

Moans. Growls. The unmistakable sound of bodies colliding with controlled violence.

The air was thick with pheromones so potent they made me dizzy for a moment. The scent of sex, of unrestrained lust, of domination and submission. It was as if the very air was saturated with wild desire.

“Oh my God,” I thought, feeling my cheeks burn. “The King is… occupied.”

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my work, ignoring the increasingly intense sounds coming from the room. Female moans mixed with deep, masculine growls that made the walls vibrate. The rhythmic pounding of the headboard against the wall was relentless.

“Harder!” I heard a female voice beg. “Please, my King!”

An animalistic growl was the only response, followed by cries of pleasure that made me shiver. How many women were in there? It sounded like at least two.

Suddenly, the door flew open.

And there he was. King Alaric in all his naked glory.

It was the first time I had seen him up close, and my breath caught. He was even more imposing than I had imagined. Tall—at least six and a half feet—with defined muscles that looked sculpted from marble. His tanned skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat, and his black hair fell in damp strands over his forehead. But what left me breathless were his eyes: red as blood, intense, piercing.

And he was completely naked. My gaze dropped involuntarily and… good Lord. What hung between his legs was proportional to the rest of him: enormous, intimidating, glorious.

“You,” his voice was deep, like distant thunder. “See that they leave my room before I return.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode down the hallway and disappeared through a door I assumed was the bathroom.

It took me a few seconds to react. King Alaric had just given me a direct order. If I failed to carry it out…

I entered the room with my heart pounding in my chest. The royal bedroom was enormous, dominated by a gigantic bed now completely disheveled. On it lay two exhausted women: one brunette with fiery red hair and one stunning blonde. Both were naked, covered in bite marks, scratches and… was that blood?

The smell was overwhelming. The King’s pheromones mixed with the women’s created an almost toxic atmosphere of lust and domination.

“You need to leave,” I said, trying to make my voice firm. “The King’s orders.”

The women didn’t budge. The blonde looked at me with disdain, and the brunette simply turned over, ignoring me.

“Get lost, servant,” the blonde snapped. “When the King wants us gone, he’ll tell us himself.”

Panic began to rise inside me. If the King returned and saw that I hadn’t obeyed…

Without thinking twice, I stepped toward the bed and yanked the sheets hard, dragging both women to the floor.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” the brunette shrieked, trying to get up.

The blonde lunged at me with claws extended, but before she could reach me, an imposing figure appeared in the doorway.

It was one of the King’s guardians. Tall, broad, with bright green eyes and fire-red hair. Damián, I remembered. The one closest to the King.

Without saying a word, he lifted the two women as if they weighed nothing, one under each arm, and left the room. Their protests faded down the hallway.

I stood there, stunned, before remembering I had work to do. With effort, I began cleaning the room. I changed the stained sheets, gathered the scattered clothes, wiped fluids from various surfaces (how had they even reached the ceiling?), and finally sprayed a cinnamon-and-sandalwood freshener to neutralize the heavy scent of sex.

When I finished, the room was immaculate. I placed scented candles strategically and made sure everything was in its place before leaving and closing the door carefully.

I returned to the kitchen exhausted—physically and emotionally. I just wanted to eat something and rest before my next task.

I was about to lift the first spoonful of soup to my mouth when Amelia entered the servants’ dining room. Her expression was unreadable as she approached me.

“I don’t know what you did,” she said quietly, “but starting tomorrow you’ll be Alaric’s exclusive maid.”

The spoon slipped from my hand, splashing soup across the table.

“What?” I whispered, feeling the color drain from my face.

“The King wants you working for him,” Amelia continued. “For your own sake, I hope you know how to make the most of this opportunity.”

As Amelia walked away, I felt every gaze fix on me. Some with envy, others with pity—but all with the same certainty: I had just received a death sentence.

Or perhaps, I thought as I remembered the King’s red eyes, something far worse.