Chapter 3. The Pack of The Northern Wolves

There was only one probable explanation. 

I was living in a dream, a funny and terrifying one. "N-n-northern wolves?" 

"Yes," Cyrus said, then acknowledged the man in front. "Theo, has the crisis been averted?"

"Considerably so. We reached a compromise."

"They should know better than to mess with us," snarled Cyrus. "Greedy pests," he hissed.

"Who is she?" 

"Ah, my new slave. I paid a fine price for her."

"Again? A fine price? For a human? Those lowly backstabbing creatures?" He asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes."

"You have an obsession." The man named Theo gave a tight smile and let out an exasperated breath. "Let's hope this one survives," he whistled, then turned to me. "And you are?"

"Agnes." I ignored the hand he had out to shake me. "What do you mean by your statement?"

"What statement?" He asked, his hands still hanging out, waiting for a handshake that was never going to come.

"Let's hope this one survives?"

"Oh, it was nothing," he responded airily. "And it is not polite to leave someone's hand hanging."

"Who am I to shake your hand?" I asked with a smile. "I, a lowly backstabbing creature.  A human, shake the hand of someone as powerful and upright as you?"

Cyrus grinned, but the grin was wiped away almost immediately, and he shot me a look that would have frozen a furnace. "You are to regard everyone with respect," he hissed.

I raised my brows at him. "I was being respectful. Who am I to shake his hand?"

"That was very sarcastic," Cyrus hissed. "Apologize right away." 

"I did not do anything wrong," I said defiantly, raising my chin. "I will not apologize."

His grip around my wrist tightened, and in a voice that left no room for disobedience, he said. "Apologize, now."

***

"What the hell is this?" Cyrus spat out the seventh tea I had made for him. He had complained of the first one being too bitter, and then the second being too sweet. Then the third had a tangy taste. He kept on finding faults in the tea I had made for him. "Do you not know how to make tea?"

"Maybe if I was prepared for slavehood or I had one of your former slaves teach me the recipe for your tea, this wouldn't be happening!" I snapped at him angrily. 

It had not even been an hour since I arrived here that I was being subjected to a lot of work. He had not even given me time to settle down at all. My bags had been carried to only the heavens know where. 

"Do not speak to me in such a rude tone," he said in a cold voice that sent chills down my spine. "Control your smart mouth," he hissed. 

I pursed my lips and gave the politest smile I could muster. "I apologize, Master. I shall learn to speak appropriately."

"You did not mean it."

Rolling my eyes, I let out a sigh. "Why should it matter if I mean my words or not?" I asked. "After all, I am following your instructions."

"You should serve me as though you want to."

"News flash, I don't want to! I was sold into becoming your slave, so my behavior should not surprise you."

"I was under the impression you were well-mannered."

Snorting, I picked up the tray that contained the teacup. "I shall make you another one, Your Majesty."

Then something occurred to me. With the way everyone seemed to cower in fear around him and lower their heads as he passed, was he a king? I have only called him 'Your Majesty' sarcastically. "Are you the king here?"

Cyrus gave me an evil side eye before he responded. "I am the Alpha of this pack. So yes, you can say I am a king."

"Kings are usually old," I shrugged. "You are pretty young."

"Get me another tea."

"Of course," I walked away, rolling my eyes. When I got to the massive kitchen, I poured the tea into a waste pot and sighed. 

"Do you need help with that?" A girl smiled as she walked into the kitchen. She didn't seem to be a maid, based on the aura she gave off.  "Cyrus can be difficult and picky when it comes to what he consumes."

"Who are you?" I asked, intrigued by her. It was also strange that she had called him Cyrus.

"No one of importance," she grinned. "Let me teach you."

I watched as she gathered the leaves and mashed them in a pestle together with honey. Then she added a squeeze of lemon into it and transferred the contents to a bowl of hot water. After this, she stirred it well and strained it into a cup. "I'm sure you just boiled the leaves in hot water, added lemon and honey, and that was it."

"Yes," I answered. "But what difference does it make?"

"Quite a lot." She placed the cup on a tray and handed it to me. "Go ahead. Cyrus hates to be kept waiting."

I smiled at her and walked as quickly as I could back to the study where Cyrus sat. He observed the tray in front of him with a raised eyebrow and picked up the cup.

He scrutinized it slowly as he had done before and sniffed it twice before placing it on his lips and taking a sip. "Adequate," he mumbled and drank the rest of it with a satisfied smile. 

I smiled back, relieved he hadn't sent me to make another one, and internally grateful to the strange girl who had helped me out. 

An unreadable look soon replaced his expression of satisfaction. "You were not the one who made this tea, were you?"

"Should it matter?" I asked. "It was drinkable."

"If there's one thing I dislike, it is when I assign a duty to someone, and they reassign it to another person.”