Sould As The Alpha King's Breeder

Sold As The Alpha King’s Breeder Chapter 503

Sold as the Alpha King’s Breeder Chapter 503

Chapter 5: My Study Partner

*Lena*

Abigail was running her fingers through my hair, her fingers twisting my pale golden locks into a tight braid.

“I’m going to miss doing this for you,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat as she tied the end of the braid with a ribbon.

“I won’t be gone forever. Just six weeks, maybe less,” I replied, turning to face her. I wrapped her in an embrace, taking a deep breath as we sat on a bench on the train platform in Morhan. We’d spent the last three days packing up my meager belongings into a trunk and saying our goodbyes, which had included one last night out along the strip of bars that lined the street below our apartment.

Heather and Viviene were back at home, studying for their finals this upcoming week and preparing for their field studies. Abigail should have been studying too, but she’d insisted on walking me to the train station.

“I’m going to Mirage for my study,” she breathed, leaning against the bench with her feet propped up on the trunk. I smiled at her, arching my brow. She met my eye and smirked, rolling her eyes. “The florist who makes the arrangements for the castle asked for a student from Morhan, and I applied.”

“I’m not surprised you got it,” I grinned, nudging her with my elbow.

Abigail, always oozing with confidence, was mum about her studies. She came from a family of flower farmers in southern Findali, and grew up poor, but she hadn’t let that stop her. She was incredibly gifted and could name a type of flower just by touching the petals, or by smell, even if she had her eyes

closed. Her flower arrangements that often littered our apartment had always been insanely extravagant.

But being a florist was something most students at Morhan thumbed their noses at, often putting more stock into being a biologist or climate scientist. I often thought that chipped away at Abigail, especially with Heather, Viv, and I being her roommates.

But Abigail’s creations added beauty to our mundane, textbook-filled world.

“Maybe you’ll make arrangements for the Luna Queen to fawn over while she sips her afternoon tea,” I teased, nudging her again.

Abigail smiled, shaking her head. “I am excited about it, you know, despite how I act.

Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of one of the princes of Poldesse. I heard they come to Mirage quite often.”

I shrugged, leaning back against the bench and looking out over the train tracks.

“Or, maybe I’ll see the princess. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a picture of her.”

“Me neither,” I said, twirling my braid around my finger. “I’ve heard she’s quite reclusive.”

“Well, I’ll write to you about everything I see and do, I promise.” Abigail patted me on the leg just as the train came into view.

“I will too,’ I replied, standing up and slinging a duffle bag over my shoulder. “Maybe I’ll find the missing Morhan student while I’m there-”

“Don’t joke about that, Lena,” Abigail warned, motioning for the station attendant to help us with the trunk. “And don’t go out alone, okay? I’m serious.”

“There will be another student from Morhan there,” I said, meeting her eye as the train rolled to a stop in front of us. “I don’t know who, but I’ll have a partner to work with during the next couple of weeks. I won’t be alone, so don’t worry about me, okay?” I pulled Abigail in for one final hug, squeezing her until she dramatically pretended to gasp for air.

I waved to her as I found my seat on the train, watching as her bright, red hair faded from view as the train lurched forward.

I slumped back into my seat and watched Morhan fade from view. The rolling grasslands of western Finaldi sped past as I slipped in and out of sleep. It was a six- hour journey to Crimson Creek; one of the last stops on the tracks that were woven into the hilly countryside of the massive western continent. Past Crimson Creek, as far as I knew, was nothing-just barren, empty land.

My mind replayed the last three days. I’d taken my final, barely paying attention as my pencil worked across my last true assignment of my college career. I’d said my goodbyes to friends, and my beloved roommates. I’d packed up the room I’d shared with Heather for three years, taking down the pictures I had taped to the walls.

I hadn’t seen even a glimpse of Slate, or Xander, forthat matter.

The past was the past. Whatever happened in Crimson Creek, well, that was my future.

Crimson Creek was exactly what Abigail had described. It was ancient, all of its buildings made of stone and its streets bumpy and incredibly narrow, paved with broken cobblestone. It was a balmy Sunday afternoon, and a small market was visible in the distance as I stood on the train platform. The town was quaint, with little more than two or three rows of stone buildings before the buildings began to scatter into the rolling, grayish hills beyond, which were dappled with some cottages and farms.

I could see a forest several miles away, however, the black, gnarled trees were just specks against the soft twilight sky.

I heard the sound of an engine approaching and turned my head, seeing a beat-up old truck bouncing over the ill-tended dirt road.

The truck stopped in front of the platform, parking right along the train tracks and turning its lights off. A figure stepped out, calling up to me.

“Are you a Morhan student?” she asked, walking up onto the platform. I nodded, taking her hand as she extended it in greeting. “I’m Bethany, one of the farmhands at the Radcliffe farm. This all you got?” she said, motioning toward the trunk and duffle bag sitting on the ground next to me. I nodded, and she arched her brow, chuckling a little as she slung the duffle bag over her shoulder. “The student that showed up yesterday had twice as much stuff as this,” she smirked.

I helped her pick up the trunk and walk it across the platform and down the stairs. “I didn’t know they’d gotten here before me,” I murmured, slightly confused.

“They weren’t supposed to. They showed up at the farm last night. We didn’t even have a room set up yet. I felt kinda bad for the guy-”

“Guy?” I said as we lifted the trunk into the bed of the truck. Bethany shrugged, clapping her hands together as she moved toward the driver’s side door.

“Yeah, some scientist. Brought a bunch of gear with him and started bossing all of us around, wanting a sterile workplace and such.”

“Great,” I breathed, sliding into the passenger’s seat with my duffle bag on my lap.

Bethany put the truck in gear, cursing under her breath as the truck protested before starting up again. All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Damn thing’s older than my grandfather,’ she laughed, patting the steering wheel. “Ready?”

“Sure,” I said, smiling.

Bethany was jovial, and not at all like the strange villagers Abigail had animatedly described. She smelled like soil, and green things, which sent a thrill through me. She likely knew her stuff, based on her dirt-stained fingers that were gripping the steering wheel as she steered us toward the forest.

“You’ll be out in the fields with me tomorrow, after settling in. Breakfast is at seven sharp, if you miss it, too bad. We have a valerian quota to meet by the end of the week, but it’s been a challenge.”

“How so?” I asked, glancing over at her.

She had dark curly hair that was piled messily on top of her head. She was also very petite, though likely an inch taller than me, but her voice betrayed her size. She had a whiskey voice, smooth and deep.

“Really, really bad harvest this year. This is only my second season on the farm, but compared to last year, it’s a near failure. Nothin’s growing like it should. We had to burn half the fields toward the west of the property.”

“Really?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

“Yep. Some disease of the roots, we’re guessin’. Your research partner was going to test the soil today, see if he can pinpoint exactly what the problem is.”

“I’ll take a look tomorrow,” I said, leaning back against my seat. We were nearing the forest now, and Bethany glanced past me, looking out the passenger side window.

“A few rules,” she said, her voice changing significantly. I met her eye and noticed how serious she looked, which sent a chill down the length of my spine. “One; don’t go out on your own. We work in groups of two, at the minimum.”

“How many people work at the farm?”

“There’s fourteen of us-sixteen now if you count you and your partner. Two.” she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as we crossed over a bridge and into the woods, where we were enveloped in darkness, “stay out of the woods. It’s easy to get lost.”

“No problem at all,” I murmured, feeling slightly claustrophobic as we continued to drive into the thick trees.

“And three, don’t approach the owner of the farm.”

“Who is it?” I asked, curious.

“His name is Maxwell Radcliffe. He doesn’t spend much time there. He lives in the old manor at the edge of the property, near the forest. He’s standoffish and serious about the prosperity of the farm. If you have any issues, you talk to me or Henry directly, okay? Henry’s been working for the Radcliffe family since Maxwell was a kid. He knows everything about the property.”

I was now exceedingly curious about this Maxwell Radcliffe fellow, but I didn’t have a chance to press Bethany about it. We broke through the tree line, approaching a massive wrought-iron gate flanked by a crumbling stone half-wall. I leaned forward in surprise.

“This… doesn’t look like a farm?” I said, glancing at Bethany as the gate began to slowly swing open.

“It used to be an Alpha’s estate, way back in the day. I think it was built like, two hundred years ago? I might be wrong. Henry will know for sure if you want to ask him. There’s several of these estates dotted around the west, but most of them are in disrepair. Not Radcliffe manor, though. The man himself still lives in the house. It’ll be up on the left in a few minutes.”

We drove up and over a few shallow hills, following a paved road through long, open fields of what looked like grain. In the distance I could see a group of small buildings, the yellow light from their windows sending funnels of gold through the darkness as we neared.

“That’s the barn, and those are the cottages the workers live in. There’s a warehouse for the equipment behind the barn, but it’s hard to see from the road.” Bethany pointed in the opposite direction. “And that is Radcliffe manor.”

Bethany turned the truck to the right, pointing us in the direction of the cottages, but I turned to look out the rear window of the truck at the massive house sitting at the top of one of the hills. It was barely visible through a thicket of gnarled trees, and a blanket of fog covered the ground surrounding the remainder of the road leading up to it. A single light was on high in one of the two towers that overlooked the property.

I hadn’t been expecting that. I’d been expecting windmills, white-washed houses and scorched earth, not a sprawling mansion and a property that had to have been three times the size of Morhan’s campus.

Bethany parked the truck in front of one of the cottages, which was one of three identical stone buildings arranged in a semi-circle around what looked like a fire pit.

“There’s a bunk house down that path that has a kitchen and library in it. That’s where we hang out when we’re not out in the fields. But it’s full because of the harvest, so you’ll be staying in the middle cabin. Mine is the cabin to the left, and Henry lives on the right. It has a bathroom, and a small kitchenette if you want to make yourself some tea or coffee, but that’s it.”

I nodded, slinging my duffle bag over my shoulder as I stepped out of the truck and shut the door. I helped Bethany with the trunk, and together we carried it over to the cabin and up the steps to the narrow, covered porch. There was a light on inside, and I saw a shadow move through the light peeking out from under the front door. Before I could say a word, the door swung open.

And a familiar form stepped out.