Page 143 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
I pour a small measure of the finished tonic into a clean cup, adding just enough honey to make it palatable without destroying the medicinal properties. King Alaric takes it and drains the entire thing in one gulp.
His face immediately contorts in disgust. “Bitter.”
“Sugar would destroy the composition,” I explain. “The honey helps some, but—”
“Harrumph.” He sets the cup down with more force than necessary. “Now. What are you doing with your time, girl?”
“I–I’m here. In the herb garden. Most days.”
“Why aren’t you socializing? Learning your duties? Meeting the ladies of the court?”
I look at him blankly. “Lucian says it’s safer here.”
King Alaric’s expression shifts into something that might charitably be called incredulous disgust. “My son,” he says slowly, “is a complete moron. And you’re an even bigger one for listening to him.”
My mouth falls open. I’ve never heard anyone speak about the Crown Prince this way.
“From tomorrow,” he continues as if he hasn’t just insulted the heir to his throne, “I’m assigning you proper royaltutors. Etiquette, court protocol, languages, history—everything a future queen needs to know.”
Future queen. The words make my head spin. “Your Majesty, I don’t think—”
“I also want grandchildren,” he says bluntly, making my cheeks burst into flames. “Preferably sooner rather than later. I’m not getting any younger.”
I think I might faint. This conversation has spiraled completely out of my control, and I have no idea how to respond to the King as he casually discusses my reproductive future.
“Furthermore,” King Alaric continues, apparently oblivious to my mortification, “I am going to be coming by here more often. I want to see what it is you’re up to.”
The pronouncement has the weight of a royal decree. I realize with dawning horror that my peaceful sanctuary has just been invaded by the most powerful man in the kingdom, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
“Now,” he says, relaxing back in the chair like he plans to stay for hours, “have lunch brought here. Something substantial. None of those tiny, palace portions that wouldn’t feed a sparrow.”
I stare at him for a long moment. Luna cautiously approaches to sniff at his boots; she seems to approve of him, which is more than I can say for myself right now.
With a sigh that feels like it comes from the depths of my soul, I resign myself to an entire afternoon of entertaining this temperamental, elderly man who apparently plans to adopt me, whether I like it or not.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say quietly. “I’ll send for lunch immediately.”
Luna, having completed her inspection of his boots, springs into his lap, circles twice, stretches luxuriously, and lies down with a contented purr.
King Alaric looks down at her with surprise, then begins stroking her fur. “Well,” he mutters, “at least someone in this palace has sense.”
As I watch him examine my laboratory with keen, intelligent eyes, I can’t help but wonder if having the King as a regular visitor is going to make my quiet life significantly more complicated.
The next week is torture. Pure, unrelenting torture.
Every morning at dawn, Lady Cordelia appears at my door with her sharp tongue and her endless lists of things I’m doing wrong. Posture. Speech. The proper way to hold a teacup. How to curtsy to different ranks of nobility. The precise angle at which I should tilt my head when being addressed by someone beneath my station.
“Shoulders back, chin up,” she snaps for the hundredth time this morning. “You’re meant to be a future queen, not a hunched-over shopkeeper.”
I grit my teeth and adjust my posture. Again.
After etiquette comes a language lesson with Master Thorne, who speaks to me exclusively in the Old Tongue until my head throbs with the effort of translating his rapid-fire instructions. Then there’s history with Lady Penrose, who drones on about ancient treaties and bloodline politics until I’m fighting to keep my eyes open.
By the time I’m released for the afternoon, I’m exhausted and irritated and desperate for the peace of my herb garden.
Except, it’s not peaceful anymore.
“Child, what are you doing?” King Alaric’s voice booms across the greenhouse as I push through the glass doors.
