Sold as the Alpha King's Breeder

Chapter 1411 - 10 : Soaked in Doubt

*Saoirse*

The library’s hushed whispers seemed to echo in the prince’s absence. I had been so excited to read this book when I had first spotted it, but now I was struggling to lose myself within its pages.

The pages were a blur. Each word I read was drowned out by thoughts of Rhys. His intense gaze, the warmth of his smile, and the way his presence made the room seem brighter all clung to me like the scent of rain-soaked earth.

I closed the book with a gentle thump, setting it aside. The tale had promised adventure and romance, yet my own life’s drama overshadowed any author’s fiction. A sigh escaped my lips, a silent prayer for guidance lost in the expanse of the library.

The soft creak of the door pulled me from my reverie. A servant entered, bowing slightly, her eyes downcast. "Miss Saoirse," she said, her voice betraying urgency, "a message from your father."

My stomach knotted as I took the letter from her hands. The script was hurried, and the words were sharp as thorns. “Return home immediately. Your actions endanger your engagement with Conall.” The paper crumpled in my grip, a physical manifestation of my frustration.

"May I use the phone?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. The servant nodded and led me to a small alcove where the device sat, a strange bit of modern touch amongst ancient tomes.

Dialing the pack house number was a familiar dance of digits, one I had performed countless times before. But this time, my heart hammered against my ribs.

"Saoirse?" came my mother’s voice. It sounded warm but laced with an undercurrent of worry.

"Yes, it’s me. I need to speak with Father." I braced myself for the lecture I knew would follow.

There was a pause, and then she said, "After... after you ran away, your father went to smooth things over with Conall at Blackstone pack." The disappointment was palpable, even through the phone line.

"Oh," I replied, a lump forming in my throat. My fingers curled around the phone cord, seeking something tangible to hold onto as my world spiraled.

"Please, Saoirse," my mother’s voice softened, "come home."

I sank into the chair, the plush velvet doing little to comfort the turmoil inside me. Across the line, my mother’s sigh was a gust of cold air deflating any hope I had mustered.

"Can you not see the mess you’re leaving in your wake?" Her voice cracked like thin ice underfoot. "Your father is doing everything to maintain peace."

"Peace," I echoed hollowly, my fingers drumming against the wooden armrest. "At what cost, Mother? To marry a man who doesn’t love or care about me?"

"Conall has his ways, but he is strong and will provide for you," she countered, her words etched with generations of tradition.

"Strength isn’t the measure of a man," I said, the memory of Rhys’s gentle understanding flashing through my mind. "I cannot come home until I speak with King Xander. I will return directly after my audience with the king."

"Directly, Saoirse," she pleaded, "do not take longer. Your absence is putting your father in a difficult place. It is too much on him when there is already so much unrest in Hunter’s Glen."

"Yes, Mother," I promised, a whisper among storms.

The line disconnected with a click that resounded louder than thunder in my ears. The room felt cavernous, the walls echoing with the weight of expectation and disappointment. In the silence, the ache began to throb at my temples.

My whole body ached after the encounter with Conall’s “ways.”

Dragging myself up from the depths of the cushioned seat, I decided to head back to my chambers. My mind was spinning too fast. I would never be able to settle and give these books the attention they deserved.

The corridor stretched long and ominous, each step punctuated by the pounding in my head and the aches in my joints. I reached for the vial of medicine on the nightstand, hoping the small, unassuming bottle would offer promising relief. The liquid slid down my throat, bitter as the truth I grappled with.

Lying back on the bed, I willed my body to succumb to rest, to escape into dreams where I could escape this difficult reality. But rest proved elusive. It was chased away by shadows of doubt and sharp jabs of pain that no potion could fully quell.

A knock on my chamber door echoed a moment before it was opened. Edith entered with a tray balanced in her hands.

The tray clattered gently as it settled on the table. Even the scent of freshly baked bread and the rich aroma of stew did little to rouse me.

"Lady Saoirse," the servant said, her voice laced with concern, "you look paler than the morning mist."

I attempted a reassuring smile, but it faltered, crumpled by the persistent ache that gripped my body. "It’s nothing, just a small headache," I lied, knowing the pain wasn’t confined to my head alone.

"Headache or not, you need care." Her eyes, sharp and observant, missed nothing. With a swift decisiveness that belied her youth, she turned and called out firmly to the others in the hallway. "Prepare a warm bath for Miss Saoirse. Add the soaking salts, the ones from the eastern shore."

I watched, astonished, as her commands were met with immediate action. Servants scuttled about, their efficiency a dance choreographed by her confident hand.

"Thank you," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, touched by her kindness and authority.

"Think nothing of it," she replied, offering me a brisk nod before turning to supervise the preparations.

Once submerged in the steaming water, the salts worked their magic, coaxing the tightness from my muscles and dulling the edge of my discomfort. The heat enveloped me.

With each passing moment, the warmth seeped deeper, but it could not reach the chill of worry that had taken root in my heart. I leaned back against the rim of the tub, closed my eyes, and allowed myself to ponder the twisted skein of events that had led me here.

What were they doing right now back home? Did they truly believe I had fled out of stubbornness and not conviction? The thought that my parents, who had always sought the truth, would not even entertain my claims gnawed at me. And Conall... His sudden arrival at the train station was too convenient, too timely. How did he know where to find me?

There was a reward for my return. The notion sat ill in my stomach, heavy and sour. Was I so little valued that my absence warranted a bounty, as though I were lost livestock rather than his fiance, his future Luna?

"It doesn’t make sense," I muttered into the quiet room, the words echoing off the tiles. Like a labyrinth with no clear exit, every path I took only seemed to lead me further into confusion and doubt.

But one thing remained clear amidst the mire. I could not and would not let my pack suffer. Whatever game was afoot, I had to see it through for their sake, if not for mine. My resolve hardened like ice as I sank deeper into the soothing waters, letting them carry away some measure of my unease, if only for a moment.

I leaned back against the porcelain, the water infused with salts cradling my aching body. Even as my muscles surrendered to the comforting embrace, a shiver rattled through me. It was not the chill of the room but the icy fingers of memory that grazed my spine.

Those men had hardly been gentle. They had been ready to sever my finger just to send Conall a message.

Untouched... That’s what Conall had asked. He said I was worthless to him unless I was untouched. The sneering tone of Conall’s voice haunted the steam, echoing off the tiles. Disgust coiled in my belly. I wondered how he could see me as merely an object, a prize to be presented pristine and unblemished. My worth was reduced to nothing more than my physical state. What twisted sense of ownership drove him to utter such vile words?

As the heat seeped deeper into my limbs, the tightness in my joints loosened, but my thoughts knotted tighter with each passing second. Home...

It hardly felt like home with how I was being treated. My parents used to listen and hear me out. And now I was dismissed, and my obedience demanded.

But I had to return.

I pressed my palms flat against the cool surface of the tub, grounding myself. No, I couldn’t flee when my people, my pack, faced turmoil. They were my responsibility, my heart, and leaving them to fend for themselves was a betrayal I could not commit.

That creature was out there regardless of what my family claimed. I had not imagined it.

The door creaked open, and Edith’s soft footsteps approached. I sat up, my muscles sighing in relief from the soaking salts’ embrace. Her hands were gentle as she helped me out of the tub, wrapping a plush towel around my shivering form.

"Lady Saoirse, you’ve been invited to dine with the prince this evening," she said, her voice a mixture of formality and warmth.

I hesitated, the weight of the day heavy on my shoulders, but the thought of secluding myself further didn’t sit right. "Yes," I replied, finding strength in the decision. "I will join him."

As she combed through my damp hair, deft fingers working out the tangles, I caught my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me had eyes like steel, determined, unyielding. I was surprised how easily those eyes could soften when lost in thoughts about Rhys.

"Will there be anything else, Miss?" Edith asked, her tone respectful yet carrying an undercurrent of curiosity.

"No, thank you," I managed, though every bone in my body protested the effort of politeness. With her assistance, I slipped into a dress that felt too soft and delicate for my current mood. It was a deep emerald fabric that complemented the wildness in my eyes.

"Very well. The prince awaits when you are ready." She bowed slightly before exiting the room, leaving me to gather the remnants of my composure.

I stood alone, clasping and unclasping my hands, trying to steady the tremor that coursed through them. Dinner with royalty was not what I needed, but perhaps it was what I required—a little bit of normalcy when my life had become chaotic. Although, it was not as if dining with royalty could be considered normal for someone like me.

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and stepped toward the door, each motion deliberate.

"Tonight," I whispered to no one, "I am more than someone’s betrothed or an errant daughter. Tonight, I am Saoirse Strider, and I will face whatever lies ahead with my head held high."