Sold 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.”

braid around my finger.

you about everything I see and do, I promise.” Abigail patted me on the leg

slinging a duffle bag over my shoulder.

the station attendant to help us with the trunk. “And don’t go out alone, okay? I’m

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

on the train, watching as

a six- hour journey to Crimson Creek; one of the last stops on the tracks that were woven into the hilly countryside of the

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

a glimpse of

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

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

however, the black, gnarled trees were just specks

an engine approaching and turned my head, seeing a beat-up old truck bouncing over

of the platform, parking right along the train tracks and turning its lights off. A figure stepped out,

“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

and down the stairs.

to. They showed up at the farm last night. We didn’t even have a

said as we lifted the trunk into the bed of the truck. Bethany shrugged, clapping

a bunch of gear with him and started

the passenger’s seat with my duffle bag on

under her breath as the truck protested

my grandfather,’ she

“Sure,” I said, smiling.

had animatedly described. She smelled like soil, and green things, which sent a thrill through me. She likely knew her stuff, based

is at seven sharp, if you miss it, too bad. We

asked,

also very petite, though likely an inch taller than me, but her voice betrayed her size. She had a whiskey voice,

year, it’s a near failure. Nothin’s growing

I asked, narrowing my eyes

roots, we’re guessin’. Your research partner was going to test the soil today, see if he can pinpoint exactly what the

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