Sold as the Alpha King’s Breeder

Chapter 83 : Common Ground

Troy

Well, I was still alive.

I hadn’t been sure what to expect when we finally reached Maeve’s homeland, but I thought Maeve

would have been more at peace.

Instead, I watched her crumble at the edge of her parents’ bed, the moonstones in her hands, realizing

the act of bringing them together hadn’t worked.

That had been the first time I met her mother, the famous White Queen Rosalie… my future mother-in-

law, if Ethan didn’t kill me before a wedding could take place.

We had been in Winter Forest for a full day at that point, and my conversations with Ethan had been

short and to the point. I had turned over Opaline to him. I had returned his daughter to her pack. I had

given him a complete report on everything that had happened from the moment I first stepped foot in

Valoria to the day our boat pulled into the inlet that hugged the shore of Winters Forest’s main village.

Outside of that, he didn’t even look in my direction.

I was only slightly embarrassed that I fell off the dock in front of him, but Rowan made me look slightly

better than himself when he jumped in a second time to help me get the moonstone before it was carried

away by the tide.

The icy, glacial water had been a baptism of some kind, something that cemented an unlikely friendship

between Maeve‘s brother and

1. me.

So, I wasn’t entirely surprised when I woke up the next morning to Rowan in the doorway of Maeve’s

bedroom, peering down at me.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” he asked in a whisper, arching his brow.

I ran my fingers through my hair and then over my face, rubbing my eyes. “More room down here,” I tilted

my head toward the bed where Maeve was still sleeping like a rock with basically all of the pillows in the

house tucked around her body. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven,” he replied, leaning against the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. I

looked out the window behind the bed, seeing nothing. It was pitch black. “The sun doesn’t come up

until, like, eleven this time of year. You’ll get used to it.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” I blinked a few times, my body and mind not yet acclimated to the strangeness of

this place. The sun had set the day before at just after 3:00 p.m., and all my body wanted to do was

sleep even though I wasn’t particularly tired.

“It’s hard on everyone for a while,” Rowan continued as I stood and folded up the blanket I had been

sleeping on. I laid it over Maeve’s feet, which were peeking out of the thick quilt that she had tucked up

around her ears. “How’s she doing?”

I could hear the guilt in his voice as his gaze shifted from me to the bed.

In truth, Maeve wasn’t well. She had cried until she fell asleep the night before, spilling her feelings about

her homecoming to me while I held her, whispering reassurances against her neck. Maeve was a wreck,

and I couldn’t blame her. It was mostly my fault.

1. me.

So, I wasn’t entirely surprised when I woke up the next morning to Rowan in the doorway of Maeve’s

bedroom, peering down at me.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” he asked in a whisper, arching his brow.

I ran my fingers through my hair and then over my face, rubbing my eyes. “More room down here,” I tilted

my head toward the bed where Maeve was still sleeping like a rock with basically all of the pillows in the

house tucked around her body. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven,” he replied, leaning against the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. I

looked out the window behind the bed, seeing nothing. It was pitch black. “The sun doesn’t come up

until, like, eleven this time of year. You’ll get used to it.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” I blinked a few times, my body and mind not yet acclimated to the strangeness of

this place. The sun had set the day before at just after 3:00 p.m., and all my body wanted to do was

sleep even though I wasn’t particularly tired.

“It’s hard on everyone for a while,” Rowan continued as I stood and folded up the blanket I had been

sleeping on. I laid it over Maeve’s feet, which were peeking out of the thick quilt that she had tucked up

around her ears. “How’s she doing?”

I could hear the guilt in his voice as his gaze shifted from me to the bed.

In truth, Maeve wasn’t well. She had cried until she fell asleep the night before, spilling her feelings about

her homecoming to me while I held her, whispering reassurances against her neck. Maeve was a wreck,

and I couldn’t blame her. It was mostly my fault.

“She’s fine. Tired,” I answered shortly, pulling one of the thick knit sweaters Gretchen had laid out for me

over my shoulders. Rowan watched me closely. His eyes were so much like Maeve’s, the same color

and shape, in fact. But Rowan looked more like Rosalie in the face, at least in my opinion. He had his

father’s jaw, though, which tightened and flexed whenever they held back their words.

“I was hoping she’d be awake, so I could… talk to her. Say hi, I guess.”

“She sleeps until noon most days. It’s a lot… the pregnancy, you know.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said awkwardly, pursing his lips and tilting his head from side to side, considering.

“Do you want me to wake her up?”

“No, no-I actually came for you. I wanted to, uh, talk to you for a minute before Talon and Ernest get back

from Mirage today.” Rowan shifted uncomfortably, then tilted his head toward the hallway. I nodded firmly,

my chest tightening with anxiety as followed him down the hallway and through the darkened house.

Gretchen was in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of breakfast sausage and coffee as she chopped

potatoes. She looked up from the butcher block, her eyes creasing as her mouth stretched into a

beaming smile. “Good morning!” she exclaimed, setting the knife down and turning to pull two mugs out

of a cabinet.

She filled both of them with coffee and added a liberal amount of fresh cream, which made my stomach

tighten with anticipation. We had been eating nothing but dried food and grains for weeks, and no one

aboard Damian’s cruiser could cook worth a damn. Yesterday, we‘d been too busy to eat a proper meal,

so I was hoping whatever plan Rowan had for me could wait until after

breakfast.

Thankfully, Rowan settled himself on a stool next to the kitchen island, and I followed suit, sipping my

coffee and watching as Gretchen began to pour pancake batter into a large cast iron skillet slicked with

bacon grease.

“You’re just as handsome and patient as I imagined you, Troy dear,” Gretchen said sweetly as she

flipped the pancakes. “It certainly takes a specific type of man to peak Maeve’s interests,”

“Handle her, you mean,” Rowan said over the rim of his coffee mug, smirking at Gretchen as she cast

him a dirty look. She was a friendly older woman who exuded what I could only describe as “grandma

energy,” and she looked the part as well, dressed in an apron decorated with embroidered tea pots and

apples. She clicked her tongue at Rowan, pointing her finger accusingly.

“You’d best watch your tongue, young man. You and Maeve should’ve been twins, I always say. So alike.

It’s no wonder your mates are such quiet, humble people. Is Hanna coming up to the house today? I

want to send her home with some blueberry jam my granddaughter made this fall.”

“I can swing by her place later, if not,” Rowan said, watching as Gretchen grabbed two plates from the

dishrack. “Could we get breakfast to go? Would that be too much trouble?”

“Not at all, darling.” Gretchen rummaged around in the cabinets for two plastic containers as we

continued to drink our coffee. I felt a little shy to the point of being uncomfortable. This was Rowan’s

domain. Maeve’s childhood home. I was, to be blunt, an unwanted guest. Surely, Gretchen knew about

the situation, having worked so closely with the family over the years. Maeve called her Grannie, in fact.

Rowan got up with the plastic containers in his hands, thanking Gretchen as she filled two thermoses

with coffee, which she handed to me to carry.

“You’d better be planning on wearing your helmet, Rowan. You know how your mother feels about those

deathtraps,”

“I know, I know,” Rowan said over his shoulder. “Thanks for breakfast, Gretchen!”

“Helmets?” I asked as we reached the stairwell that led down to the garage. I had slept there the night

we arrived in Winter Forest, but it had been very dark. I could only make out the immediate area around

me, which was a tool bench and a few bikes.

“Snowmobiles,” Rowan said simply, shrugging as I followed him down the stairs. “Ever been on one?”

“I’m from the Isles,”

“Then imagine a jetski, but for snow. It’s very similar.” He flipped on a light switch as we reached the

bottom of the stairs, and the garage erupted into light. I took a moment to be shocked, then composed

myself and swallowed the many, many questions swirling through my mind.

The garage was as large, if not larger, than the house itself. Four snowmobiles sat near the garage door,

primed and ready for use. An assortment of other outdoor equipment leaned against the walls, bikes and

several sets of skis and snowboards. A large pickup truck sat idle in the far corner of the garage next to

what looked like a tractor, both covered in tarps. I hadn’t been around cars in my life, but I could tell the

truck was old… Vintage, some might say. Rowan caught me looking at it and gave me a crooked smile.

“It’s Dad’s. He’s been working on it for years.”

“Where did he find it? I’ve never seen a vehicle that old before.” | ran my tongue along the inside of my

lower lip, wondering if Rowan would protest if I poked around the garage for a moment.

“I don’t know. It just showed up one day. He had to have it towed up here from the port, and it’s been

sitting in the garage for fifteen years or so now. Mom says it takes up too much space.”

“I mean,” I said, unable to hide my shock, “I don’t think that matters that much. This place is huge.”

Rowan set the food containers on one of the snowmobiles and started to grab gear off the shelves on the

far wall, pulling down an assortment of gloves and padded jackets. I walked around, glancing at the tool

bench before letting my gaze wander further into the recesses of the garage, which was double the

length of the house, built like a basement beneath the backyard.

There was a set of rooms in the back, a bathroom and what looked like a small office or storage room. I

could see an icon bouncing around on what looked like a screen and couldn’t hold back my questions

any longer.

“Is that a computer?” I asked, turning to face Rowan.

He set down the helmet he was holding and inhaled deeply, his cheeks turning a little red.

“Yeah, it is.”

“How? I’ve never seen one-”

“1-I built it.” I could hear the apprehension in his voice, and I quickly realized why his cheeks had

colored. He was embarrassed.

“Are you serious? I‘ve only ever read about them. I didn’t think any

were left outside of… of the dashboards on boats and planes.” The war had destroyed most of the

technology to use them, so there was no reason for anyone to have one.

He stared blankly at me for a moment, his shoulders losing some of their tension as he picked up on my

excitement. “I’m building more radio towers. I needed a way to test the frequency needed to connect the

packs of Valoria and keep track of the data. It doesn’t do much besides that but… I’m proud of it.”

“You should be,” I said earnestly, wanting nothing more than for him to show me exactly what he could

do with it.

Rowan smiled broadly, blushing a little more as he balanced the helmet on his hip. “Maybe when we get

back I can show you, if Dad

-” he paused, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “I’m not supposed to like you, you know.”

“Yeah, I get it.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Rowan motioned me over to him and we spent the next fifteen

minutes suiting up to take the snowmobiles out. It was arduous work, and I was sweating by the time we

had packed the food and coffee into two backpacks and backed the snowmobiles out into the driveway.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how to ride one of these!” Rowan shouted through his helmet.