Mated to the Alpha King (A Royal’s Tale Book 1)
Mated to the Alpha King: Chapter 32

It was only when I had stepped into my home after being released from the hospital that the realization of how much had gone past me—how much I could not remember—actually settled in.

It looked like my bedroom had been untouched, based on the layer of dust covering my study table, which was adorned with ornaments I could not remember buying.

My bed was there, looking as homey as it had on its very first day under my ownership, two years ago.

Though, the bedspread that covered it was unknown to me.

My gaze moved towards the one thing I knew I had looked forward to: the window—the view of the castle.

I can still feel the excitement that I felt in the pits of my stomach as I made my way towards the large window and opened it—the very window that Matthew had slipped saying I fell through, that Roman had slipped saying I was pushed through.

Now, I could understand why someone would want to throw me out a window—figuratively, that is. I admit, I could be annoying and irrational as hell. But literally? Whose heart had I broken again?

Still feeling a bit annoyed at having been thrown out of my own window, I glanced up, only to come to a halt.

The man in white was standing on the balcony of the castle again—the very man who had stood there on my first day, probably the only day I could remember with great detail.

The man and I stood staring at each other for a minute. Let it be known that all I could make out from this distance was his broad form and white shirt—and maybe his wavy brown hair.

Maybe he was the man with blue eyes and that tinge of brown that mirrored mine?

Looking around, I found the one thing I needed the most: my binoculars.

As if hesitantly, the man brought up his hand very clearly and moved it in a small wave.

I almost reeled back at his action but soon found myself following him.

I remember wondering as I closed the window if he really was the man with the blue-and-brown eyes . . . and if I would ever replace out.

***

“Are you sure you can go home on your own?” Marley asked me for the third time, her tone slightly nervous.

I gave her a look with an eyebrow raised as I stopped in front of her and held her in place. She had been going on and on about having one of the boys drop me home since morning, but I didn’t see the point anymore.

“Ley, you know it’s no use making one of the guys drop me off when my folks got me a car. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Marley rolled her eyes as she continued to drag me along with her towards my newly gifted car. “That’s not a car, Thi. That’s a Land Rover—a Land Rover LRX Concept. That just isn’t any car; it’s a goddamn vehicle—the goddamn vehicle!”

I rolled my eyes at her too as we came to a stop beside my black Land Rover before I made my way around to the driver’s side.

“You really should stop saying ‘goddamn.’ ” I chuckled at her, then got myself in the driver’s seat and the key in the ignition. I lowered the window on the passenger’s side and bent to look at Marley. “You really sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

Marley had looked like a deer caught in headlights before she contained herself and shook her head quickly. I frowned at that. “No, no, it’s alright; Keith wants to drop me home.”

Oooh!

“Oh! Well, have fun!” I wiggled my eyebrows at Marley while she scowled at me. Still giggling, I then shot her a wave before driving past her and out of the school’s driveway.

Looking at the passing trees as I drove on, a sigh left my lips, and I shook my head.

There was no one at Rosenberg High with the voice that I seemed to crave or the eyes that seemed to haunt my every waking and sleeping hour.

Nearly a week had passed since I got home from the hospital, three days since I got back to school, and I had nothing.

Not even the man in the castle seemed to have any time to visit me now. In fact, the castle seemed kind of barren.

I also noticed how strange most people had been acting around me—like something was ripping into them, like they knew something they pitied me for.

I hated that—pity. I didn’t need anyone’s pity. In fact, I was taking my amnesia quite well. The doctor had told me that it was temporary. I suppose that added to my relief. No one else knew, of course; I had asked him to keep that bit confidential.

I guess a part of me hoped to surprise everyone when I eventually did get my memory back, and I guess the hope of getting my memory back allowed and encouraged me to make new ones whenever I got the chance—to write things again whenever I got the chance.

Rome and Matthew seemed to be the worst out of everyone around me. Rome was the absolute worst. Oftentimes he came to school looking demented and highly worn out. He had told me only three days ago that it was because his cousin had flown off to London to take care of some things and left him in charge of the large “pack” they had. Rome slipped; he said “pack” instead of “family.” I guess his tiredness made him say things he normally wouldn’t.

It was then that I initially got the feeling of something very big being hidden from me.

I mean, who says “pack” instead of “family”?

Everyone was acting weird: Matthew and the boys tailed me wherever I went. Roman nearly ripped throats at any glances I received from anyone. The boys nearly helped. Mom and Dad couldn’t look me in the eye for more than a second. Agnus couldn’t help but fret over me, over the tiniest things, drawing Lilly into doing the same. And Marley? Marley couldn’t stop giving me retail therapy, always slipping bits and pieces here and there, like something about watching Beauty and the Beast, possessive males, and soul mates.

“Who says amnesia is a bad thing. The way I see it, it gives them a chance to fall in love again.”

My mind hovered to what I had heard Roman’s aunt Meryl whisper to Matthew and him. Who had she been talking about? Obviously it was me, because I was the only one here with amnesia. But who was the guy she had been talking about?

Meryl seemed like she knew so much. She was the only one who could tell me everything clearly when I asked.

Sometimes I wondered if I should ask her about the hum I was still searching for, as well as the blues and browns that had etched themselves on my mind.

Oftentimes I felt like I was trying to replace something that always stayed in the shadows—always close but never visible.

I tapped my thumb on the steering wheel as I waited for the gates to open. My home looked as red-bricked as ever against the nearing autumn’s shades of gold.

The gates opened, and I quickly drove in, through the driveway, and into the garage.

After parking my Rover, I grabbed onto my backpack and slipped out of the vehicle before locking it as I walked towards the garage door.

“Agnus! Are you home?” I called out as I bolted the garage door shut, then moved into the house through the front door, locking that behind me too.

Hmm . . . Maybe they aren’t home.

With a casual shrug, I began making my way up the stairs and into my bedroom. I smelled like a dozen sweaty males’ colognes and Marley’s expensive turd of a perfume.

Clearly, I needed to get out of this mess of a dress.

***

“So hungry,” I couldn’t help but groan as I rushed down the stairs, hoping I’d get something in me before my tummy decided to sing another one of its native songs.

Slipping into the kitchen, I stopped when my gaze met the refrigerator’s silver door. A curious frown placed on my face, I slipped the note out from under the magnet and quickly read it.

Gone downtown to buy some groceries, miss. Might be back by 6:30. Kept your favorite roasted chicken and mashed potatoes in the fridge. Heat it up if you’re hungry. Don’t forget to lock the doors and windows.

— Agnus

P.S. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson will be out till late night, so do not wait for them. They called around noon. Be safe, miss.

“Okaaay!” I spoke against the silence of the house as I placed the note on the kitchen counter and moved towards the fridge again.

After slipping out the containers, I quickly placed them in the microwave one by one before moving along to ready my plate and glass of juice.

Waiting for the roast gave me time to think, and somehow I found out I felt slightly anxious being alone in my home, as if I couldn’t fully trust what laid in the shadows—as if something would grab for me if I didn’t pay much attention.

The ping from the microwave sounded, and I easily made my delicious-looking meal before quickly moving towards the living room.

A rerun of Pretty Little Liars was about to go on, and I didn’t want to miss a single bit of my Toby. Gosh, that man was as beautiful as they came.

A soft noise of something swinging wafted through the air of silence, and I quickly put the plate and glass on the coffee table before moving towards the source of the noise, the back door.

I froze.

I had never been to this part of the house, the backyard. In this past week, I had been limited to everything on the inside due to it being mostly rainy; nothing on the outside could be explored.

But now I could see . . . the grass seemed a little overgrown yet not grown enough to not have been walked on. The large tree branched out wonderfully as it grew tall and proud.

But what held my eyes captive—what seemed welcoming, almost alluring—was the simple plank that hung by two ropes from one of the stronger branches of the tree, swinging back and forth slowly in the soft breeze, as if inviting me to swing on it.

I didn’t know if it had been some sort of magic—some sort of invisible string—that pulled me towards it, but before I could realize what I was doing, I found myself out in the backyard, running my fingers slowly across the coarse ropes.

I felt this urge in me to take a swing and to wait for something, or someone, maybe because I had waited for someone on the swing before.

The food forgotten, I slid onto the plank and slowly grabbed onto the ropes before almost immediately jolting forward, but then the warmth of another hand—a familiar larger hand—engulfed mine.

What the fuck!

Frantically, I looked back . . . but found nothing.

A soft wisp of wind caressed my skin as if apologetically, and I sighed.

The touch seemed so real. It seemed so familiar.

Somehow I knew it belonged to the hum I was searching for. The tingles were proof enough.

It was hours later that I found myself back inside the house. I had fallen asleep on the swing, but the afternoon drizzle against my shivering skin and calls from a nearing Lilly woke me up.

Needless to say, when Lilly pulled me into the house with her, under a large black umbrella, Agnus gave me the scolding of my life.

I got a feeling Agnus knew exactly what I was doing on the swing; the knowing look in her satisfied, aged eyes told me enough. But while she knew, I was clueless.

Whom was I waiting for?

I suppose that was what had brought me here in bed, in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and the brightest socks I owned, with ruffly, damp hair that fell down in natural waves.

As I looked to my side, a smile shimmered through, and I reached out to bring the large mug of hot chocolate to my lips. I blew on the hot liquid for a while and then took a sip.

I looked down at my lap again and grimaced.

The draft of my history essay seemed only halfway done, but it was due tomorrow, so after placing the mug back on the side table, I grabbed my pencil and began scribbling on the page once again, aiming not to stop until the essay was finally complete.

***

There it was again, the strange clatter.

Stifling a groan, I snapped my eyes open and instantly moved my hands to rub the sleep away.

All my books had been piled on the edge of the bed—I suppose I had been too tired to place them on my study table—before giving sleep a go.

Then it sounded yet again, the clatter.

My eyes shot in the direction the sound was coming from, and I instantly shot to my feet as well.

The sound always sounded muffled, as if its volume was intentionally being kept to a minimum.

My hand clung tighter to the empty mug as I edged closer to the window.

The faint light from the lamp on my nightstand illuminated the room partially, and I gulped in fear of what laid ahead.

Just pull the damn curtain and smack whatever is there with your mug, Thi! Then call Dad and 911! Do it!

After taking in a breath of gaseous courage, I quickly pulled the curtains open just as the clatter sounded again and immediately dropped the mug.

There hanging by my window . . . was a man.

I stood frozen, looking at the man’s shadowed face as he stared back.

Normal—this felt normal . . . Why?

The man looked down, then back up at me, as if thinking whether to make a run for it or to stay.

I felt my heart beat faster when the man slid the window completely open and jumped right into my bedroom.

He straightened up in the shadows and stood extremely still, and somehow I knew his gaze wasn’t faltering.

I felt confused.

For some reason, I felt as if this had happened a million times before, and I felt safe. I felt as if this was where I was supposed to be, near the m— My breath hitched in my throat.

I glanced at the man’s hands, which were fisted and stiff at his sides.

Gulping, terrified of what would happen next, I slowly reached for his hand and sighed when mine wrapped partially around his wrist.

The tingles . . .

My eyes found his hidden ones as I hesitantly began taking steps back into the light.

He started to clear. I saw black shoes, dark-blue jeans, a black T-shirt, his neck . . .

My steps grew more brave as I led him further away from the shadows.

I saw his cleft chin, those pink lips, and a stubble beard.

He dipped his head as we completed moving into the light, as if he was ashamed.

I frowned at his actions, then I frowned at mine.

This was hardly something ordinary—definitely nothing normal.

I ignored my now crazily beating heart as I spoke the next words: “L-look at me.” I stopped. “P-please . . . I need to know.”

The man stiffened again, but thankfully, I managed to remain standing in front of him, although my grip on his wrist was forgotten.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet mine, then the whole world froze.

His bright blue eyes shone through with unshed tears, but my gaze stood stagnant on the tinge of brown.

I looked at the man standing in front of me—standing still while the rest of the world shifted off its axis.

I had found him, the hum.

After glancing up at him, I closed my eyes as the tears I hadn’t known were there slipped out.

Why was I crying? Why did I feel like my world was safe again? Why did I feel like forever holding him as he stood still in front of me, looking as vulnerable as a man could ever look?

I don’t know what had prompted me to say what I said next, but I did say it. I looked him in the eye, a small smile on my lips, my grip on his wrist tightening even further.

“Bryce.”