Sold as the Alpha King's Breeder
Chapter 227

Chapter 7: The Birds and the Bees

Maeve

I spent the rest of the morning trudging through the tall grass, which had sprung back up to itsusual height after the sun came out and began to dry the weighed-down blades. I struggled againstthe unruly grass, the sharp, dry blades constantly snagging on my shirt and poking the skin on myhands and neck.

“Damn you, Aaron,” I hissed, finally popping out of the field and into the castle's well-kept grounds.The garden was empty of its usual inhabitants. Everyone, including the gardeners, were helpingclean up the aftermath of the storm. I found the emptiness peaceful, and instead of going backinside the castle I found myself wandering around the gardens for at least an hour.

It wasn't until Gemma came out looking for me that I went inside. She picked the grass out of myhair as she walked behind me, talking incessantly about the storm's damage.

I started up the stairs, but she stopped me, grabbing my elbow. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, um. To my room, to change.”

"Don’t worry about it. There's no time.”

“For what?"

"Oh damn, I forgot. Maeve, I'm sorry. I should have mentioned it last night but with Aaron showingup and”

"What is it, Gemma?”

"Horace scheduled an appointment for you with the doctor today, in a few minutes, actually. It'll bebrief.”

I stepped off the stairs, a strange sensation rippling through my stomach, something likeexcitement, or nerves. I wasn't sure

“in the infirmary?” I asked, letting her take the lead. We walked through the winding hallways on thefirst floor, passing the dining hall and library as we made our way to the far eastern wing of thecastle, a darkened, rarely used area.

Sure enough, the lights inside the infirmary were on and I could hear Ernest's voice from within thesterile waiting room.

I entered behind Gemma, who had gone stiff and flushed as I stepped to stand beside her. I lookedat her, then turned to where she was looking, my hands tightening into fists.

Aaron was standing in the corner of the infirmary’s entrance, his arms crossed casually over hischest as he talked to Dr. Metzer and Ernest

"Stop shaking,” Gemma whispered, giving me a side-eyed look. “There's nothing to be worriedabout. He's just going to take some blood,”

“I'm not worried. I'm mad,” I whispered back, still looking at Aaron, who gave us both a nod ingreeting.

“What's the matter.”

“Ladies!” Ernest exclaimed, clapping his hands together. He pranced over to me, bending down tokiss me on each cheek before! could dodge him.

“What's wrong with you-" I mumbled, but he ignored me.

"Gemma, my dear. Excellent work on managing the castle in our absence,” he said with a genuine airof gratitude as he looked from me to her. Gemma flushed with pride.

I smiled softly to myself, happy for Gemma. Ernest was kind to her and really did appreciate her helparound the castle. I looked down at my feet as the two exchanged niceties.

But I felt a sudden rush of heat touch my cheeks as I waited to be told what to do. I looked upslowly, making eye contact with Aaron. He was staring at me the same way he always did, his eyesfocused intensely on mine, taking me in.

And, like the times before, it was almost as though a silent conversation was passing between us,something I couldn't yet

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Chapter 7: The Birds and the Bees

decipher. Maybe, I thought as I narrowed my eyes at him, he was trying to apologize for his forwardbehavior.

He narrowed his eyes back at me, his mouth tilting into a sly smile.

Never mind. He was taunting me.

"Maeve, it's your turn “Dr. Metzer said in a dry, monotone voice. He was an owlish man, short andstocky with a few wispy white hairs left on his head. He motioned for me to follow him through oneof the doors off the infirmary’s entrance, away from the small waiting room where Gemma, Ernest,and Aaron stood, all three of them watching me in silence.

"Sit down here, please,” the doctor said, taking his seat on a swivel stool while I sat on the exambed. I crossed my legs, tapping my foot as he asked me a variety of questions.

When was the last day of my last period? Were they regular? How much do I weigh? How tall am 1?He made a face as he wrote down my height and chuckled to himself.

“What?

"Oh, this baby will be a giant,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Or giantess.”

“Great!” I said sarcastically, uncrossing my legs as a nurse entered the room, pushing a cart with thesupplies for a blood draw.

“Do you understand what you must do in order to make a baby?” the doctor said, flipping over thepaper on his clipboard. I stared at him blankly, unsure if I had heard him correctly.

Are you asking if I know how to.. how to-"

"Has anyone explained to you how babies are made?”

I opened my mouth to say something cutting but decided against it. The nurse pursed her lips,trying not to laugh as she continued to prepare the needle and cartridges.

“1-Yes. It was explained to me,” I said through gritted teeth. Was a grown man really asking me if Iknew where babies came from?

"Good. Good. Well-"Dr. Metzer stood, flipping his paper back to the front page where he hadwritten down my vitals. “Based on your last period, I would assume your fertile window is in aboutten days, give or take. You'll need to report here every morning for the next few weeks, at least untilyou conceive. Brenda will walk you through what that will look like.”

He nodded his head toward the nurse, who gave me a gracious smile. The doctor left the room justas Brenda was leaning over my arm, the needle dipping into my flesh as she released the ternicateshe had placed on my upper arm.

My blood flowed through the narrow plastic tube, turning the little glass vials a deep red as theyfilled.

"You have a high pain tolerance, don’t you?” Brenda said with a smile, capping one of the vials andfilling another.

I nodded, not the least bit queasy or lightheaded.

"Well, that'll do it.” She pulled the needle from my arm and placed a bandage over the spot wherethe needle had been placed in the crook of my elbow. “You might bruise a little, fair skinned as youare.”

"What's this all for, anyway?” I asked, waving my hand toward the vials of blood.

She discarded the needle and tubing, placing the vials in a little blue box and setting it on thecounter behind her before taking a seat on the stool.

"Well, we want to get an accurate reading of your blood type and make sure you're not anemic. Wealso want to know if you're a carrier for any genetic diseases.”

"Alright. But don't forget to save any you don't need for healing,” I said.

She smiled. “We won't forget, don’t worry,” she said. “So, did your mother struggle with herpregnancies? Bad morning sickness, difficult labors?”

I shook my head. “If she had, she didn't tell me.”

"Well, that's alright. Everyone is different.” She paused, searching my face. “We will run the sametests on him, you know.”

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Chapter 7: The Birds and the Bees

I shook my head, pulling the covers up to my chin and rolling onto my side, hugging my kneesagainst my chest.

“Do you want to see anyone? Gemma?" he paused, shifting his weight. “Ernest?”

I shook my head again, swallowing against the painful lump in my throat that prevented me fromsaying a word. There was a moment of silence before I heard him cross the room. He opened adrawer and rummaged for something. Then, a tearing sound. I fought the urge to peak out from mynest of blankets as he placed something at the edge of the bed.

“I don't have any ink,” he said softly. “but I have a pencil. I'll... I'll let the kitchen know you won't becoming down for dinner. I'll have something brought up.”

“Thank you,” I said weakly, but the words hung on the tip of my tongue. How did he know I wantedto write a letter home?

His footsteps padded across the carpet and then a door opened and shut. He was gone.

I brought the covers down and looked toward the end of bed. He had left a large book, a wornhardcover with bent and frayed edges. I reached for it, examining the cover. It was so worn, so usedthat the text on the cover was no longer visible. He had even stitched the spine back togetherseveral times from what I could see, and dozens of the pages were bent to hold his place. I openedit, marveling at the pictures inside.

It was maps, dozens and dozens of maps drawn in watercolor and ink. He had loved this book, somuch so that he left small handwritten notes in the margins. I ran my finger over the indents left byhis pen.

He had also left me a piece of coarse paper ripped out of a journal and a short, hand-sharpenedcharcoal pencil. It was the kind of pencil used for sketching, and it was half the length it should havebeen had it been new. He must have used it often.

I turned it over in my hands.

Who are you, Aaron? I thought as I placed the piece of paper on the book, using my knees as amakeshift desk.

Who are you, really?