The Human Slave Mated To The Alpha king

Chapter 9

"Sir," I tried.

"It's master," he cut in.

"Master," I said, sitting upright against the tree, my heart already slamming from being caught mid-nap in a garden I had no business claiming as my own.

"I asked you a question. What are you doing here?" His arms were crossed, irritation written all over him like it was his default resting state.

"I.... I...."

"Is this what a personal slave is supposed to be doing? Do you even know what the word personal means?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It means you belong to me. And I haven't seen you do your job since you were appointed."

I couldn't help the small chuckle that slipped out at appointed. As if there'd been a ceremony. As if I'd applied.

"What's funny?" His voice sharpened.

"Nothing, master." I swallowed the rest of it. I'd been bold that morning, but that had been pure adrenaline talking, and adrenaline had long since checked out for the night.

"Come with me." He turned and started walking.

"But I'm done with today's tasks," I said, exhaustion sitting so deep in my bones it made me forget to think before I spoke.

He stopped. Turned back around, slow. "You're done with today's tasks."

I nodded, already regretting it.

He roared, close enough that I felt it more than heard it. "When I ask you a question, you speak."

Right. Easy to forget who I was talking to when he was standing there looking irritated instead of murderous. Easy mistake to make exactly once.

"Yes, master," I managed, shaking now, no adrenaline left to cover it.

"You are the single most insubordinate slave I have ever encountered."

"I'm sorry, master."

"Good. So you do know how to be submissive." He said it like he was almost proud of himself.

He turned and walked off without checking whether I followed. I didn't need to be told twice. His stride ate ground fast enough that I had to jog to keep pace, half-running past guards who all straightened the second he came into view an unsettling little ripple of fear that moved through the corridor ahead of him like weather.

We stopped in front of a set of massive golden doors. He pushed them open, and the room beyond was exactly what you'd expect from a king who never had to ask for anything twice.

"Go prepare my bath," he said, or something close to it his voice had dropped, and I wasn't entirely sure I'd heard him right.

"What?" I said.

"Are you not only insubordinate, but deaf as well?" Irritation, again, immediate, like it lived just under his skin waiting for an excuse.

"No, master." I dropped my head, apologizing with my whole posture.

"Then go do as I asked."

So I did what I thought I'd heard, too afraid to ask him to repeat himself and confirm I'd actually misunderstood in the first place. I moved around the unfamiliar room awkwardly, no idea where anything was, too proud and too scared in equal measure to ask him directly where the bathroom even was.

"It's the door on your left," he said, like reading my mind was just another thing he did without effort.

"Thank you," I muttered, and slipped through it. The bathroom alone put most of the palace to shame everything gold-veined and gleaming, built for someone who'd never once had to consider what anything cost. I moved fast, not wanting to give him a reason to complain I'd taken too long.

"It's ready, master," I said, stepping back out.

He walked past me toward the bathroom, then stopped, turned, already reaching for the collar of his tunic.

"What are you doing standing there?"

"I... was waiting for you to take your bath," I said.

"Waiting for me?" He raised an eyebrow, casual, like this was an ordinary conversation. "Aren't you going to give me one?"

My eyes nearly fell out of my skull. "What?"

"Stop looking so surprised. Get in here." He was already pulling the tunic over his head, and I hate him, I want that on record, but I also have eyes, and what those eyes landed on was not something I'd been prepared to see up close. I looked away before I could scan anything further.

"Are you in?" I asked, staring hard at a spot on the wall.

"You're still fully dressed. How exactly would I be inside you?"

"Excuse me?" What kind of... who says something like that to... I whipped around despite myself, ready to defend my own ears.

"I meant if you're already in the tub," I clarified, mortified.

"Oh. That." He said it like the other interpretation had been the more obvious one. "Thought you meant something else. I'm in. Come scrub me."

I turned around. He was settled into the water, and I picked up a sponge and soap with hands that weren't entirely steady, and started on his shoulders, his muscles rigid under my palms like stone that happened to be warm.

"Just get out," he said abruptly, sharp, annoyed, and I had absolutely no idea what I'd done this time.

I dropped the sponge and fled, not sure if *out* meant the room or just the bathroom itself, and settled on waiting just outside the door, close enough to hear if he called again.

A few minutes later he emerged, towel low on his hips, and Lord have mercy. How is it possible for someone to be that beautiful and that insufferable at the same time. Some serious cosmic unfairness at work there.

"When you're done staring, go fetch my shirt."

I snapped out of it so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet.

"Clean your face," he added, already walking off toward the wardrobe.

I wiped a hand across my cheek. Wet. Oh my god. Had I actually been *drooling*. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. I scrubbed harder than necessary, mortified all over again, and by the time he came back he was fully dressed, infuriatingly put together, like the last five minutes hadn't happened at all.

"Can I leave now, sir?" I asked, running on fumes at this point.

He didn't answer. I took the silence as permission and turned toward the door.

"And where exactly are you going?"

I stopped. "To my quarters." Couldn't exactly tell him *back to the garden.*

"Have you been dismissed?"

"No, master."

"Then where do you think you're going?"

"Sorry, master," I said, already bracing for whatever came next.

"From this point forward, you sleep in this room. As my personal slave, I need you available at all times. Understood?"

"Yes, master." I genuinely couldn't tell if this was good luck or bad. Servants' quarters, with Sable and Wren and whatever *see you later* had meant, or the floor of a king's bedroom. The garden wasn't an option anymore either way they'd find me there eventually.

"You'll sleep on the floor," he said, and climbed into bed without another word.

I settled onto the floor beside it. Rugged, at least, not bare stone. Small mercy, but I'd take every one I could get today.

I closed my eyes. I'm not sure I made it a full minute before sleep took me under completely.

*******************

I stretched my legs and my movement snagged against something solid. A wall. Except there hadn't been a wall there when I fell asleep.

I blinked, and the first thing that swam into focus was a chest. Bare. Muscled. Very much attached to a person, and very much not where a piece of furniture should be. My whole body went rigid, some half-formed instinct rearing up to hit whoever this intruder was right up until my eyes tracked up to the face.

Oh no.

The king.

How had I ended up on his bed. When had I started sleepwalking. I had exactly one job right now, which was to get out before he woke up and decided this was somehow my fault.

Too slow. His lashes lifted, dark blue eyes finding mine before I'd even managed to peel myself back an inch.