Page 31 of Cruel Alpha: Season Two

Rubbing my eyes as a yawn slips out, I nod. “The last thing I want, or need, is to be forced to take up with a gaggle of snobs, judging me, telling me the same exact things everyone else is always telling me.Be more ladylike. Be more grateful. Blah-fucking-blah.So, yes… pass.”

My eyes are closed, but I hear Lady Radcliffe step closer. It isn’t until she slams her cane to the floor twice that I snapa startled look her way. Having my full attention, a dark grin curves her lips as she bends at her waist, bringing her face uncomfortably close to mine.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but… one does not simply turn down an invitation to the Laurel Guild.”

I don’t respond as I swallow the lump in my throat.

“You’ve been asked to join them for tea in three days, and youwillbe in attendance.”

“I—"

“Then, Saturday evening,” she continues, ignoring me altogether, “you’llattend a formal dinner with the alpha and all three consort elects.”

I open my mouth to protest again, but like before, she’s quicker on the draw.

“Being invited to theseevents is an honor, Ms. Breedlove. So, it would be wise for you to treat them as such.”

She backs away slowly, and I hate that I can feel every ounce of power that’s taken away from me. One small drop at a time. There’s always someone telling me how to dress, where to be, and how to behave. And this time, as the icing on the cake, I’m being told what anhonorit has all been.

As far as I’m concerned, they can keep their big-ass dresses, their fancy parties, and every red cent they’ve shoved in my direction to make this prison sentence feel like a fantasy.

But last night made my circumstances crystal clear. My role in Cas’s life is final, because what the alpha wants, the alpha gets.

My wings are officially clipped. This beautiful cage I’m trapped inside is exactly that, and despite how I’ve fought the reality unfolding before my eyes… this place, thisrole,is it for me.

17

A Sharpened Sword

Caspian

“You’re unusually quiet.”I peer up while buttoning my shirt, seeing that my words have halted Jezebel’s writing.

We lock eyes as she closes the leatherbound book in her lap. It’s filled with notes comparing today’s medical evaluation to the ones before it, a record of how my condition has progressed. Although I’m still under the care of the top High Chamber physician, there’s no one’s expertise I trust more than hers.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

She lets out a breath, and I ignore how my stomach twists in knots while awaiting her response.

“Yes. There’s been very little change since your last examination.”

I let that sink in. That she didn’t say there hasn’t beenanychange, only that there’s beenvery little.

Whatever the hell that means.

I’m tempted to ask for clarification, but I don’t have it in me at the moment. The last twenty-four hours have been one gigantic cluster fuck, and I’m not sure I can take any more bad news. My head is already ringing with an echo of the argument between Annalise and I last night. In particular, her request to leave the estate.

Her request to leaveme.

When I focus on Jezebel again, she’s already staring. She has this way of making it feel as though she can see directly into my mind, reading my most secret thoughts.

“The tremors. Have they gotten worse? More frequent?”

I don’t look at her. Or maybe it’s that Ican’tlook at her.

“Not more violent, but theyhavebecome more frequent.”

She opens her book again, scrawling words across the page. “And they still seem to be triggered by stress?”

---