The King's Prey

Chapter 25 | Searching for Solace

Accismus • [ack-sis-mus]
Feigning disinterest in something while actually desiring it.

꧁ ꧂

~ Anastasia ~

The echoing footsteps off of the long marble floors and muted closing of the front door are my only indication that they've left—whoever paid Samuel a visit at this early hour. Though I wasn't able to hear any parts of the discussion that occurred a few rooms over—presumably in that murky, enigmatic office of his—I'm not stupid enough to understand it was private. That it was also likely pack-related.

I've completely ignored my plate of food at this point, too engrossed by my rambling thoughts to care about eating.

All I'm certain of is that Sterling was a part of that discussion. The lone female voice among the crowd of male tones was unmistakable. She's the only presumable person I can think of able to join in on their private conversations. I'm only shocked by her visit because the last time we breathed the same air, well...

It obviously wasn't a pleasant experience for either of us.

More importantly, it makes me wonder what subject —what was that important for her to be involved. I know Samuel's already made it clear to her that what happened at the hospital wouldn't be repeated—that her behavior towards me wouldn't be tolerated. But this private conference seemed immediate. Serious. Necessary. To the point where the possibility of her setting off another verbal bomb on me wasn't the bigger concern. And I don't mean for that to sound self-centered in any way, but there's already been enough tension with my presence as is. Given the circumstances, I don't think anyone wants to deal with added stress.

Many minutes pass of my pondering.

Many minutes of back-and-forth thoughts.

I debate addressing my questions with Samuel whenever he returns—if he'd answer willingly and truthfully. Or if I should keep my nose out of this shit and mind my business. The latter option seems safer, but knowing me, it would eat at me to not at least question what took up nearly forty minutes of his time.

The clock ticks on and my plate only grows colder.

Heavy steps eventually bounce through the open halls leading toward the foyer, growing clearer as they near.

I straighten in my stool, almost unconsciously, just in time to peer over my shoulder at the built male holding a laptop in one arm and a handful of paperwork in the other. He sets the device and documents with a soft thud on the free counter space beside his forgotten breakfast.

Even with his hard gaze locked on the computer screen, my own stare reels him away from the work to peer up at me. He blinks, not appearing confused by my perplexed look.

"Go on," he prompts.

His words baffle me into silence, apparently already aware of my wavering concern.

I swallow my shock. "I didn't eavesdrop," I say truthfully. Hell, I didn't even hear anything beyond their muffled voices with how thick these walls are.

"I was gone for a while, Anastasia. I don't doubt you still have questions," he retorts. His bright irises return to the computer.