Trapped with the Alpha King (Althea) novel Chapter 132

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Melva woke up early, wanting to prepare breakfast for Simon. Her mate had come back so late the night before that she was already asleep. She was sure he would be up early again to leave for another important task—she barely saw him anymore. Still, she hoped she could at least catch him this morning before the sun fully rose.

She quickly packed the meal into a basket and made her way to Simon’s assigned quarters next to hers. It was funny, she thought, how they were already bonded, yet had still not consummated it.

Melva hesitated outside Simon’s door, holding the basket tightly against her chest. The hallway was quiet, only the faint sound of birds outside breaking the silence. She took a deep breath before knocking softly.

“Simon?” she called, her voice low.

No answer.

She frowned and pushed the door open just a little. The room was dim, the curtains still drawn. Simon was there, sitting at his desk with a pile of documents in front of him. His head was resting on his hand on the table, eyes closed. He must have fallen asleep while working.

Her heart softened. He looked so tired. She stepped inside quietly and placed the basket on the table beside him.

For a moment, she just stood there, watching him. The lines on his face seemed deeper than before, his shoulders heavier.

Beta Osman was not yet back, so Simon was too busy overseeing things. At this rate, Melva didn’t want to wake him up at all and decided to let him sleep a little longer. Instead, she quietly grabbed a chair and sat beside him, resting her head on the table as she faced him.

Then, without thinking, Melva leaned closer and gave him a quick peck on the cheek—only to freeze when Simon’s eyes suddenly fluttered open. Melva’s eyes widened, and in panic, she quickly slapped his cheek and stammered, “Oh! There’s a mosquito!”

“A mosquito?” Simon muttered sluggishly as he straightened his back. He frowned and asked, “Is there a problem? Why are you here?”

Melva wanted to hit him on the head. Would she only come to see him if there was a problem? Couldn’t she just want to see him?

She had a lot of complaints running through her mind but chose not to voice them out. She knew Simon was probably still adjusting after what had happened between them. The marking had been too sudden—they had done it to save her—but still, they were fated mates. She at least expected him to make some effort for their relationship to work.

Unless…

Melva gulped as the thought crossed her mind. What if Simon already had someone he cherished?

“Melva?” Simon asked again, his tone quieter this time.

She blinked and snapped out of her thoughts, quickly forcing a small smile. “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just thinking.”

He studied her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair as she began setting out the food. The smell of warm bread and herbs filled the room. She arranged everything neatly on the table, trying to ignore how his eyes followed every small movement she made.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Simon said, his voice low but less distant now.

She blinked, tilting her head slightly. “Of course I do. We’re mates, Simon. It’s… normal, isn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “You make it sound simple.”

“It is simple,” she said softly. “You’re the one making it complicated.”

Simon turned to look at her again, and the sight of her—her eyes bright with sincerity, her lips curved in that small, earnest smile—nearly undid him. The air between them thickened. He could feel the bond humming under his skin, calling him to her.

Melva, completely unaware of the war raging inside him, leaned closer. “Simon,” she said quietly, “I just want to be near you. That’s all.”

Her words were innocent, but her nearness wasn’t. He could smell her warmth, hear the soft rhythm of her breathing. For a moment, he forgot about restraint, about duty, about everything except the woman in front of him and the bond that refused to let him go.

He clenched his fists, struggling to keep his composure. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his voice rough and strained.

Melva only smiled, gentle yet unwavering. “You’re wrong,” she replied softly but with conviction. “I know exactly what I’m asking from you.”