Page 39 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I carried Leah toward the door to take her to the healer. A hand suddenly shot out from behind, grabbing my sleeve in a death grip.

I turned around.

Mia stood before me. Her hair was disheveled, tear tracks on her cheeks, but her eyes were determined—that reckless, all-or-nothing look. One hand clutched my sleeve while the other held up a crumpled note with crooked writing.

"She's not the victim. She tried to poison me."

I stared at those words for several seconds.

"Why would she want to hurt you?" I asked coldly.

Her expression froze. Her mouth opened and closed, fingers gesturing in the air before dropping. She looked at me, a flash of panic in her eyes—she seemed to be struggling, like she had something to say but didn't know if she should.

"Can't answer?" My voice grew colder. "Because you can't keep the lie going?"

She shook her head frantically, pulling out another note, fingers trembling as she tried to write. But then—

"Your Majesty—"

Leah's voice drifted from the medical room, weak and trembling. I shook off Mia's hand and walked inside.

Leah sat in a chair while the healer examined the bruise on her arm. When she saw me enter, her eyes reddened again. "Your Majesty... I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said those things... I made Mia angry..."

"Angry about what?"

"Angry that I took her rightful place." Leah lowered her head, tears dripping onto her hands. "She said... she said if it weren't for me, you would love her. She said she's your fated mate and I'm nothing..."

She lifted her tear-filled face. "She's right, Your Majesty. I did take her place. She has every right to be angry..."

"Don't talk nonsense." I walked over. "You did nothing wrong."

"But she..."

"She shouldn't have gotten physical." My voice turned hard. "No matter what her reasons, violence is unacceptable."

Leah wiped her tears, forcing a smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty..."

Then she frowned, rubbing her temples with her fingers.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing... just... that flower scent..." She pointed out the window. "It's giving me a headache."

The healer followed her gaze, then stood and walked to the window, studying the flowers in the courtyard carefully. His expression grew serious.

"Your Majesty," he turned around, "some of these flowers—especially those purple ones—their pollen is toxic."

I felt my blood turn to ice in that instant.

"What did you say?"

"These flowers shouldn't be kept here," the healer said carefully.

I didn't respond. I turned toward the window—that garden Mia had planted with her own hands. Purple lavender, white daisies, pink wild roses. They swayed gracefully in the sunlight, beautiful as a painting.

But now that painting's base color was poison.

I remembered those days when I'd inexplicably detour past here, standing outside the fence watching her crouch among the flowers. Sunlight on her profile, dirt on her fingers, a petal stuck to her forehead—that image had once made me think she wasn't so terrible. For a moment, I'd even thought she looked... lovely.