Page 62 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

Not anger. Not contempt. Something deeper—disappointment. And fear.

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Soft, but in the moonlit silence, every word reached my ears clearly.

"Failed again..."

"Fifth year. Five whole years."

"My brother turned twenty-two this year, still hasn't found his fated mate. He left the pack last year, went north. Said he was done waiting."

"My daughter, too. She asks me every day why the king can't howl anymore. What am I supposed to tell her?"

"Can an Alpha who can't howl still be king?"

"Shh! Keep your voice down!"

These words stabbed into my chest like knives, each one precise.

I kept my head down, staring at my shadow on the ground. Moonlight stretched it long, distorted and shifted, like an ugly stain.

I felt those gazes needling my back. Hundreds of eyes. Hundreds of people who'd waited five years. Their patience was running out grain by grain, like sand through fingers—I couldn't hold it, couldn't keep it.

I looked at them, throat tight with bitterness.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something—I'm sorry, I failed you, I let you down—

But none of it mattered.

I lowered my head, hands clenched into fists, nails digging into palms until blood seeped out.

Five years.

For five whole years, our Howling Ceremony had been paralyzed. In those five years, not one new fated mate pair had formed at the ritual. Young people grew up day by day, waiting and waiting, but that guiding call never came. Some gave up, left the pack to try their luck in the wider world. Others grew listless, light fading from their eyes.

And all of it was because of me.

Because I lost her.

Because that day, I chose to believe lies instead of trusting my fated mate's heart.

Pack members left one by one.

Moonlight fell on me, cold as ice.

My wolf released a low whimper inside me, then went quiet.

It had given up.

"Your Majesty."

Edmund's voice came from outside the door, carrying a note of careful testing. He'd learned to announce himself before entering my study—because you never knew what you'd find. Maybe me reviewing documents. Maybe me smashing things. Maybe me sitting on the floor against the bookshelf, surrounded by empty bottles.

Today it was the latter.

"Come in," I said, voice rough as sandpaper on wood.

Edmund pushed open the door, glanced at the bottles on the floor, then professionally chose to ignore them. He approached with a document in hand.

"Your Majesty, there's something you should probably know."