Page 8 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

But she didn't come back.

My wolf whimpered low in my chest, like it was crying.

Three days later, I sat in the palace study with documents piled in front of me. Border tax reports, diplomatic letters from neighboring kingdoms, an assessment of this year's harvest—I couldn't focus on a single word.

Because all I could see were those eyes.

Those eyes that shone like stars in the moonlight.

I slammed my quill on the desk. "Edmund."

"Your Majesty?" Edmund pushed the door open.

"Find her. Whatever it takes." I stared at him. "I heard Silverthread Kingdom has the Silver Thread Ritual for finding fated mates. Send someone to bring back a witch skilled in the ritual. Spare no expense."

Edmund hesitated, then bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Two days later, the witch arrived at the palace. She looked ancient, hair white, face lined with wrinkles, but her eyes blazed bright as burning coals. She carried a silver staff topped with a blue gem.

"Your Majesty." She bowed. "The Moon Goddess guided me here to help you. The Silver Thread Ritual can locate your fated mate."

I nodded, hope flickering in my chest.

The silver thread began to glow.

It moved like a living snake, twisting through the air, then flew toward the door. The witch followed. So did I.

The silver thread wound through corridors, through gardens, through the palace side gate, stretching toward town.

My heart started racing.

Where would it lead? What kind of person would I find?

Would it be the woman from that night?

The silver thread stopped in the town square.

Two people stood there.

A woman had her back to me, singing. Her voice wasn't stunning—just clean and clear, with an odd kind of penetrating quality. What really stopped me were the lyrics—

"Moonlight falls on me like clothes that can't keep me warm. I've walked a thousand roads but can't walk out of my own shadow..."

I stopped in my tracks and listened to the whole song in silence.

About loneliness, about freedom... I felt my soul drifting with her words. My throat tightened. My eyes burned. My soul was resonating with these verses.

The silver thread circled behind her, glowing.

I walked forward, heart pounding like a drum. She heard footsteps and turned around.

She wore a silver mask—identical to the one the woman wore that night.

My brain went blank.

It's her. It's her. The woman from the Howling Ceremony.

The words tumbled out. "That song... did you write it?"