Page 9 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

When she saw me, delight flashed in her eyes. But hearing my question, she froze. The pause was brief, like something rolled on her tongue and got swallowed back. Then she nodded, a sweet smile spreading across her face. "Yes, I wrote it."

She had a beautiful smile—delicate, radiant, like a carefully cultivated rose. Her voice was lovely too, clear as her singing. Everything was perfect—too perfect.

This was exactly the perfect fated mate I'd been expecting.

"What's your name?"

"Leah."

I repeated the name, a strange feeling washing over me. She was beautiful, voice sweet, smile polished, everything just right—like a romance novel written to formula. This was exactly what I'd been hoping for. The perfect fated mate.

But my wolf just lay there. Motionless.

No excitement, no joy, didn't even wag its tail. It just yawned lazily, like saying, "Oh, that's it?"

I pushed down that vague sense of wrongness and told myself this was normal. Maybe it was just tired.

"So this is my fated mate..." I said quietly, not even convinced by my own tone.

Then the witch spoke up. "Your Majesty, wait."

I turned to her. "What?"

The witch looked focused, staring at the Silver Thread, brow furrowed. "The silver thread isn't pointing to this young lady."

"What?"

"It's pointing to someone else." The witch's gaze moved past Leah to another person behind her.

A girl in a plain dress. Her hair was dark brown, casually tied in a ponytail, completely unremarkable. But when she looked up and nervously curtsied toward us—

My heart slammed in my chest.

Those eyes.

Eyes that shone like stars under moonlight. Lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. It was her. The woman from the Howling Ceremony who crashed into my arms that night.

My wolf jumped to its feet instantly. It spun wildly in my chest, tail high, letting out excited low growls. It recognized her. It had been waiting for her.

I stared at her, stunned. She wore the plainest cotton dress, hair messy, no makeup, but to me, she outshone everyone around her. Her face had an indefinable vitality, like moonlight spilling across a stream—clear and gentle.

Then she curtsied nervously, hands gesturing rapidly.

I frowned.

"What's she doing?"

"Your Majesty, please understand." Leah stepped forward to explain. "She's mute. She can't speak."

Mute.

The word hit my chest like a hammer.

The witch said firmly beside me, "That's right, Your Majesty. This is your true fated mate."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

I watched her gesture frantically, lips moving silently, those bright eyes full of panic and apology. In that moment, the hazy affection I'd felt cracked and shattered.