Page 93 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I looked at him, unable to name what I felt. Five years ago, he'd watched these people attack me without saying a word. Now he stood up for me in front of everyone.

Was justice delayed still justice?

I didn't know.

"On the next full moon," Zane turned to the crowd, raising his voice, "I will restart the Howling Ceremony. Vela will guide us under the moonlight."

The crowd erupted in even more enthusiastic cheers.

And I stood there, feeling like a bird locked in a cage.

The palace was bigger than I remembered, and colder.

I was given the main suite in the east wing—supposedly where queens throughout history had lived. The room was ridiculously large, with high ceilings, silk sheets on the bed, velvet curtains, fresh flowers and fruit platters on the table.

Lily ran around the room, excited as a bird just released from its cage.

"Mommy! This bed is huge! I can do ten somersaults on it!"

"Mommy! You can see the whole garden from this window!"

"Mommy! The bathtub's big as a swimming pool!"

I sat on the couch watching her happy figure, my lips curving involuntarily.

At least she was happy.

After settling Lily in, I decided to familiarize myself with the palace layout. After all, I'd be here until the next full moon—at least ten more days. I didn't want to get lost in a place where I'd once been imprisoned.

The hallways were long, walls hung with portraits of past kings and queens. Their gazes looked down at me from their frames with scrutiny, as if saying: you don't belong here.

I knew I didn't belong here.

I never planned to stay.

I walked through hallway after hallway, past chamber after chamber, until I stopped at an open door.

By the layout, this must be Zane's study.

When my eyes fell on the walls, I froze.

All four walls were covered in papers—manuscripts, sheet music, lyrics.

My handwriting.

Things I'd written during my time in the palace five years ago, things I thought had been thrown away or burned long ago.

They were mounted in elegant frames, hung neatly on the walls like precious artifacts in a museum.

My feet felt nailed to the floor, unable to move a step.

On those yellowed pages, some places still showed water stains.

My tears, or his?

I didn't dare think about it.

On the opposite wall—