Page 98 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

"You don't know," she interrupted. "If you knew, you wouldn't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm your last lifeline."

I froze.

She was right. That's exactly how I was looking at her. Because—she was my last lifeline. Without her, I was nothing. An Alpha who couldn't howl, a king who couldn't lead his people, a man who couldn't even keep his own fated mate.

"Stay," I said, voice so low it was almost begging. "Not for me. For them."

I gestured toward beyond the garden—where people still celebrated. Young werewolves held hands, smiling at each other in the sunlight, eyes sparkling with happiness. They'd found their fated mates because of her voice.

"They need you," I said. "This kingdom needs you."

She watched the celebrating crowd for a long time in silence.

Then she sighed.

"One month," she said. "I'll stay one more month. Help you find a permanent solution. Then I'm leaving."

My heart jumped. "Really?"

"Don't get too excited," she said coldly. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for those young people. They shouldn't lose their chance at happiness because of your mistakes."

I nodded. Her words cut like knives, but at least—she was staying.

She turned to leave, took two steps, then stopped.

"One more thing," she said without turning around. "About Lily—"

My heart jumped to my throat.

"What?"

She was silent for a few seconds. I could see her fingers tightening around the water cup.

"Nothing," she said. "Never mind."

She kept walking.

"Mia—"

She stopped.

I stood up and took a step toward her. My heart pounded in my chest, blood roaring in my ears. I knew I shouldn't ask. I knew this question would shred that thin layer of peace between us. But I had to know.

"Lily—" I began, voice rough as sandpaper scraping wood. "She's my daughter, isn't she?"

Her back went rigid.

The air solidified. The birdsong in the garden, the distant laughter, the fountain's babble—every sound vanished in that instant, leaving only the silence between us, thick as a wall.

She didn't turn around.

"What gives you the right to ask that?" Her voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Her eyes," I said. "Her eyes are gray-blue. My color."