Page 101 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

She held Lily and turned toward the castle.

I stood there, watching their backs grow more distant.

Morning light fell on them, gilding them in a golden halo. Lily's little hands wrapped around Mia's neck, face buried in her shoulder. Mia walked quickly, back straight as a flagpole that would never bend.

They walked away.

Disappeared around the garden corner.

I stood there, feeling the whole world go quiet. Only the rustle of wind through leaves and the distant sound of the fountain.

My daughter said I was a bad person.

She was right.

I was.

Chapter Twenty

Mia

The days after the Howling Ceremony felt like walking a tightrope—slow, careful, breath held.

I'd agreed to stay another month, but that decision didn't bring reconciliation. It brought a strange, suspended calm. Zane stopped looking at me like I was his last lifeline. Instead, he watched me with extreme caution, like he was afraid of stepping on a landmine. He had the kitchen make Lily's favorite honey pancakes for breakfast. He'd "run into" us in the garden, pretending he just happened to be passing by. At dusk, he'd sit by the fountain, keeping his distance, watching Lily play. Never approaching.

Like a big dog who knew he wasn't welcome, staying obediently outside the boundary his owner had drawn.

Lily's attitude toward him didn't soften. She'd tuck away her smile when he appeared. She'd deliberately pull me in the opposite direction. She'd glare at him with that unfiltered hostility only a four-year-old could muster. But one night, as I tucked her in, she grabbed my sleeve.

"Mommy," she said quietly, "Zane gave me a little wooden horse today."

"I know."

"The horse looks like that big gray wolf he turns into." She paused. "I put it on the windowsill."

"You didn't play with it?"

She was quiet for a moment. "...Maybe a little. But the wheels were crooked, so I put it down."

I bit back a smile. I'd seen her playing with that horse plenty of times.

But I didn't call her out.

The shift happened on the fourth evening.

That day, I was picking wildflowers in the garden with Lily. Zane sat far off by the fountain with a book, pretending to read. I knew he wasn't reading—his eyes lifted from the pages every few seconds, stealing glances at Lily before darting back down like a thief.

Lily knew he was watching too. She deliberately kept her back to him, but I noticed she picked the brightest, most vibrant flowers, arranging them carefully into a bouquet—as if she knew someone was admiring her work.

Then something small happened.

Lily chased a butterfly too far and tripped over a tree root. Her knee hit the stone path, scraping off a layer of skin. She didn't cry—she rarely cried—but her eyes reddened, tears pooling but not falling, her lip caught between her teeth.

Before I could reach her, Zane was already up.

He strode over and crouched in front of her, not touching, just meeting her at eye level.

"Does it hurt?" His voice was soft.