Page 119 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

"I took a detour," I said. "Stopped to check out the garden. The roses are doing well."

She rolled her eyes, but behind that eye roll hid a trace of amusement I didn't miss. "Come in. Don't stand in the hallway like a post."

I followed her inside. The living room was tidy, a pot of lavender on the windowsill—identical to what she'd planted in that small courtyard at the palace five years ago. Sheet music lay spread on the coffee table, marked up with pencil corrections. In the corner sat a violin, its case carved with small letters: Vela.

She noticed my gaze, walked over and picked up the violin, put it in its case—the movement natural, like hiding something she didn't want seen.

"Where's Lily?" I asked.

"In the garden. Aila's with her." She turned to look at me. "She said you helped her build a sandcastle yesterday."

"She built it. I just provided the sand."

"She also said you two agreed to go riding this afternoon."

"If her mother approves."

She looked at me, silent for several seconds. Those eyes held an emotion I couldn't read—not anger, not resentment, but something more complex, like she was reassessing an item she'd thought was damaged beyond repair.

"Zane," she began, voice calmer than I'd expected, "about Lily—"

"I know." I cut her off, voice hoarse. "I know I have no right. I know I missed five years. I know 'I'm sorry' can't make up for anything. But I want you to know—I won't miss anymore. I won't be absent from any moment of her life. As long as you'll let me."

She looked at me, silent for a long time. Long enough that I started counting my heartbeats—one, two, three—by the twenty-seventh beat, she finally spoke.

"She asked me this morning if she could call you 'Daddy.'"

I felt my heart skip a beat.

"What did you tell her?"

"I said she'd have to ask if you were willing."

I stood there, feeling my eyes burn. "I'm willing." The words squeezed from my throat so hoarsely they were barely audible. "Of course I'm willing. I—"

I stopped, took a deep breath.

"I've been waiting for this day in my dreams."

She looked at me, then nodded. The gesture was light, like a feather landing on water, but to me it was heavier and more precious than any crown.

"Then let's go," she said, turning toward the door. "She's waiting for us in the garden."

I followed her out of the room, through the hallway, toward the garden. The sunlight was good, warm on my skin, the air fragrant with grass and roses. From far away, I heard Lily's laughter from the garden direction, clear as silver bells.

Mia walked ahead of me, pace neither fast nor slow, back straight. Sunlight fell on her shoulders, gilding her with a golden halo.

I looked at her, suddenly remembering the night we first met—at the Howling Ceremony, she stood at the crowd's edge, wearing a dark blue dress, her eyes full of starlight.

Now she walked ahead of me, leading me to meet our daughter.

I quickened my pace, caught up with her, and walked shoulder to shoulder. She didn't look at me, but she didn't speed up either. We walked side by side like that, through the garden arch, toward that sunlit lawn.

Lily stood on the grass, holding up a wreath woven from wildflowers. Seeing us, she immediately ran over, the wreath swaying in her hands.

"Mommy! Daddy!" she shouted, running up to us, stopping and looking up. "Look! I made a wreath!"

She held up the wreath, stood on tiptoe, trying to put it on my head. I bent down so she could reach. She placed the wreath on my head, then stepped back two paces, tilting her head to examine her work.