Page 21 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

What if he knew I was the one he danced with, that I wrote those songs—would things be different?

The thought struck like a match, lighting a small flame in my chest.

"Take me to him." My signs were firm, allowing no argument. "I have to see him."

Aila hesitated for a long time. She bit her lip, fingers twisting her apron, then sighed. "All right, ma'am. I'll try."

She tried three times.

First time: His Majesty was in a meeting. Unavailable.

Second time: His Majesty was handling urgent matters. Unavailable.

Third time: His Majesty was having lunch with Miss Taylor. Unavailable.

On the fourth attempt, Aila was practically begging the guard. "Please, she just wants to see him for a moment, even just five minutes—"

The guard rolled his eyes but went in to announce us.

When he came back out, his expression was odd. "His Majesty says he can spare fifteen minutes tomorrow at noon. Tell the lady to wait in the small dining room in the East Hall."

Fifteen minutes.

I only had fifteen minutes.

But that was fine. Fifteen minutes was enough. Enough to tell him the truth. Enough for him to see I wasn't the greedy, crude mute he imagined. Enough to make him see me differently.

That night, I barely slept. I lay in bed staring at the cracks in the ceiling, rehearsing over and over what I'd tell him. I couldn't speak, so I'd have to write it down. I could make it clear on paper: I was the one who danced with you that night. I wrote those songs. Leah lied to you.

I got up and searched the room by moonlight until I found a blank page torn from a book and a piece of charcoal in a drawer. I set them on my nightstand so I wouldn't forget them tomorrow.

The next morning, I spent a full hour getting ready.

Sounds ridiculous, right? A mute orphan in a secondhand dress, thinking she could make a king see her differently. But I carefully braided my hair into a loose plait over my shoulder.

Aila had brought new clothes the night before—rush-made by the royal tailor. A pale blue silk gown with delicate silver embroidery at the neckline. But when I put it on, the waist gaped a full size too large, and the shoulders hung off my arms. The tailor clearly hadn't measured me—just made it to some standard template.

Aila pinned the back to make it less baggy, then handed me a white silk sash to hide the excess fabric at my waist.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said quietly. "The tailor said... they've been too busy with rush orders. No time for a proper fitting."

I shook my head. It was fine. I was used to it. In this palace, no one actually saw me as Luna. Getting a new dress at all was probably the limit of their token effort.

I studied myself in the mirror. The dress didn't fit, but at least the color brought out my eyes. I plucked a small white flower from the windowsill and tucked it behind my ear for a touch of brightness.

Aila looked me over and nodded. "You look beautiful, ma'am."

I took a deep breath, tucked the paper and charcoal in my pocket, and followed the guard to the East Hall's small dining room.

The "small" dining room was bigger than I'd imagined. A long table draped in white linen, set with silver cutlery and crystal goblets. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a manicured garden. Sunlight streamed through the glass, casting dappled shadows across the table.

He wasn't there yet.

I chose a seat by the window, hands folded in my lap, fingertips trembling. My heart pounded like a drum, each beat reminding me: This is your chance. Don't screw it up.

The door opened.

Zane walked in.