Page 35 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

"You want to plant flowers?" The guard looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

I nodded.

He shrugged, probably figuring a mute pregnant woman didn't have much else to do besides gardening. The next day, he brought me a small bag of seeds—daisies, lavender, and some wildflowers I didn't recognize.

I started digging.

I pushed my fingers into the damp soil, feeling that primal, rough texture. I buried each seed one by one, covered them with earth, watered them, then crouched beside them, waiting for them to sprout.

A week later, the first sprout broke through.

In that moment, kneeling in the courtyard, watching that tiny, fragile green shoot trembling in the sunlight, tears came without warning.

It lived.

In this place full of lies and betrayal, it lived.

I started spending more and more time in that little courtyard. Weeding, watering, fertilizing, talking to the flowers—though I couldn't speak aloud, I talked to them in my head. I named each one, made up stories for them, told them what I'd eaten that day, and how many times the baby had kicked.

The flowers wouldn't betray me.

They wouldn't steal my songs.

They wouldn't pretend to be my friend and then stab me in the back.

They just grew quietly, bloomed, swayed in the wind, repaying my care with their beauty.

A month later, the little courtyard had become a small sea of flowers. Purple lavender, white daisies, pink wild roses—they swayed in the sunlight, giving off a faint fragrance. Sometimes butterflies came, dancing among the blooms.

I started thinking maybe this life wasn't so bad.

No freedom, treated like a tool, but at least I had this garden, this little life inside me. I could spend the rest of my days here quietly, watch the child grow, watch flowers bloom and fade—

Then one day, I looked up and saw him standing outside the courtyard fence.

Zane.

He wore a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar open. He stood there, looking at my garden, his expression something I'd never seen—not cold, not contemptuous, but... confused, soft, almost gentle.

His gaze settled on the flowers and stayed there a long time.

I crouched in the flower bed, small trowel in hand, dirt on my hands, hair messy, a petal stuck to my forehead. We stared at each other across the fence for several seconds.

Then he looked away and left.

Didn't say a word.

But that one look made something shift inside me—like ice that had been frozen for so long, showing its first crack.

Since I'd arrived at this palace, he'd always looked at me with condescension, suspicion, like I was some troublesome thing that needed handling. I'd never seen that kind of warmth in his eyes—not even a little.

I told myself it didn't mean anything.

But what if?

What if it meant he was starting to see me differently?

That thought was like a match, striking a tiny flame in the ashes of my heart. I tried to blow it out, told myself not to be delusional—but that flame was too stubborn. It flickered in my chest for three whole days, refusing to die.