Page 41 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

Making my fated mate—no matter how much I hated admitting that identity—kneel publicly before another woman.

"No," I said, voice colder than I'd expected.

Leah looked up, surprise flickering in her eyes. "Your Majesty—"

"She's my fated mate." I cut her off, and for some reason, saying those words stirred an inexplicable anger in my chest. "You can dislike her. You can avoid her. But making her kneel publicly—that's insulting me. Insulting my fated mate is insulting me."

Leah's expression froze for a moment, then quickly softened. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty... I wasn't thinking clearly... I was just... so scared..."

Her tears flowed again. I sighed, walked over, and patted her shoulder. "Stop crying. I'll make her apologize—but not on her knees."

She nodded.

But that anger in my chest didn't settle. It grew stronger—so strong I had to take deep breaths to suppress it.

Why? Why was I defending a woman who'd drugged me, planted poisonous flowers, tried to hurt Leah?

I didn't know.

I didn't want to know.

The next afternoon, I had them bring Mia over.

She wore that gray maid's dress, hair carelessly pulled into a ponytail, face pale as paper. Dark circles shadowed her eyes—clearly she hadn't slept well last night. Or hadn't slept at all.

She stood in the center of the hall, head down, not looking at anyone.

Leah sat in a nearby chair. The gauze was off her arm, just a small patch of ointment remaining. She wore a light blue dress, hair braided elegantly, looking refined and proper—a stark contrast to Mia standing across from her.

"Mia," I began, voice echoing in the empty hall. "Yesterday, you physically attacked Miss Taylor. That was wrong. You need to apologize to her."

She looked up at me. Didn't move.

"Apologize," I said.

She stood there, spine straight, chin slightly raised. Those eyes stared right at me—no fear, no compliance. Just a stubborn, unyielding light.

Leah sat in her chair and sighed softly. "Your Majesty, forget it... If she doesn't want to, there's nothing we can do..."

That sentence was like lighting a powder keg.

Mia whipped toward Leah, a hoarse sound ripping from her throat. She pointed at Leah, mouth opening and closing, desperately trying to say something—but she couldn't make a sound. In her frustration, veins bulged on her forehead, fingers gesturing wildly in the air, then suddenly pointing at her own stomach.

I frowned.

"What are you trying to say? Write it down."

Mia frantically pulled paper and pen from her pocket, scribbled several lines, then shoved them at me.

"This isn't my fault at all—she tried to hurt me. And I'm pregnant with Your Majesty's child!"

When I saw that last sentence, I froze.

But my first reaction wasn't joy or emotion—it was suspicion.

How convenient. Right when I'm making her apologize, she tells me this?

Before I could speak, Leah was already shaking her head gently, her voice tinged with helpless pity. "Mia, you're still lying..."