Page 51 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I backed up a step. My back hit the wrecked carriage. Nowhere to go.

"Who are you?" I mouthed the words, hands gesturing in front of me. "What do you want?"

The leader stepped forward. His iron mask covered his entire face, leaving only eyes exposed—cold, emotionless eyes like two gray pebbles set in his skull.

"Mia Turner," he said, voice low and hoarse like it had been scraped off rough stone. "We're here to solve a problem."

Solve a problem.

Those words froze my blood instantly.

"What problem?" I gestured, fingers trembling. "I don't understand. I don't know you."

The man tilted his head, like examining an interesting object. "I can't read what you're saying, but I can guess your questions. You're a monster with the power to control minds. We all agree—letting you leave alive would be a mistake."

Siren's voice.

That ridiculous accusation again.

Absurdity washed over me. Me—someone who couldn't even speak—accused of controlling minds? This was the most laughable thing I'd ever heard. If the situation weren't so dangerous, I probably would've laughed out loud.

"I don't have that power." I gestured forcefully, shaking my head hard, trying to make them understand. "I can't even talk. How would I control anyone?"

Impatience flashed in the man's eyes. "Enough talk. You have no say in this, and—"

He paused, tilting his head to look at the carriage behind me.

"His Majesty sent you out here to make our job easier, didn't he?"

Those words were a dagger, finding my heart precisely.

I froze.

Zane sent me out here to make their job easier.

All the pieces came together in that moment. The banishment order. The arranged carriage. This remote path. Everything was designed. He put me on this road because he knew they'd be waiting.

He wasn't sending me away.

He was sending me to die.

My fated mate wanted me dead.

A strange feeling washed over me. Not sadness, not anger—but a bone-deep chill spreading from my feet to my head. I thought I at least meant something to him, that those nights, those embraces, those kisses meant something.

They meant nothing.

I was just a problem to him. A problem that needed to be solved cleanly.

"All right," the leader stepped forward, his longsword pointing at my throat. "Enough talking. Let's finish this."

He swung his sword.

I dodged sideways, the blade grazing my shoulder, cutting a few strands of hair. I staggered back, lost my footing, and fell. I didn't care about the pain—I crawled backward on hands and feet, but another man had already flanked me, blocking my escape.

"Don't let her run."

I scrambled up and ran for the trees. An arrow whistled past my ear, embedding in a nearby trunk, the shaft still quivering. A second arrow tore through my arm. Blood gushed immediately, staining my sleeve red.