Page 95 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

"Your Majesty." Edmund's voice came from behind. "It's time."

I took a deep breath and turned to descend the tower.

The torches in the square danced in the night wind, stretching every shadow long. I walked through the crowd toward the Ancestor Stone—that massive rock carved with generations of Alpha claw marks. With each step, I felt those gazes pierce my back like needles.

Anticipation. Doubt. Fear. Hope.

Every emotion hung thick in the air like honey.

I reached the stone, turned, and faced them all.

The moonlight was bright—bright enough to see every face. Young ones, old ones, anxious ones, hopeful ones. They'd waited five years. Five years without a Howling Ceremony, five years without new fated mates, five years stumbling in the dark, not knowing where their other half might be.

And all of it was because of me.

"Tonight," I began, my voice echoing across the silent square, "we will restart the Howling Ceremony."

A low cheer erupted from the crowd.

"But—" I raised my hand for silence. "I cannot lead you."

The square went silent. Not ordinary silence, but the kind where everyone holds their breath, hearts suspended mid-air.

"My voice," I paused, throat tightening, "five years ago, I lost it. I cannot howl."

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Some sobbed quietly, some clenched their fists, some watched their hope shatter into disappointment.

"However—" I raised my voice. "The Moon Goddess has not abandoned us."

I turned toward the stage and extended my hand to Mia.

She looked at me, something helpless flickering in those eyes, but she walked forward and stood beside me.

Moonlight poured over her, coating her in a silver-white halo.

"This is Vela," I said, my voice carrying on the night wind. "Her voice will replace my howl and guide you to your fated mates."

The crowd went silent for a beat.

Then—deafening cheers erupted.

Mia ignored the cheers. She just stood there, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. The night wind lifted strands of her hair, her dress swaying gently.

Then she opened her mouth.

That voice—

I don't know how to describe it. It wasn't ordinary singing. It was something that surged from the depths of the soul, like moonlight crystallized into liquid, flowing from her throat, piercing the night sky, piercing my eardrums, striking directly at some place in my chest I'd thought was long dead.

My wolf surged to its feet inside me.

Not that restless churning, but something else—reverence. It pricked its ears, tail rigid, as if listening to some sacred call.

The song had no lyrics. Just a series of long, undulating syllables, like an ancient spell, like the whisper of wind, like the moon itself speaking. But that voice contained some primal power that vibrated through the air, making everyone hold their breath.

Then the miracle happened.

The werewolves in the square began to shift. Not forced, ceremonial shifts, but natural, instinctive responses. The sound of bones breaking and reforming echoed everywhere, fur gleaming in various colors under the moonlight. Within seconds, the square was filled with wolves—gray, brown, black, white, all sizes.