Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Mia
I woke up with Zane's arm wrapped around my waist.
Morning light slipped through the curtain gap, casting a golden stripe across the sheets.
His breathing was steady and deep, his chest pressed against my back, every rise and fall letting me feel the rhythm of his heartbeat.
That warmth, that solidity, that feeling of being held—it gave me a ridiculous illusion. Maybe everything would be okay.
I carefully turned my head to look at his sleeping face.
No mask, no cold expression, no condescending scrutiny. He just lay there with his eyes closed, lashes casting a small shadow on his cheekbones, lips slightly parted, looking almost... harmless. Like a normal person. Like the man who danced with me at the Howling Ceremony.
My fingers twitched, reaching out, almost touching his face.
Then Zane opened his eyes.
Those gray-blue eyes met mine. After a moment of confusion, they sharpened. He looked at me, I looked at him, and the air was frozen for maybe two seconds. Then his expression changed—like a window being slammed shut, all the warmth sucked out in an instant.
He sat up, the blanket sliding off him, exposing his defined shoulders and back. He didn't look at me, his voice hoarse and cold. "What happened last night?"
My hand froze mid-air, not yet pulled back.
I gestured. "You came to me. You—"
But before I could finish, he had already turned his head, fixing me with a look that chilled my spine.
"What did you do to me?"
My fingers went rigid.
What?
I shook my head frantically, hands flying through the air. "Nothing! I didn't do anything! You came on your own!"
But he couldn't understand. He stared at my flying fingers, his frown deepening, his expression shifting from suspicion to certainty. He threw off the blanket and stood, grabbing his shirt from the floor and pulling it on roughly, even buttoning it wrong.
"Someone get in here!"
The door swung open. Two guards appeared.
"Check everything." Zane's voice was cold as a winter blade. "Every piece of food and drink that came to me yesterday. Including the kitchen scraps. I want to know if someone slipped something in my food."
My blood froze in that instant.
He thought I drugged him.
He thought last night—that kiss, that embrace, that connection that made my soul tremble—was all a trap I'd set.
I jumped out of bed, grabbing his arm. He looked down at my fingers clutching his sleeve, then raised his eyes. That look made me let go as if burned.
"It's not like that!" I gestured, my fingers trembling with urgency. "You can ask the witch! Maybe the attraction between fated mates is normal—"
"Enough." Zane shook off my hand, his voice carrying a weariness that shattered me. "I can't understand what you're doing."
The guards returned quickly. They carried a tray with remnants of the soup I'd had Aila send last night. A black-robed physician followed, dipping a finger in the dregs and bringing it to his nose. Then he looked up.
"Your Majesty, this contains an aphrodisiac. A significant dose."
I felt the ground collapse beneath my feet.
Aphrodisiac? I didn't have anything like that.
I turned to Zane, gesturing frantically. That wasn't me! I didn't put that in there!
"What's she saying?" His cold gaze settled on me, but the question was directed at Aila, who was already trembling beside us.
"She... she says... it wasn't her."
A cold smile curved Zane's lips. "Then why is it in there?"
I opened my mouth, my gestures frozen.
I don't know. I don't know anything.
He stepped closer. He towered over me, looking down now with contempt in his eyes like a knife, slowly piercing my chest.
"You wanted this, didn't you?" His voice was soft, but every word drove into my ears like a nail. "You wanted to crawl into my bed, wanted to carry my child, wanted to use that to tie me down. You thought that would turn you from a mute orphan into a queen?"
My throat tightened, my eyes burned, but I didn't cry. I couldn't cry.
"Since you're so eager," he turned away, his back to me, his voice flat as if ordering dinner, "then fulfill your duty properly. All you need to do is get pregnant and produce an heir. Everything else—don't worry about it."
He walked to the door, stopped, and didn't turn back.
I stood there, barefoot on the cold floor, feeling like a statue forgotten in a corner. The morning light was still there, but it wasn't warm anymore. It just shone pale on this ornate prison, on the marks he'd left on my bare shoulders.
Those marks, the ones that made my heart race last night, now looked like brands—reminders of how stupid I'd been.
I didn't understand how things had gone so wrong, and then the door opened again.
Leah walked in.
She wore a silk robe, golden hair loose over her shoulders, her face wearing that triumphant smile. She scanned the room, her gaze lingering on the rumpled sheets for a second before turning to me.
"Awake?" Her voice was sweet as poisoned honey. "Then don't dawdle. Today's my big day. Lots to prepare."
I stared at her, not speaking—of course, I couldn't speak.
She walked to the wardrobe, opened it, and pulled out a gray dress. The rough, cheap kind maids wore. She tossed it onto the bed in front of me.
"Put this on."
I looked at the dress, then up at her.
"Are you kidding?" I gestured angrily at her.
"This is His Majesty's order." She tilted her head, her smile deepening. "He said the wedding is short-staffed today. Wants you to help serve plates, arrange chairs, that sort of thing. You understand—a mute maid won't say the wrong thing at an important occasion, right?"
My nails dug into my palms.
Short-staffed. Ha. This palace had over three hundred servants, and she was telling me they were short-staffed.
But I didn't resist.
Not because I didn't want to, but because I suddenly realized something—if this was Zane's order, if this came from his own mouth, what good would resistance do? Would he believe me? When had he ever believed me?
I silently picked up the dress and pulled it on. The rough fabric scraped against my skin, reminding me of who I really was. A mute orphan. A tool unworthy of a name.
Leah leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me change. Her gaze lingered on the marks on my neck for a few seconds, her smile deepening.
"Oh, right," she said, as if suddenly remembering, casually, "His Majesty just promised me. Once you have the baby, he'll officially name me the only Luna. Then you can quietly stay in your corner and be a proper breeding machine."
My hands froze on the belt.
I looked up at her.
Her expression was calm. No guilt, no shame, just a matter-of-fact composure. As if she wasn't saying something cruel, just discussing the weather.
"Don't look at me like that, Mia." She sighed, her tone almost pitying. "I'm doing this for your own good. You think you could be a proper queen? Can't even speak, don't know basic social etiquette. Standing beside His Majesty would only embarrass him. I'm helping you escape all that."
I clenched the belt tightly.
I wanted to rush at her, grab her hair, and slam her pretty face into the wall. But I didn't. Because I suddenly realized—every word she said, Zane agreed with. Otherwise, he wouldn't allow all this. He wouldn't—on his wedding day to her—make me a servant.
"Hurry up," she turned and left, tossing back one last line. "The wedding starts in an hour. Don't keep His Majesty waiting."
The wedding was held in the palace's main hall.
I stood in the corner, holding a silver tray with filled wine glasses. I wore that gray maid's dress, hair thrown into a messy ponytail, indistinguishable from the other uniformed maids around me. No one gave me a second glance.
The main hall was decorated lavishly. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, refracting rainbow light.
Red rose petals covered the entire aisle.
Ornate chairs on both sides filled with well-dressed guests.
The air smelled of champagne and fresh flowers, and that nauseating atmosphere of false joy.
Zane stood before the altar.
He wore a deep red ceremonial coat with a golden wolf-head badge at the collar, hair combed neatly back. He looked... still so handsome. That untouchable, unreachable kind of handsome, like an iceberg, like a sculpture, like something not of this world.
Then the music played.
Leah appeared in the doorway.
She wore a white wedding dress, the train at least three meters long, covered in pearls and lace. Her golden hair was styled in an elegant updo, topped with a small diamond crown. When she smiled, she looked like a perfect painting.
She walked toward the altar step by step. Toward him.
The guests gasped in admiration.
"Truly a match made in heaven," the maid beside me whispered.
"Yes, His Majesty has finally found his true love."
My knuckles went white around the tray.
True love.
She was his true love. Then what was I?
A mistake. A mistake that needed to be hidden.
I watched them exchange vows at the altar. I watched the priest wind silver ribbons around their wrists.
The guests rose and applauded, cheers deafening.
I stood in the corner with my tray, feeling like a speck of dust forgotten in the shadows.
After the ceremony came the banquet. I was assigned to the dessert station, cutting cake for guests. The silver knife was large, its blade reflecting the chandelier light, slicing through layers of cream and fruit. One cut, then another. I repeated the motion mechanically, my mind blank.
"Give me the biggest piece."
I looked up.
Leah stood before me, holding an empty plate, wearing that smile that made me want to smash cake in her face. She'd changed into another gown, deep purple velvet, the neckline cut low, exposing pale skin.
I cut a piece of cake and placed it on her plate.
"Thank you." She lowered her voice, leaning closer. "You know what? You did well today. I was worried you'd cause a scene. Turns out you know your place after all."
I didn't respond.
Just gripped that silver knife, knuckles white.
After the banquet, I stopped her in the corridor.
The guests had dispersed. Servants were cleaning up. Leah was heading to her room, carrying her bouquet, humming a tune.
I grabbed her wrist.
She turned. Seeing it was me, her smile faded. "What?"
I gestured. It was you. You put something in the soup, then framed me.
She stared at my hands for a few seconds, then laughed. That laugh made my stomach turn—not guilty, not ashamed, but condescending and pitying.
"Do you have proof?" she said, her voice light, like soothing a child who didn't understand. "You're mute. You can't even defend yourself. And me—"
She spread her arms, turning in a circle. "I'm his bride. I'm this country's Luna. I wrote a song that moved him to tears."
That song was mine. I screamed inside. But you stole it. You stole everything from me.
Why did you become like this?
I gestured, my fingers trembling with rage. We used to be friends. You were the only person I trusted.
She looked at my hands, silent for several seconds. Then she dropped the smile, her expression turning serious and cold—that seriousness more heartbreaking than any expression before.
"Because I want the best of everything," she said, her tone flat as stating a fact. "And you, Mia—you were in my way."
She turned and left, her heels clicking on the marble floor, echoing through the empty corridor. One click, then another, like a funeral bell.
I stood there, watching her receding figure, still clutching the hem of that gray maid's dress.
At the end of the corridor, a window stood open. Night wind blew in, extinguishing the candle beside me.
Darkness closed in.
I stood there in the dark, hearing laughter from the distant banquet hall.
They were still celebrating.
Celebrating their wedding.
Celebrating their love.
Celebrating their stolen happiness.
And me—I looked down at my rough dress hem, at my empty hands—I had nothing.