Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Zane
I didn't expect Mia to show up at that fake ceremony with Leah.
For a split second, I actually hoped she'd come to stop me. But then I snapped out of it. She looked calm. Like she didn't give a damn that I was marrying someone else.
"She's been an orphan her whole life," Leah had told me. "People who grow up like that learn not to catch feelings. Your Majesty, she just needs a protector. Anyone would do."
I didn't respond. But those words stuck in my chest like a splinter.
The ceremony with Leah was grand and hollow. We had no real bond. She played my Luna to save my reputation, and I treated her with courtesy in return.
But I couldn't stay away from Mia's room.
I put her in that west wing bedroom with the half-sealed window—like keeping a precious but embarrassing pet. I even called her "the maid" in front of everyone.
Because I'm the king. The weight of the entire Moonhowl Kingdom sits on my shoulders, and my so-called fated mate—the soulmate hand-picked by the Moon Goddess herself—can't even speak.
Worse, I was convinced she'd drugged me.
That night haunted me.
I'm not someone who loses control. I was trained from childhood to be a machine—calm, restrained, always in command.
But that night I stormed into her room like an animal in heat, my mind reduced to one single thought.
The healer's report confirmed my suspicions the next day.
Her soup had contained aphrodisiac herbs.
So she wanted a child. Wanted to trap me with an heir. Wanted to climb from an orphan maid to queen.
How was she any different from those Elders? They all wanted to manipulate me, turn me into their puppet. Elder Alden made my decisions for me, she drugged me—everyone treated my body, my marriage, my future like their personal chessboard.
So I gave her what she deserved—the role of breeding tool. But I wouldn't say an extra word or spare an extra glance. I'd make her understand that her little tricks meant nothing. I was the one in control.
The rules said a few visits each month were enough. Conception was the goal. Once that was done, mission accomplished. No need for weekly visits.
But I kept going anyway.
I hated that feeling. Hated being like some fool who couldn't control his own feet.
I knew she was a liar, but every night my feet would automatically turn in that direction.
My wolf would spin excited circles in my chest—then when I finished and turned to leave, he'd slump down and whimper pitifully.
I told myself it was instinct. The fated mate bond messing with me. Nothing else.
Definitely nothing else.
At least that's what I told myself.
Every time I walked into that room and saw her sitting by the window with that sad look as she watched me, my heart would stab with pain.
A damn voice in my head kept asking: Are you sure? Are you sure she really did those things?
I pushed that voice away. The evidence was right there. The maid had confessed to everything. She'd been pulling the strings all along. She wanted my attention, my trust, and wanted to manipulate me.
She didn't deserve it.
But I had to admit—when I told myself these things, I sounded less and less convinced.
When I pushed open her door that day, that's what I found. Leah curled on the floor, clutching her arm, tears streaming down like a broken faucet. Mia stood backed against the wall, gasping for breath. A shattered glass bottle lay on the floor, brown liquid pooling everywhere.
My first instinct was to rush to Leah. She collapsed against me, trembling like an autumn leaf, her sobs fragmented and pitiful.
"Your Majesty... she—she tried to hurt me..."
I looked up at Mia. She stood there, hands still frozen in a pushing motion, eyes full of panic and rage—that look mixing grievance with defiance twisted something in my gut.
But I pushed it down. The evidence was on the floor. The bruise on Leah's arm was right there.
"What did you do?" I said.
Mia stared at me in panic, shaking her head frantically.
I carried Leah toward the door to take her to the healer. A hand suddenly shot out from behind, grabbing my sleeve in a death grip.
I turned around.
Mia stood before me. Her hair was disheveled, tear tracks on her cheeks, but her eyes were determined—that reckless, all-or-nothing look. One hand clutched my sleeve while the other held up a crumpled note with crooked writing.
"She's not the victim. She tried to poison me."
I stared at those words for several seconds.
"Why would she want to hurt you?" I asked coldly.
Her expression froze. Her mouth opened and closed, fingers gesturing in the air before dropping. She looked at me, a flash of panic in her eyes—she seemed to be struggling, like she had something to say but didn't know if she should.
"Can't answer?" My voice grew colder. "Because you can't keep the lie going?"
She shook her head frantically, pulling out another note, fingers trembling as she tried to write. But then—
"Your Majesty—"
Leah's voice drifted from the medical room, weak and trembling. I shook off Mia's hand and walked inside.
Leah sat in a chair while the healer examined the bruise on her arm. When she saw me enter, her eyes reddened again. "Your Majesty... I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said those things... I made Mia angry..."
"Angry about what?"
"Angry that I took her rightful place." Leah lowered her head, tears dripping onto her hands. "She said... she said if it weren't for me, you would love her. She said she's your fated mate and I'm nothing..."
She lifted her tear-filled face. "She's right, Your Majesty. I did take her place. She has every right to be angry..."
"Don't talk nonsense." I walked over. "You did nothing wrong."
"But she..."
"She shouldn't have gotten physical." My voice turned hard. "No matter what her reasons, violence is unacceptable."
Leah wiped her tears, forcing a smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty..."
Then she frowned, rubbing her temples with her fingers.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing... just... that flower scent..." She pointed out the window. "It's giving me a headache."
The healer followed her gaze, then stood and walked to the window, studying the flowers in the courtyard carefully. His expression grew serious.
"Your Majesty," he turned around, "some of these flowers—especially those purple ones—their pollen is toxic."
I felt my blood turn to ice in that instant.
"What did you say?"
"These flowers shouldn't be kept here," the healer said carefully.
I didn't respond. I turned toward the window—that garden Mia had planted with her own hands. Purple lavender, white daisies, pink wild roses. They swayed gracefully in the sunlight, beautiful as a painting.
But now that painting's base color was poison.
I remembered those days when I'd inexplicably detour past here, standing outside the fence watching her crouch among the flowers.
Sunlight on her profile, dirt on her fingers, a petal stuck to her forehead—that image had once made me think she wasn't so terrible.
For a moment, I'd even thought she looked... lovely.
Now I realized that image was an elaborate fraud.
She'd woven these flowers into a gentle illusion, and I'd almost fallen for it.
Why did she plant these flowers? Did she know they were poisonous?
If she knew—
Then maybe from the start she never intended to stay here quietly.
"Tear out all those flowers," I heard myself say, voice cold as winter rails. "Don't leave a single one."
"Your Majesty—" The healer hesitated.
"Do it now."
I turned and walked out of the medical room. In the corridor, Mia still stood there clutching that note. When she saw me emerge, her eyes lit up—that hopeful gleam like a puppy wagging its tail, waiting for its master's touch.
Then she saw my expression.
That light went out.
"I thought you just made an impulsive mistake," I said, voice flat as a weather report. "Maybe these flowers meant you were reflecting. But they're poisonous. I never imagined you'd be malicious enough to hurt people with such calculation."
She froze. Then shook her head frantically, fingers flying through gestures I couldn't understand. Her expression shifted from shock to terror to despair—the despair of knowing no explanation would ever be believed.
"Tear them out," I told the guards behind me. "All of them."
She made a hoarse gasp—the only sound she could squeeze from her throat. She lunged at me, grabbing my arm, tears finally breaking free and flooding her face.
I shook off her hand.
"Take her back to her room."
The guards dragged her away. She struggled to look back at the garden—several gardeners had already walked in with shovels and hoes. The first lavender plant was ripped from the ground, purple petals scattering across the dirt, slowly withering.
Her expression—
That look made my throat tighten.
It wasn't anger or resentment. It was something deeper, more complete—like the last bit of light in someone's heart being snuffed out. Her eyes went hollow, her whole body like a plant torn from its roots, losing all support, hanging limp in the guards' grip.
I turned away before I could see more.
Leah's injury wasn't serious—just a bruise. Some ointment would fix it. But she acted deeply wronged—sitting in the chair with gauze wrapped around her arm, occasionally sobbing like a bullied kitten.
"Your Majesty..." She looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "I know I shouldn't care about these things... but I'm the public Luna now. If I just let people push me around and do nothing, what will others think of me?"
I leaned against the window, fingers tapping the sill. "What do you want?"
She lowered her head, silent for a few seconds, then said softly, "I want her... to apologize to me publicly."
"Apologize?"
"On her knees." She added, voice even softer, like she was afraid to startle me. "Just once. So everyone knows I'm not to be messed with."
I stared at her.
On her knees.
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.