Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Zane
Mia came to see me while I was reviewing budget reports for border defense.
Truth was, I hadn't absorbed a single word.
My head was full of the look she'd given me that day I forced her to apologize—that disappointed, exhausted, completely defeated look—slowly, irreversibly seeping into my bones.
Why the hell did I say those vicious things?
When those words left my mouth, I saw her shoulders flinch, like she'd taken a punch to the face.
My wolf slammed against my ribs, roaring at me to chase after her.
It didn't understand why I kept hurting her, didn't understand why I kept spewing that garbage even when I saw her eyes go red.
It only knew she was our fated mate, the other half of our soul, and we were driving her away with our own hands.
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath.
When the door opened, I didn't even look up. But that scent hit me first—earth and jasmine, that damned familiar smell that made my quill scratch a crooked line across the paper.
I looked up.
She stood in the doorway wearing a faded gray dress, hair pulled back carelessly, face white as paper. She looked thinner than last week, collarbones jutting like twin blades from her neckline. Dark circles under her eyes like she hadn't slept in days.
But she stood straight. Chin tilted up, like a flagpole that wouldn't bend.
She walked in, placed a note on my desk, then stepped back two paces, like I was contagious.
I glanced down at the note. The handwriting was shaky, pressed hard into the paper.
"Please let me go. I don't want anything. Just let me leave."
I stared at those words for maybe ten seconds.
Then rage shot up from my gut, burning my throat dry.
Let her go? What the hell did that mean? She couldn't stand being here?
What did she think this was? A hotel? Check in and check out whenever she wants?
"You want to leave?" My voice came out cold as ice water in a winter pond. "Where to? Back to that shithole orphanage? Back to being a mute servant?"
Her lashes trembled, but she didn't back down. She pulled out another note and set it on the desk.
"Anywhere is better than here. Please."
Please.
The word was a knife slipping between my ribs. She'd never begged me for anything. Not at that damned ceremony, not when I forced that kiss on her, not when I made her apologize to Leah. She just stood there, looking at me with those eyes full of extinguished starlight.
But now she was begging me. Begging me to let her go.
I should let her leave.
She wasn't happy here, and keeping her around wasn't doing me any good either.
But the palace could give her a comfortable life, food and clothes without worry, spare her from going back to that miserable orphanage to do hard labor.
That's what I was thinking, but what came out of my mouth was something else entirely.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest, using a tone that disgusted even me. "Come and go as you please? Think you can just move on to the next target since landing the king didn't work out?"
Her face went another shade paler. Lips pressed into a hard line, but no tears. I didn't know if that relieved me or pissed me off more.
"Get your position straight." I kept going, every word landing like a stone. "You're my fated mate. Your job is to stay here and fulfill your duties. You're not on vacation. You don't get a choice."
She looked down at the floor for several seconds.
Then she lifted her head and looked at me.
That look made my throat tighten. Not anger, not resentment—but a total, resigned calm. Like she'd finally confirmed something she'd known all along but refused to believe. In my eyes, she really was just a tool.
She turned and walked out.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
I sat there staring at that closed door, the fire in my chest blazing hotter. I shot to my feet and kicked over the waste basket, papers scattering everywhere.
Goddammit. Goddammit!
Those words I just said—that wasn't what I meant to say. What I meant was: Stay. I can give you a better life. I can give you your own place, enough money, and make your life a hundred times better than out there.
But what came out was that garbage.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I raked my fingers through my hair, pacing the study. The sunlight outside was blinding. I yanked the curtains shut, sealing myself in half-darkness.
Better that she left anyway, I told myself. Save me from feeling this tightness in my chest every time I saw her.
But that look—that calm, resigned look—stuck in my throat like a fishbone. Couldn't swallow it, couldn't spit it out.
Three days later, the traveling prophet returned.
Honestly, I'd almost forgotten the man existed. Malcolm—the kingdom's prophet, who'd left the palace to travel when I was small. My only memory was of a white-bearded old man who answered every question with riddles.
So when he appeared at the council chamber door, I barely recognized him.
He'd aged. Hair completely white, face carved with deep wrinkles, but those eyes still sharp as a hawk's. He wore a deep blue robe, leaning on a twisted oak staff, looking like he'd stepped out of a fairy tale.
"Your Majesty." He bowed, voice rough as sandpaper on wood. "I've sensed the scent of disaster."
Everyone in the council chamber went quiet. Elder Alden set down his teacup, eyes narrowing at the prophet. The other elders turned, expressions ranging from curious to anxious.
"What disaster?" I asked.
"Siren's voice." When he spoke those words, the room's temperature seemed to drop several degrees. "The child who carries Siren's voice. She's still alive."
I frowned. "What?"
"Twenty years ago, I prophesied the birth of an infant." Malcolm's voice was low and deliberate, like reciting ancient scripture. "That child would bring Siren's voice—her voice would control minds, control all of Moonhowl Kingdom. At the time, the kingdom disposed of that disaster's vessel."
He paused, gaze sweeping everyone present.
"I thought that infant had vanished. But I was wrong." His voice grew grave. "It's awakening. I can feel it. A dark force is gathering, soon to descend upon this land."
Whispers rippled through the chamber. The elders exchanged glances, faces turning uneasy.
"Then how do you find this person?" Elder Alden asked, urgency in his voice. "Who is she? Where?"
Malcolm closed his eyes, gripping his staff with both hands, muttering under his breath. His body began to tremble slightly, sweat beading on his forehead. After about a minute, his eyes snapped open—
A flash of silver-white light gleamed in them.
"She's in this palace," he said.
The room erupted.
"She is—" Malcolm's gaze swept everyone present, finally settling on me. "Your Majesty's fated mate. Mia Turner."
I felt like someone punched me in the chest.
"You're joking." My voice came out colder than I expected. "She's mute. Can't even make a sound. How the hell does she control minds?"
"The voice is sealed, Your Majesty." Malcolm stared into my eyes. "But that doesn't mean it's gone. The seal is weakening. Once it breaks completely, she'll become this kingdom's greatest threat."
"Ridiculous." I stood, palms flat on the table. "She couldn't hurt a fly. You're telling me she can destroy a nation?"
"Your Majesty—"
"Enough." I cut him off. "This discussion ends here. I won't allow anyone to touch her."
The elders exploded.
"Your Majesty! The prophet's words cannot be ignored!"
"Are we gambling with the entire kingdom's safety?"
"She may be mute, but she could bring catastrophe to the nation."
"I said enough!" I slammed my palm on the table, making the teacups jump. "She's my fated mate. Are you planning to oppose me?"
The chamber fell silent. The elders exchanged glances, but no one spoke.
I turned and walked out, heart pounding like a drum. My wolf circled restlessly inside, growling low, like a warning.
Damn it.
I didn't believe Malcolm's words. Sirens, curses—sounded like the old man inhaled too much poppy on the road. Mia? Destroy the kingdom? She couldn't even defend herself. How could she control minds?
But the unease coiled around my spine like a cold snake, slowly tightening.
The next few days, a strange atmosphere hung over the palace.
The elders stopped discussing it openly, but I knew they were talking in private. Edmund told me several radical elders were already planning countermeasures—they believed the prophet's words completely, so they feared the coming disaster.
"Your Majesty, they want her executed." Edmund lowered his voice. "If you refuse, they might—"
"Might what?"
"Might take extreme measures."
I laughed coldly. "Let them try."
But I knew this wasn't sustainable. I couldn't guard her twenty-four hours a day, and more importantly, the prophet's words would cause mass panic. If I didn't take some action, the entire nation's opposition would press down on me. Then I couldn't protect her.
I had to make a concession. At least one that looked like a concession.
The thought made my stomach turn. Send her away—wasn't that what she wanted? When she came begging me to let her go, I acted like an asshole and drove her off. Now I had to send her away myself, not because I'd come to my senses, but because a bunch of old men threatened to kill her.
How ironic.
But I had no choice.
That evening, I summoned the elders again.
The council chamber blazed with light, fireplace crackling, stretching everyone's shadows long.
The elders sat on both sides, expressions grave.
Leah was there too—as the future "Luna," she now qualified to attend meetings at this level.
She sat toward the back in a deep green silk gown, hair coiled in an elaborate bun, a polite, proper smile on her lips.
Perfect noble bearing. Perfect future queen material.
But for some reason, looking at her made me increasingly irritated.
"Regarding Mia Turner's handling," I sat at the head, fingers drumming the oak table with dull thuds, "I agree to exile her."
The moment I finished, murmurs filled the chamber. Several elders exchanged glances, faces showing barely concealed satisfaction. Elder Alden even nodded slightly, like a well-fed cat.
"However," I raised my voice, gaze sweeping every face present, "she'll be placed in Willos on the kingdom's outskirts. It's within our jurisdiction. I can monitor her movements at any time. This isn't banishment—it's supervised residence."
"Your Majesty," one elder frowned, "isn't this too lenient? The prophet said she might control the entire kingdom—"
"I'll bear all consequences." I cut him off, voice cold as tempered ice. "But until then, she won't be harmed. That's my bottom line."
The chamber quieted for several seconds. A log in the fireplace crackled sharply, sparks scattering on the stone floor, quickly dying.
"I agree with Your Majesty's plan." Elder Alden spoke first, voice steady and smooth. "Keeping the threat within sight is wise. Besides—" he paused meaningfully, "Willos is only half a day from the palace. If anything happens, we can respond quickly."
The other elders chimed in. What could've become a confrontation was suppressed.
I leaned back in my chair, quietly relieved. But then, from the corner of my eye, I caught something—
Leah.
She sat in the corner, lips curved slightly upward.
Not a polite smile, but something deeper. The smile of a hunter waiting by a trap for prey to fall in, certain of success. Her fingers traced the rim of her wine glass, posture elegant and composed, like a cat that had just claimed new territory.
That smile sent chills down my spine. But she was just a woman without power.
I said nothing, just stood and dismissed the meeting.
"That's settled then," I said. "Tomorrow morning, I'll sign the exile order. Mia Turner will leave the palace within three days for Willos."
The elders rose and bowed, filing out of the chamber. Leah stood last, curtsied slightly, and turned to leave.
At the doorway, she suddenly looked back and gave me a sweet smile.
"Good night, Your Majesty." Her voice was soft as honey. "Sweet dreams."
Then she disappeared into the corridor shadows.
I stood there, staring at that closed door, an inexplicable unease rising in my chest.
Why?
I shook my head, trying to banish the thought. Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe she was just happy to finally claim the Luna position.
But the unease was a tiny thorn, lodged in some corner of my consciousness, throbbing faintly.
I left the council chamber and climbed to the castle's highest tower. The night wind was strong, whipping my cloak loudly. The distant forest gleamed silver-gray in the moonlight, like the sleeping spine of a massive beast.
Willos was in that direction.
I closed my eyes, Mia's face surfacing in my mind—that pale, stubborn face that never showed weakness in front of me.
What would she do in that little town? Would she open her window every morning and stare blankly at unfamiliar streets?
Would she, in the dead of night, think of this place she desperately wanted to escape?
Would she—ever think of me?
I laughed bitterly. What a stupid question. She couldn't wait to never see me again. I told her myself. You mean nothing to me.
Fuck.
I slammed my fist into the stone railing, knuckles throbbing dully.
But at least she'd be safe. That was what mattered. Whatever schemes those elders were plotting, once she left the palace, left these whirlpools of power, she'd be safe.
As for everything else...
I looked up at the night sky. The moon was half-covered by thin clouds, like a half-closed eye, coldly watching the earth.
As for this inexplicable ache in my chest—that didn't matter.
Didn't matter at all.