Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Mia
The king banished me.
The news came after lunch.
I was in my room, sorting through what little I owned—an extra dress, a pair of shoes worn through at the heels, a comb missing half its teeth. That was it. I'd lived in the palace for six months, and my closet held fancy gowns the servants had brought, but none of them fit me.
Just for show. Never really mine.
When the door opened, I didn't look up. I figured it was that maid who brought lunch every day—always wearing that pinched expression, like serving me was the greatest humiliation of her life. But I got it. Who'd want to look after a mute?
"Miss Turner."
That made me look up. Not the maid. The palace steward—an old man who always wore black robes and looked like he'd just crawled out of a coffin. He stood in the doorway, clutching a scroll of parchment, his face telling me this wasn't a tea party invitation.
"The Elder Council has issued your banishment order." His voice was flat as a grocery list. "You have three days to leave the palace and proceed to the designated location. Here are your papers."
He set the parchment on the table and left.
The door closed behind him with a dull thud.
I stared at that scroll for a long time. Banishment. The word rattled around in my head like a coin dropped down a well, clanging all the way to the bottom.
Zane was banishing me?
Not long ago, he'd refused to let me leave. Now he was throwing me out of my own kingdom.
Why?
I knew I had no say in this, but I needed a reason.
I grabbed the document and left my room.
I had to find Zane. I had to ask him—even though I couldn't speak, I could ask with my eyes, I could write, I could use what little dignity I had left to tell him: You owe me an explanation.
The guards tried to stop me.
But when they saw the parchment in my hand, they hesitated. Maybe my expression scared them. They went to announce me, and soon I was granted entry.
I walked straight to his study. Didn't knock. Just pushed the door open.
Zane stood by the window, his back to me. Sunset poured through the glass, stretching his shadow across the floor. He heard the door but didn't turn right away. I waited a few seconds, then walked to his desk, picked up the quill, and wrote on a blank sheet of paper.
I held it up.
He turned. His eyes found the paper. It said, "Why?"
He stared at it for a long time. Long enough I thought he wouldn't answer.
Then he spoke, his voice calm as a frozen lake.
"The prophet returned. He confirmed you're the child who'll bring the Siren's voice.
Your voice—even though you can't speak—that power still runs through your blood. It controls minds. Brings disaster."
I stared at him.
Controls minds.
Me?
Someone who couldn't even talk?
This was absurd. I opened my mouth—knowing no sound would come—and mouthed: Are you kidding me?
He didn't respond.
I grabbed the quill again and wrote a second line, "Who am I controlling? How am I controlling them?"
I held the paper in front of him.
He glanced at it and looked away. "The prophet's predictions have never been wrong."
Never been wrong.
Those words were a knife, finding a place I'd been trying to ignore. I suddenly understood—this wasn't about prophecies or curses. He just needed a reason. A decent enough reason to get rid of me.
I lowered the paper and picked up the quill again. This time I wrote slowly, pressing hard on every letter.
"So you've been looking for this reason all along, haven't you? A reason that lets you throw me out without guilt. Now you found it."
My hand shook as I held up the paper. Not from sadness—from anger. A cold, clear anger.
He saw what I'd written. I watched his jaw tighten, but he said nothing. No denial. No defense.
Just silence.
And that silence was louder than any words.
I set down the paper and quill. Then I nodded. I didn't know what that nod meant—maybe "I understand," maybe "fine," maybe "go to hell." Didn't matter. He couldn't read me anyway.
I turned toward the door.
"Mia."
His voice came from behind me.
I didn't stop.
"In Willos, someone will meet you. You'll receive settlement funds—"
I raised my hand and waved him off.
Don't need it. Don't need any of it.
I walked out of the study, the door closing behind me. The hallway stretched long, sunset streaming through stained glass windows, splashing colored light across the floor. I walked through those patches of light, moving fast, back straight.
I didn't look back.
Because looking back would be pointless. He stood there watching me leave—maybe with contempt, maybe with relief, maybe with nothing at all. I didn't want to know.
Back in my room, I started packing. The dress, the shoes, the comb. I stuffed them in a cloth bag and tied it shut. Then I looked around this room where I'd spent six months—the bed, the window, the little courtyard that once held flowers.
How many times had I waited for him here? Too many to count. Every night I thought he might come, I'd sit by the window, listening to footsteps in the hall, heart racing, palms sweating. Then he'd appear, we'd press close, listening to each other's heartbeats, then separate before dawn.
Sometimes in the sweat and breathlessness, I'd mistake it for love, but I always woke up in the morning.
Now I saw it—just him fulfilling his fated mate duties. Like feeding a pet—check in regularly, make sure it's alive, then go about your business with a clear conscience.
So I absolutely couldn't let him know about the baby. I wouldn't let my child become a tool.
I slung the bag over my shoulder and left the room.
The carriage bounced along the rough forest path, wheels grinding over stones with a constant creaking. I leaned against the wall, watching through the curtainless window as trees passed by one after another, the sky growing dark.
This carriage was from the palace. From Zane, to be precise.
He must be dying to get rid of me, so I wouldn't interfere with his sweet life with Leah.
Two drivers, four horses pulling the carriage, even a blanket and some dried food. Such thoughtful arrangements, right?
Like an executioner offering the condemned a last meal.
I pushed the blanket aside. I didn't want to touch anything he'd given me.
The carriage continued forward. I didn't know how long we'd traveled—maybe an hour, maybe two.
The sky had gone completely dark, the moon hidden behind clouds, only occasionally slipping a few silver threads through gaps.
The forest path grew narrower and harder to navigate, and the carriage slowed.
Then I heard a strange sound.
A sharp whistle split the night.
The horses screamed.
The drivers shouted.
Then a massive impact—something hit the side of the carriage. The whole thing tilted violently, throwing me sideways. My head slammed into the wooden panel. Stars exploded across my vision, ears ringing.
The carriage careened out of control for several dozen yards, then stopped abruptly—probably hit something. Momentum threw me forward, tumbling from the seat to the carriage floor. My shoulder screamed with pain.
I lay there in the darkness, gasping, trying to clear my head.
Outside was unnaturally quiet.
No drivers. No horses. Nothing.
Then I heard footsteps. More than one person. Boots on dead leaves, making soft crackling sounds, approaching the carriage.
My heart started racing.
I struggled up and pushed open the shifted door, stumbling out of the carriage. In the moonlight, I saw the two drivers lying by the road—motionless. The horses were down, a black arrow through the neck.
Then I saw them.
Six figures emerged from the trees like they'd condensed from shadows. They wore black leather armor, iron masks on their faces, looking like hounds from the underworld in the moonlight. They held weapons—longswords, daggers, crossbows—blades reflecting cold white light.
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.
But I didn't stop.
Branches whipped my face, thorns tore my dress and skin, the ground was uneven—I nearly fell several times. My lungs burned, my left arm bled, pain blurred my vision. But I couldn't stop—couldn't—
Footsteps behind me, getting closer.
I burst through a thicket, and the ground disappeared beneath my feet—
A cliff. Below was a rushing river.
I skidded to a stop, pebbles tumbling from the edge, falling into darkness below. Several seconds passed before I heard them hit bottom.
I stood at the cliff's edge. Killers behind me, abyss ahead.
I turned around.
The six figures had emerged from the forest, forming a semicircle around me. The leader removed his mask, revealing a sharp-featured face—a long scar ran from his left eye to his chin, grotesque in the moonlight.
"Well, go on, run," he said, a cold smile curling his lips. "Why'd you stop?"
I stepped back. My heel hung in empty air. More pebbles fell.
"You know why the king chose this road to send you on?" He walked forward slowly, dragging his longsword on the ground with a harsh scraping sound. "Because it's remote, desolate. If anything happens, no one will know. He gave us the perfect location."
My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms.
Zane.
Do you really hate me that much?
"Don't blame His Majesty," the man said, as if reading my thoughts. "You're just a problem to him. A problem that needs handling. I'd do the same thing."
He took another step forward.
I had nowhere left to go.
The cliff opened its dark mouth behind me like a beast waiting for prey.
I looked at the six killers, at their bloodied weapons, thought of that man's face—those gray-blue eyes, those lips that once said "you're my fated mate" to me in moonlight.
Lies.
All lies.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
When I opened them again, there was no more fear.
Only hatred.