Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Zane
Mia was gone.
I stood at the study window, watching the carriage vanish down the forest path. A strange feeling washed over me—not relief, not ease, but something else. Emptiness. Like someone had carved a hole in my chest and the wind was howling through it.
I told myself this was good. She was gone, the elders were satisfied, the prophet's curse theory was temporarily silenced, the kingdom was safe. I'd made the right call. As king, my job was making the hard but necessary decisions, even when they felt like shit.
But "felt like shit" didn't quite cover it. This felt more like a hangover headache mixed with churning nausea, plus a restlessness I couldn't name—like a thousand ants crawling under my skin.
I tried focusing on the paperwork. Border trade reports. Fall festival budget. A diplomatic letter from Silverthread Kingdom, so polite it made my skin crawl. I stared at the words for ten minutes. Didn't absorb a single one.
My wolf paced inside me, agitated. Since last night, it had been in this state—prowling my ribcage, claws scraping bone, growling low like it was protesting something.
Shut up, I told it. She's gone. It's for the best.
My wolf whimpered and curled up, refusing to acknowledge me anymore.
Great. Now I couldn't even handle my own wolf.
A knock at the door. Two taps, soft and rhythmic, like knuckles playing a serenade.
"Come in."
The door opened. Leah entered, wearing a pale pink silk gown cut just right at the neckline, hair loose over her shoulders. She looked like she'd stepped out of a Renaissance painting.
All of this should have been Mia's.
She carried a tray with a teapot and two cups.
"Your Majesty," she smiled, setting the tray on the coffee table, "I heard you haven't eaten all morning. I made some herbal tea. It helps with fatigue."
She poured a cup and handed it to me. That herbal smell drifted over—same as before, carrying that indistinct bitter edge.
I took the cup and turned it in my hands. Didn't drink.
"Thanks," I said, "but I'm not really in the mood for tea."
Leah's smile froze for a split second before recovering. She settled on the opposite sofa, hands folded elegantly in her lap.
"Your Majesty, you seem troubled," she said softly. "Is it because... she left?"
"No," I answered too fast—so fast even I found it suspicious. I cleared my throat. "Just thinking about state business."
"That's good." She lowered her head, fingers tracing the pleats of her skirt. "Actually... I came today to ask about... me becoming Luna."
The words hit my stomach like a stone. When had I ever promised Leah she'd definitely become my Luna? I wanted to snap at her, but it didn't seem fair.
I was the one who'd put her in this position.
"The elders say next month's full moon would be auspicious," Leah continued, her voice perfectly shy. "I wanted your opinion..."
"We'll see." I cut her off, setting down the cup. "Too much going on. This needs more consideration."
A crack appeared in her expression—quick, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. She blinked, her smile becoming strained.
"Of course, Your Majesty. I understand you're busy." She paused, then brightened as if remembering something. "Oh, I've written a new song. There's a small concert in the garden tonight. If you're free, maybe you could come listen. It might lift your spirits."
A new song.
The words stirred something in me. Her last song—that one about loneliness and chains—still echoed in my head. That feeling of my soul being struck, that sense of "finally someone understands"—it was the closest thing to a miracle I'd ever experienced.
"Alright," I said, my tone softer than before. "What time?"
Leah's eyes lit up. "Eight o'clock, in the rose garden. I'll be waiting, Your Majesty."
She stood, curtsied, and left the study. The door closed behind her, leaving me alone again.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes closed. My head was a mess—like yarn a cat had gotten to. Mia's face, Leah's smile, the elders' stern expressions, the prophet's sharp eyes—all these images flashing through my mind, making my head pound.
I stood up and decided to walk.
The hallway stretched long, sunlight streaming through stained glass windows, casting colored patterns on the floor. I walked aimlessly, not knowing where I was going, just wanting my legs to move, wanting the wind to clear my cluttered mind.
When I came to, I was standing at the end of the west corridor.
At that door.
Her door.
I stared at the closed wooden door. The wind chimes she'd hung were still there—strung with shells and colored glass beads. Wind slipped through the window crack, making them tinkle softly.
I didn't know why I'd come here. Maybe to confirm she was really gone. Maybe... something else.
I pushed the door open.
The room was empty, like no one had ever lived there. The sheets were stripped, leaving a bare mattress. The wardrobe door hung open, vacant inside. The flower pots on the windowsill were gone—had she taken them? Or were they thrown out?
I walked in and looked around. The air still held a faint trace of her scent—that mix of jasmine and rain-soaked earth. It was already fading, ready to dissolve into nothing.
My wolf whimpered softly inside me.
Enough, I told it. She's gone. Accept it.
I turned to leave, but my peripheral vision caught something—the desk drawer wasn't fully closed, revealing a corner of yellowed paper.
I walked over and pulled it open.
Inside lay several crumpled sheets covered in dense handwriting. The script was messy, some parts crossed out, ink bleeding through—like they'd been revised over and over.
I picked them up. The first page seemed to be a poem.
"They call the chains protection,
So I danced in shackles."
My fingers froze, breath catching. I felt like someone had tapped my soul with a tiny hammer.
I kept reading. Second page, third, fourth—each one different fragments, some complete paragraphs, some just a few lines. The handwriting was sloppy, heavily edited, but every word carried undeniable power.
"I have a garden full of words I cannot speak.
They bloom in moonlight, wither before dawn.
No one knows their names,
Just as no one knows mine."
I set the papers down, leaned against the desk, complex emotions rising in my chest.
She... wrote these?
That mute orphan girl? The one I'd thought had nothing but silence and obedience? She had this kind of talent?
I picked up the papers again and read them through once more. This time, slower, more carefully, trying to see through those words a version of her I'd never known.
"If I ever speak,
It won't be because I'm finally allowed,
But because I no longer care about your permission."
The sentence pricked my chest like a needle.
I don't know how long I stood there. When I came to, darkness had fallen outside, sunset's glow streaming through the window, casting orange-red light across the floor.
I glanced at the wall clock—seven forty-five.
Leah's concert was starting soon.
I folded the papers and slipped them into my pocket. For some reason, I didn't want to leave them in this empty room, didn't want them forgotten with the dust.
I left the room, headed for the rose garden.
Eight p.m., rose garden.
The moon was bright, silver light washing over the blooming roses, giving them a soft halo. A temporary stage stood in the garden's center, surrounded by dozens of chairs and white-clothed tables laden with refreshments and wine.
Not many guests—maybe thirty or forty. They clustered in small groups, wine glasses in hand, conversing quietly, waiting for the concert to begin.
I sat front row center, holding a glass of whiskey I hadn't touched. My gaze rested on the stage, fingers tapping my knee, heartbeat faster than usual.
Leah finally appeared.
She wore a silver-white gown covered in tiny crystals that sparkled in the moonlight. Her golden hair fell loose, crowned with a delicate rose garland. She looked like the Moon Goddess herself descending to earth.
She smiled at the audience, curtsied gracefully, then walked to the microphone at center stage.
"Good evening, everyone." Her voice was sweet and gentle. "Tonight, I'd like to share a new song I recently composed."
I waited quietly.
Leah took a deep breath and began singing.
"Moonlight falls on me like clothes that cannot warm—"
My fingers clenched the armrest.
That opening. Identical to the first line on Mia's manuscript.
"I've walked a million roads but cannot escape my shadow—"
My breathing quickened.
"They call the chains protection,
So I danced in shackles."
My head exploded.
These words. These were Mia's words. I'd just read them in her room—word for word.
I stared at Leah on stage, watching her sing those stolen words with emotion, watching her close her eyes in feigned rapture, watching her bask in applause that should have belonged to someone else—
Nausea churned in my stomach.
Then she moved to the second verse. But that's when I noticed something wrong.
The second verse changed. No longer those sharp, painful, powerful lines from Mia's manuscript, but something... mediocre. Something that sounded "decent" but clearly lacked soul.
"I waited for you all night on the shore,
The tide carried away my longing—"
My brow furrowed.
This wasn't Mia's. Mia's manuscript didn't have these lines. Mia's version was—"I have a garden full of words I cannot speak"—that was the original.
Leah kept singing. The later lyrics grew worse, some parts with forced rhymes and repetitive imagery. Several verses were clearly filler, using empty rhetoric to hide hollow content.
Like—like she'd only gotten the first half of the lyrics, and cobbled the rest together herself.
My fingers drummed the armrest rhythmically, all the pieces clicking into place in my mind.
Mia's room. Those manuscripts. That handwriting. Those edits.
Leah's new song. The identical opening. The second half's quality cliff-dive.
My heartbeat accelerated—not from excitement, but from a cold, suffocating rage rising from my chest.
I shot to my feet.