Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Zane
After everyone left, I turned to Elder Alden, the fury in my chest threatening to burn right through me.
"What the hell were you thinking?" My voice came out low, but every word ground through my teeth. "Announcing the wedding in front of all the envoys—you didn't even tell me first."
Alden bowed slowly, his posture impeccably respectful, but the glint in those cloudy old eyes told me he didn't think he'd done anything wrong.
"Your Majesty, I merely responded to circumstances.
The envoys were all present. They saw the young lady.
They needed a reasonable explanation. A grand wedding consolidates your image in neighboring kingdoms and silences unnecessary gossip. "
"So you just took it upon yourself?"
"I've served this kingdom for forty years, Your Majesty." His tone remained as steady as a weather report. "Everything I do is for the good of this nation."
I stared at him, fingers tapping twice on the armrest—a telltale sign of the irritation churning inside me.
"Your Majesty, you yourself called her a maid.
" His words came measured and deliberate.
"Which means you know perfectly well she's not suited for public view.
Miss Taylor is the one fit to stand at your side—she has looks, breeding, and most importantly, a healthy voice.
As for the other one..." He paused. "She needs to stay out of sight. It's better for everyone."
I drew a deep breath, forcing down the surge of anger.
He was right—those words had come from my mouth.
In front of the envoys, I'd called my fated mate "the maid.
" Not because I wanted to, but because I didn't know what else to say.
"This is my mate, but she can't speak"—say that, and by tomorrow the whole continent would know the King of Moonhowl Kingdom had bonded with damaged goods.
I hated that every word he said was true.
"The wedding," I said. "I didn't agree to it."
"But you didn't refuse either." Alden stepped forward.
"And besides, Your Majesty, there's something more important to consider.
The fated mate bond has been established, but it's not strong enough yet.
You need to forge a deeper connection with her soon—to stabilize the power within you, and to ensure an heir. "
Heir.
The word landed in my stomach like a stone.
"I know you're displeased with these arrangements," Alden's tone softened slightly, "but please understand—as king, your personal wishes must yield to the kingdom's needs. That young woman... whoever she is, since fate chose her, she must bear her responsibilities. As must you."
I closed my eyes, silent for several seconds. "Are you done?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Then get out."
He bowed again and shuffled out of the room, leaning on his cane. The door closed behind him with a dull thud.
I stood there, staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace, feeling like a massive stone pressed against my chest. Every step wasn't mine to choose, every word forced from my mouth by someone else. I was king—but I lived like a puppet on strings.
And I'd humiliated her in front of everyone.
That mute girl.
The look on her face when she heard me say "maid" in the dining room doorway—it stuck in my chest like a thorn. I'll admit, part of it was deliberate. I needed her to understand her place, not harbor unrealistic fantasies. But those eyes...
I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away. What was the point of dwelling on it now?
The next afternoon, Leah asked me to help select wedding attire.
The tailor had spread fabric samples across the floor—ivory silk, pale gold brocade, deep red velvet—all gleaming softly in the afternoon light. Leah wore a light blue dress, her hair loosely pinned back, looking elegant and proper.
"Your Majesty," she lifted a porcelain cup from the table and offered it to me, "try this. I made it myself."
I picked up the cup in front of me and took a sip. A strange herbal taste spread across my tongue—bitter, indefinable, definitely not pleasant.
"It tastes strange," I set the cup down.
"Try more, it's really quite good."
I didn't respond. For some reason, I suddenly thought of the soup a maid had brought earlier that morning—Mia had sent it. That soup had been surprisingly good, warm and savory, making me feel considerably better after drinking it. By comparison, this tea was like punishment for my tongue.
"Your Majesty?" Leah's voice pulled me back. "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing." I leaned back in my chair, watching her move between the fabrics. "Just that... there's too much going on lately."
"Wedding preparations are tedious," she settled into a chair, hands folded on her lap, "but it's something to be happy about, isn't it?"
"Is it?" I smiled thinly. "Do you know why I was angry yesterday?
Because Elder Alden made decisions for me, and I didn't even get a chance to object.
Everyone tells me what I should do—who I should marry, what I should say, when I should smile, when I should be angry. No one's ever asked what I want."
She listened quietly, her blue eyes full of gentle concern.
"Do you remember that song you wrote?" I asked. "The line—'chains forged from gold, wear them long enough and you forget they're shackles.'"
Her expression froze for an instant, almost imperceptibly.
"Of course I remember," she said. "That line took me a long time to perfect."
"When I first heard it, I felt like someone had reached into my head and written my thoughts into lyrics.
" I looked out the window. "Everyone thinks it's gold, but only I know it's chains.
Have you ever felt that way? Clearly trapped, but still having to thank the people who trapped you, because without them, you wouldn't even know which direction to go. "
I turned back to her. "What were you thinking when you wrote that line?"
She blinked, fingertips lightly tracing the rim of her cup. "Well... loneliness and things like that... everyone experiences it, don't they?"
"Yes, but how did you transform that feeling into lyrics? I mean, that precise expression—"
"It just... came to me when inspiration struck." She interrupted me, looking up with a somewhat strained smile. "Your Majesty, let's focus on selecting the attire first. We can discuss this later."
I stared at her for a few seconds.
She avoided my gaze.
I waited for her to elaborate, but she just lowered her head and sipped her tea, offering nothing more.
A faint disappointment rose in my chest.
Like standing in an empty hall speaking to your own echo.
What I craved was someone who understood my inner world, someone who could see the color of my soul without explanation.
I'd thought the person who wrote those lyrics would be that person.
But now she sat before me, close enough to touch, yet hollow as a vase—beautiful but empty.
But I shook my head, suppressing the feeling. Maybe she just wasn't good at expressing herself. Some people could pour emotions into songs but struggled with face-to-face conversation. That was normal. I shouldn't expect too much from her.
Yet just then, an absurd thought surfaced unbidden—if it were Mia, what would she do?
Sometimes I felt like those star-bright eyes of hers could see straight through my loneliness.
"Never mind." I stood, straightening my jacket. "Just pick whatever you like. I trust your judgment."
"Your Majesty—" She rose too. "You're leaving so soon? We haven't really talked—"
"Another time." I grabbed my gloves from the table and left the reception room without looking back.
Back in my study, I tried to focus on the documents waiting for my review.
Border trade reports. Autumn festival budget proposals. Reply drafts to diplomatic correspondence from neighboring kingdoms. Lines of text floated before my eyes, but none of it penetrated my skull.
I turned a page. Then another. My pen hovered above the signature line, never descending.
Then that heat rose from my abdomen without warning.
Like someone had lit a fire inside me—not a slow burn, but an instant conflagration that swept through my entire body. My skin started burning, sweat beading on my forehead, my heart hammering against my chest at an impossible pace.
The wolf inside thrashed wildly, growling restlessly, like it had caught the scent of something—
Wait.
I could smell it.
That scent—jasmine mixed with sweet earth after rain, plus some indefinable fragrance that set my blood boiling—drifted from the end of the corridor, drilling into my nostrils, burning straight into my brain.
Mia.
My body automatically turned toward it. My feet moved without permission, pulled by an invisible rope through the corridor, around the corner, step by step toward the west wing.
"Your Majesty?" A passing guard saluted me.
I didn't respond.
Only one thought remained in my head. Find her.
The scent grew stronger, the heat higher, my breathing more rapid. I could feel my pupils dilating, fangs pressing behind my gums, every muscle tensing like a beast tracking prey by scent.
I stopped before a door.
Her door.
I pushed it open.
She stood by the window holding a white flower, about to place it in the vase on the table. At the sound of the door, she turned—the moment she saw me, light sparked in her eyes like fireworks exploding in the night sky.
She set down the flower and started signing at me. Her fingers danced rapidly, forming shapes I couldn't comprehend.
"Stop." My voice came out hoarse and low, barely recognizable even to myself.
Her hands froze mid-air. She tilted her head, questioning in her gaze.
I walked toward her. One step. Two steps. She instinctively backed up until her spine hit the windowsill. Nowhere left to go. I stood before her, looking down, feeling her warm breath brush my chin, smelling that scent in her hair that made me completely lose control.
Her lips parted slightly, silently asking something.
I reached out, gripped her waist, and pulled her against me.