Page 64 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

But I couldn't just let it go. My pack was still waiting for me. I needed to recover my voice as soon as possible. This was the only hope in five years. I couldn't give up.

I stood, brushing dust off my clothes.

"Edmund, prepare my horse."

"Your Majesty? Where are you going?"

"Silverthread Kingdom." I grabbed my coat, heading out without looking back. "I'm going to ask her myself."

Silverpine Kingdom was the only werewolf kingdom bordering the human world. The style here was completely different from my country.

Three days later, I stood outside Vela's lodgings in Silverpine Kingdom, politely refused by a uniformed receptionist.

"Apologies, Your Majesty, but Miss Vela is not receiving visitors at the moment."

I took a deep breath. "Please inform her I'm King Zane of Moonhowl Kingdom, with important business—"

"She knows, Your Majesty." The receptionist's smile was perfectly painted on. "But she's still not seeing visitors."

I stared at her for three seconds, then turned and left the hotel.

Fine. I could wait.

I found a window seat at a café across the street, ordered coffee—black, no sugar, bitter as my mood. Through the glass, I could watch the hotel entrance. People came and went constantly, but none were her.

An hour later, I walked back into the hotel.

"Please inform her again—"

"Sorry, Your Majesty, Miss Vela said no visitors."

Two hours later, I changed tactics. I wrote a letter, earnestly explaining my identity and purpose, expressing hope she'd perform in Moonhowl Kingdom, even promising generous compensation. I had the desk clerk deliver it to her personally.

The receptionist took the letter, nodded, then placed it on a tray right in front of me—stacked with dozens of other fan letters.

My temple throbbed.

At dusk, I entered the hotel a third time. This time I walked straight to the desk, planted both hands on the counter, leaned forward, and spoke in as calm but firm a tone as I could manage.

"I need to see her. Not for myself—for my country. My people need her voice. If you won't inform her, I'll stand here all night."

The receptionist's expression finally wavered. She hesitated, picked up the phone, dialed a number, and spoke softly.

Then she hung up, looked at me, expression odd.

"Sorry, Miss Vela has a performance tonight. She hopes you won't interfere with her schedule."

I didn't speak. Just turned and left.

Eight PM. Royal Theatre.

I sat in a second-floor box, clutching my ticket stub.

A corner seat on the second floor. I'd paid three times the face value to a scalper for it. Even Silverpine Kingdom's foreign minister couldn't get me a first-floor seat—because even their king had to book six months ahead to see Vela perform.

The theater was packed. When the lights dimmed, the entire venue fell silent—that expectant, breath-held silence.

Then she walked out.