The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 163: An Unexplainable Surprise

Zane~

I barely heard the final words of my father’s speech. The heavy echoes of his voice still thundered in my mind like an endless storm.

Natalie.

Darius.

The ball.

Why?

I needed answers. And I needed to see her.

The second the court was dismissed, I shot through the crowd like a man possessed, my boots slamming against the marble floor. Nobles and ministers tried to stop me, their perfumed hands grazing my arms as they whispered, trying to get me to tell them what was on the king’s mind, but I shook them off like flies.

I stormed into the private wing of the palace, pushing open the grand oak doors to my father’s chambers without knocking.

He was waiting for me. Standing by the window, his crown catching the last slivers of sunlight.

"Why?" I demanded, my voice rough with the rage burning in my chest. "Why do you want her at the ball? Why do you want Darius there too?"

He didn’t even flinch. Just sipped calmly from a goblet of wine like he wasn’t throwing my entire world off-balance.

"This is not your concern, Zane," he said, his tone so cold it scraped against my bones. "Do as I asked. I expect results."

I clenched my fists. "She’s not a pawn you can just move across a board, Dad."

Finally, he turned, leveling me with the full force of his authority. "Do not disappoint me, son. Or you might just lose everything you love."

The veiled threat wasn’t lost on me.

Red, growled low inside my mind, pacing furiously.

I clamped my mouth shut, swallowing the biting words bubbling up my throat. Talking to my father was like arguing with a mountain — immovable, cold, and way too fond of crushing whatever stood in its way. It was pointless. Instead, I dipped into a stiff, mechanical bow, spun on my heel, and stormed out of his chambers before I said something we’ll both regret.

The second I hit the hallway, I snapped open a mind link to Abel.

"Make sure Darius shows up at the ball tomorrow," I ordered, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. "By any means necessary."

Not a flicker of hesitation. "Understood, Your Highness. Leave it to me."

Good. One problem off my very full plate.

Now, onto Natalie.

Twenty minutes later, I was halfway to the royal garage, already planning my great escape — stealing one of my father’s shiny black beasts like some half-baked, high-born criminal — when a royal guard appeared out of nowhere, bowing so low I thought he might kiss the floor.

"The King requests your immediate presence at the royal tailor, Mr. Lucky."

I ground my teeth so hard I nearly cracked a molar. Was he serious right now?

"Tell him I’m unavailable," I said, already turning away.

The poor guard flinched like I’d just slapped him with an iron gauntlet. "H-he said if you refuse, he will personally drag you there... by the ears."

Fantastic.

The tailor’s workshop was buried deep in the guts of the palace, hidden behind layers of heavy doors and enough ghost stories about cursed outfits to fill a library.

I shoved open the heavy oak door — and almost lost my mind.

There stood the King himself, arms folded, face carved from pure thunder, glaring daggers at a short, balding man who looked seconds away from fainting. A measuring tape hung from the tailor’s neck like an executioner’s noose.

"Your Majesty," the man stammered, voice quivering, "f-forgive me, but why would the royal adviser need ceremonial robes fit for an heir?"

My father leaned in close, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "If even one syllable of this leaks, Tailor Monroe, your head will decorate the palace gates by sunrise. Understand?"

Monroe turned paler than a ghost. "Y-yes, Sire! Silent as the grave, Sire!"

I dragged a hand down my face to hide the smirk threatening to break free. Was this seriously happening?

Then came the tailor’s assault — a whirlwind of tape measures, fabric swatches, and scandalized gasps. He poked and prodded, muttering about "broad shoulders" and "criminally unfair musculature." At one point, he even let out a dreamy sigh: "Such symmetry! The Moon Goddess herself must’ve sculpted you!"

"Focus, Monroe," I growled, earning a dark chuckle from my father somewhere behind me.

After what felt like hours of standing there like a living mannequin while being suffocated by pins, silks, and way too many compliments, it was finally over.

By the time I stumbled out, the moon was high, the palace grounds were empty, and the whole city felt like it was holding its breath.

Too late to find Natalie.

Tomorrow, I promised myself, staring up at the glittering stars.

First thing tomorrow.

The next morning, the palace was already alive with feverish activity. Palace maids zipped through halls like shooting stars, arms stacked with garments and floral arrangements. Guards shined their armor until it gleamed like mirrors. Everywhere, the buzz of something big hovered in the air.

And me?

I had one thing on my mind.

Go to Natalie.

I opened a mind link to Roland. "Bring a car. Park at the far south edge of the grounds. No noise. Don’t let anyone see you."

His answer was immediate. "On it, Your Highness."

I pulled on a dark hoodie and jeans — not exactly royal attire — and bolted through the palace, slipping through servant passages and shadowed courtyards.

The last stretch was open ground. No cover.

"Shift," Red urged. "It’s faster."

"Fine," I growled.

I yanked off my hoodie, boots flying, and shifted mid-stride, the cool morning air slicing across my fur. I clutched my clothes in my mouth and sprinted across the field, paws silent against the damp grass.

At the far wall, I shifted back, yanked my pants on one-handed, and vaulted into the waiting car.

Roland blinked at me through the rearview mirror. "You realize you just gave every rabbit in these woods a heart attack?"

"Drive," I barked.

The world blurred past as Roland floored the accelerator, and all I could think about was her. Natalie.

It had been a hellish twenty-four hours — a tailor with grabby hands, my father breathing down my neck, the weight of secrets growing heavier by the second — and yet, somehow, through it all, my mind stayed fixed on one thing: getting back to her.

"You know," Roland said from the driver’s seat, his voice cutting through the buzzing silence, "you’re acting suspiciously human today, Your Highness."

I arched a brow at him through the rearview mirror. "Human?"

He smirked. "All this sneaking around... running barefoot across palace grounds... stealing cars. You sure you’re not a rebellious teenager instead of a prince?"

I let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand across my jaw. "Maybe I am."

In truth, I’d do far worse if it meant getting to her faster. I needed to see her. Touch her. Breathe her in like oxygen after drowning. And talk about the ball of course.

The beautiful towering skyscrapers of Vereth were just coming into view when the bond between Natalie and me pulsed — soft, tentative — and a second later her voice whispered across the connection.

"Zane?"

I closed my eyes briefly, savoring the sound of her. "Hey, gorgeous."

"I... I need to tell you something about—"

I stiffened instantly. Her tone was off — hesitant, almost guilty — but before she could say more, I cut her off, words tumbling out fast, almost desperate.

"Hold up, Nat. We’ll talk later — face-to-face. I need to tell you something first. About the meeting yesterday."

Her voice immediately changed to worry, "What happened?"

"I think..." I hesitated. "I think my father’s up to something. I snuck out of the palace and I’m almost at Vereth already to figure it out."

Then, before she could ask anything else, I cut the link, heart pounding like a war drum.

Roland shot me a look. "Bad news?"

"Not bad," I said, my voice rough with too many emotions. "Just... urgent."

Twenty-five minutes later, the estate gates of my home greeted us. As we roared up the long winding driveway, I caught sight of the palace guards my father had gifted me, posted at the front gates. Their helmets turned sharply as they spotted the car, expressions flickering from confusion to outright panic.

"Is that...?"

"How the hell did Mr Lucky leave without us knowing?"

"Wasn’t he in the house this morning?"

Their frantic whispers chased after us as Roland slowed to a crawl. I watched with detached amusement as the guards scrambled to straighten their posture, pretending they hadn’t just been gossiping like old fishwives.

"Relax," I said dryly as we rolled past. "Consider this a training exercise."

One of the guards looked like he might faint.

My estate loomed ahead — tall, grand, and framed by towering oaks that rustled in the crisp morning wind. The familiar sight of it should have comforted me.

But my heart was hammering in my chest for an entirely different reason.

She was here.

The second Roland parked, I was out of the car and striding toward the house. My boots crunched over the gravel. I barely noticed the fresh scent of pine, the golden spill of early sunlight across the lawn.

All I saw was her.

Natalie.

It didn’t matter that we had seen each other yesterday. Nothing else mattered.

The door flew open before I could even lift a hand — and there she was.

Barefoot. Flushed. Breathless.

"Natalie," I breathed, arms opening instinctively.

She ran straight into me, her body slamming against mine with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. Her arms wrapped tight around my waist, clinging to me like I was the last solid thing in a crumbling world.

And maybe I was.

I buried my face in her hair, inhaling her scent — vanilla and honey. My arms locked around her, squeezing tighter when she whimpered softly against my chest.

"Missed you," she mumbled into my shirt.

"You have no idea," I rasped, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Goddess, I didn’t want to let go. I could stand here forever, holding her, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine.

She tilted her head up, looking at me with those wide, soul-searing eyes.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were coming earlier?" she said, voice trembling.

"I wanted to surprise you. Nothing could keep me away from you," I said fiercely. "Not even a battalion of royal guards."

She laughed, that beautiful, musical sound I craved like a dying man craved water. I grinned, feeling some of the tightness in my chest ease.

Grinning, I swept her up effortlessly, her laughter spilling into the crook of my neck like music made just for me. Her scent wrapped around me — sweet, wild, familiar — and I didn’t slow down until we were inside.

In the living room, I set her gently back on her feet, my hands lingering a moment longer than necessary, unwilling to lose the feel of her. She looked up at me, eyes shining, lips parted in that way that made everything inside me snap tight.

I dipped my head, ready — starving — to taste her again, to claim the kiss that had been burning between us for days.

But then—

I heard footsteps.

Sharp. Heavy. Coming from the corridor behind her.

And then the scent hit me.

Unmistakable and unwanted.

I froze, every instinct going feral in an instant. My body locked, my senses flared wide open — Protective. Territorial.

And then, like a nightmare ripping itself free of the shadows, he appeared.

Griffin Blackthorn.

Walking casually down my hallway like he belonged there.

"Natalie, have you seen—" Griffin started, but the words choked off the moment he saw me.

We froze.

Three statues carved from shock.

My arms tightened instinctively around Natalie, pulling her slightly behind me. Red, exploded inside my chest, a low, furious growl vibrating through every bone in my body.

Griffin’s jaw dropped open, his face draining of color. "C-Cole?"

Natalie flinched against me, her fingers twisting in my shirt.

"Zane, I—" she started quickly, but I wasn’t looking at her anymore.

I was staring at Griffin.

The man who until a minute ago, I thought was dead. The man who had once seen her as worthless. The man who had thrown her away when she needed him most. And now, here he was, breathing my air, standing in my home.

Every instinct screamed at me to tear him apart.

"Explain," I said coldly, my voice like ice.