The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 190: What I want

Natalie~

The moment the mist cleared and I saw their eyes—their blank, serene eyes—I knew it had worked. Everyone in the ballroom who had witnessed the chaos, the blood, the broken glass... even those outside the ballroom who had sensed something, anything at all—it was gone. Erased. Like ink wiped clean from a page.

But there was no time to celebrate.

I reached out instinctively, fingers locking with Zane’s. "Hold on," I whispered, pouring my magic into a single, fluid command.

And then we were gone.

We reappeared in Zane’s bedroom, wrapped in the warm hush of midnight velvet and shadows. A gentle breeze fluttered the curtains. Moonlight spilled across the floor like spilled milk, soft and silver. I barely breathed.

My body was still shaking. Blood clung to my skin, sticky, metallic—but it wasn’t mine. I whispered the spell, just under my breath. Magic surged over me like silk, washing the blood away, healing my clothes, smoothing every trace of battle. Even the faintest scar was erased. I stood tall and calm... on the outside.

Inside, I was still breaking.

Before I could even speak, Zane pulled me into a crushing embrace. His arms were steel bands, holding me together when I thought I might shatter again.

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely into my hair. "Thank you for saving my son."

I clung to him, letting my fingers twist into the soft fabric of his shirt. I could feel his heartbeat pounding wildly against my cheek.

"I love you, Natalie," he said suddenly, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. His gaze was fierce, raw. "I love you. Gods, I love you."

My breath hitched. I already knew—I’ve always known. It was in every look that lingered too long, every touch that made the world fall away, every kiss that set my soul on fire, every time he said my name like it was the only word that mattered. But hearing him say it again... with that raw, desperate intensity—it hit different. Like a storm crashing straight into my chest.

I reached up and brushed his cheek. "I love you too."

His eyes searched mine, desperate. "I need to see him," he whispered. "With my own eyes, Nat. I need to see Alex. I can’t breathe right until I do. I need to know he’s okay—I need to see it."

I nodded gently. "You will. He’s asleep right now. I... I erased the memory of what happened. The stabbing, the screaming. All of it." I swallowed hard. "I didn’t want that trauma to stay with him like what happened with Nora and Charlie. Not again."

Zane inhaled sharply and crushed me into his chest again. "Thank you. Thank you."

Then I vanished from his arms in a blink of light.

Within a heartbeat, I was back—in a twinkle of an eye—cradling Alexander softly in my arms. His small face was peaceful, cheeks flushed with sleep. Not a single line of fear creased his brow. He had been sound asleep in his room when I appeared and took him. I brushed his dark curls back gently and whispered his name once before stepping forward.

Zane was already there, arms open.

He took his son from me like he was holding a miracle. And yes he was.

Zane’s hands trembled as he inspected every inch of Alexander’s tiny form. His fingers skimmed over his arms, his chest, his stomach—looking for any bruise, any scar. Nothing.

A shuddering sigh escaped him. "He’s perfect. He’s really okay."

Zane kissed his son over and over—his forehead, his cheeks, his tiny hands—then crossed the room to the massive bed, laying Alexander down gently. He tucked him in with a careful tenderness that would have looked strange coming from a man of his size if I didn’t know him. It made my heart ache.

He stood there for a long moment, just watching his son sleep.

Then he turned to me.

Zane crossed the room in three strides, pulled me into his arms again, and kissed me. It wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was soft, sweet, lingering—like he wanted to carve the shape of my mouth into memory, the taste of my breath, the warmth of my skin.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine.

"I don’t want to let you go," he whispered.

I closed my eyes and leaned into him, arms around his waist. My gaze drifted back to the bed, to Alexander, who slept so peacefully.

But in my mind, everything was chaos.

If Zane only knew the truth about Alex...

The truth I had just uncovered, the terrifying, soul-altering truth... would it make him happy? Or would it leave him broken and confused?

I didn’t know.

I didn’t dare tell him.

This might stir up trouble between us again, but this wasn’t like before. This was different. I couldn’t just blurt it out—I had to play it smart this time.

The knock on the door startled us both. It was soft, hesitant, respectful.

Zane stiffened.

We both inhaled—and we knew instantly.

The king.

Zane gently released me from his hold and walked quietly to the door. When he opened it, King Anderson Moor stood there, his eyes slightly shadowed, face clouded with guilt. He didn’t meet Zane’s gaze.

"May I come in?" the king asked quietly.

Zane said nothing, only stepped aside.

The king entered slowly, his presence commanding but oddly subdued. His gaze swept across the room—lingering on me for a moment—before settling on the small boy curled up in the middle of the grand bed.

He walked to the edge of the bed and stood there in silence.

For a long time, he didn’t speak.

Then, almost to himself, he murmured, "He’s grown up so well... I haven’t seen him in so long." His voice cracked. "I only caught a glimpse of him when he was born. Then I stepped back... and stayed away for his safety."

The king knelt by the bed and bowed his head slightly. "I’m sorry, Alexander," he said softly. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there. And I’m sorry I hurt you... even if it was by mistake."

The words hovered in the air, heavy and real.

Then he turned to Zane and me, and his eyes finally met ours.

"I thought I was protecting something," the king said, voice low. "I thought I was doing what was best. Attacking Natalie. Being unnecessarily stubborn and pig-headed. I see now... I was wrong."

Zane’s jaw clenched.

The king nodded as if he understood. "I’ve been cruel. Unapproachable. A shadow in my own son’s life." He looked at me, eyes steady. "But I see you now, Natalie. I see the strength in you. The courage. You... you brought light back into my son’s life. Into Alexander’s life."

I swallowed hard, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his voice.

Zane stepped forward, calm and unwavering as he came to stand beside me. "I want you to remember something," he said, his voice laced with steel. "Alex is my son. And Natalie..." He turned his eyes toward me with quiet certainty. "She will always be mine—no matter what plans you think you’ve cooked up for the celestial princess."

I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips. Plans? Please. As if the king could make me do anything I didn’t want to. I wasn’t some pawn in a royal game—I was the one flipping the board.

The king’s lips twitched, barely holding back a smile of his own. "I know," he said simply, almost like a man resigned to the power of the inevitable. He straightened his back, cast one final glance at Alexander, and then turned to me.

He said nothing at first—just walked toward me, slow and steady like every step mattered. I watched him closely, wondering if the weight of the crown finally felt real. When he reached me, he lowered his gaze and bowed. Deeply. No arrogance. No tension. Just humility, thick and genuine.

"Princess," he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. "I owe you an apology... for my past insolence. I misjudged you. Dismissed you. And for that, I am truly sorry. I don’t come to you as a king now, but as a man who’s willing to do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness. If you’ll allow it... I want to make things right. Even if it takes the rest of my life."

For a moment, I said nothing. Just studied him. I didn’t trust easily—not anymore—but I could tell he meant every word. Still, there was a part of me that wasn’t interested in apologies. Not unless they came with action.

I gave him a small smile. Calm. Collected. But it didn’t touch the storm in my chest. "There’s something I want," I said gently, even though every word was sharp enough to draw blood.

He looked up at me without hesitation. "Name it," he said. "Whatever it is—I’ll do it."

My smile stayed, thin and cold. "I want Darius," I said, letting the name cut through the air like poison. "And every last member of the Silverfang Pack who touched me. I want them to suffer."

His expression didn’t change, but I saw something shift in him—like the weight of what I was asking finally landed on his shoulders.

"If I handle this myself," I continued, my voice like quiet fire, "I’ll be blinded by rage. I won’t stop. And the punishments I dish out? They’ll be fast. Too fast. Too merciful."

I stepped toward him then, just enough to let my presence bear down like a coming storm. "So I want you to do it. I want Darius branded across his face—with the word traitor. Real branding. And across his chest—the word murderer. Burn it in so the world never forgets what he did. I want his pain to be slow. Public. Just like the way he killed my parents and friends, just like the way he humiliated me."

The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in.

And I meant every word.