The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 196: The Heir Unveiled

Zane~

Three minutes. That’s how long it took Sebastian to get from the palace gates to my private chambers. And yet, those three minutes felt like eternity. I paced the living room like a madman—well, a well-dressed madman in ceremonial silk and finely polished boots, but a madman all the same. The air smelled of waxed wood, cold stone, and a trace of lavender—Natalie’s doing, no doubt. She always said I needed something calming in my space. I should’ve listened sooner.

Then the door flew open.

"Whoa." Sebastian’s voice rang in the air, low and amused. "You look like you’re about to pass out."

I spun around, glaring. "Do I?"

He leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, dressed like he stepped out of a vampire fashion magazine. Sharp black suit, blood-red pocket square, and a smirk that screamed trouble. His jet-black hair was slicked back as always, every strand defying gravity like it owed him money.

"You look like someone shoved a crown down your throat and told you to smile for the cameras," he continued, strolling in with the confidence of a man who feared nothing, not even royal politics. "Which, I guess, isn’t far off."

I collapsed onto the velvet settee, elbows on knees, fingers clutching my temples. "I’m not ready, Seb. I thought I was, but I’m not."

He blinked. Then blinked again. "Zane... you’re Zane. Mr. ’I-crack-boardrooms-before-breakfast’. Mr. ’I stare down billionaires for fun.’ And you’re scared of a bunch of nobles in capes?"

I laughed, a bitter edge clinging to the sound. "It’s not them. It’s the crown. The kingdom. I’m scared I won’t do it right. That I’ll mess up. That I’ll get so swallowed by duties and diplomacy and decisions that I’ll forget to live." My voice dropped to a whisper. "I’m scared I’ll lose time with her."

Sebastian’s expression softened, the sarcasm melting away. He lowered himself beside me, all jokes gone. "Natalie."

I nodded.

"I’m terrified, Seb," I said quietly. "We’re finally happy. We’re finally... us. She laughs now. She teases me. We chat with each other all night and never get tired. She throws socks at me when I leave my shirts on the floor. I wake up and her head’s on my chest and ever since she brought her warmth into my life, I don’t feel hollow."

Sebastian said nothing, letting me speak.

"I don’t want the crown to steal that. I don’t want to become one of those kings who’s too busy for everything—who forgets what love feels like because he’s too damn focused on keeping up appearances. I can’t stand the idea of being away from her. Not for a second."

Sebastian sighed, dramatic and long. "Alright. First of all—" He jabbed a finger at me. "That’s the sappiest, most disgustingly adorable thing I’ve ever heard you say. You’re whipped. Completely. It’s tragic. She owns you."

I scowled. "You done?"

"Almost." He grinned. "Secondly... none of that’s gonna happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because she won’t let it happen," he said simply. "Natalie’s going to be beside you, every step of the way. Holding your hand when you’re unsure. Kicking your royal butt when you’re brooding. Kissing you breathless when you forget who you are."

I blinked hard. "I just... I don’t want to lose her."

"You won’t." Sebastian clasped my shoulder. "You’ll be a great king, Zane. I trust you."

That hit deep.

I sat in stunned silence, letting those words anchor me.

Then I stood.

"Let’s go," I said.

We walked side by side, past ancient tapestries and golden sconces, through the grand archway that led to the ballroom. The moment we entered, the music faded.

All eyes turned.

Then, at the far end, the King stood.

My father.

He rose from the obsidian throne draped in midnight velvet, his silky beard gleaming in the candlelight. He lifted his glass high, commanding silence without saying a word. The entire ballroom hushed.

The herald stepped forward and declared, "His Majesty has something to say!"

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

My father’s voice rang out, strong and measured. "Tonight is a night of celebration. A night of truth." He paused, eyes scanning the room. "For years, many of you have asked me the same question: Who will inherit the throne?"

The ballroom exploded with hushed conversations, gasps, turning heads. People whispering behind fans and wine glasses.

"And tonight," my father said, "you will finally have your answer."

I felt my heart thudding against my ribs. I clenched my jaw, steadying myself.

He continued, "The heir to the Lycan throne... is my son. His true name is Zane Anderson Moor. Though most of you know him by another name—Cole Lucky."

The gasps were instantaneous. Audible. Collective. The entire ballroom staggered in surprise.

"Cole Lucky is the faceless prince?"

"Him?"

My father extended his hand. "Zane. Come, stand beside me."

I inhaled deeply, willing my nerves to silence. I stepped forward, the crowd parting like water. Their eyes followed every movement. Their murmurs clawed at my ears, but I kept my face calm.

Red, growled low and steady in my mind. "Walk proud, Zane. We were born for this."

I reached my father’s side. He placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

"I present to you all," he said, "Zane Anderson Moor—the heir to the Lycan throne. The future king."

Cheers erupted.

Applause rang through the room like rolling thunder.

But not all faces were joyful.

Some clapped out of duty. Others didn’t bother to mask their disdain.

Then... a hand rose.

A slow, almost lazy movement—but it cut through the crowd like a blade.

The room fell quiet again.

And I recognized him instantly.

That Elder. The jittery-looking one I’d seen during the cabinet meeting. He didn’t look like much—fragile, young, a little too weird looking for an Elder wolf. His robes looked a century old. But the power emanating from him was terrifying. It crawled over my skin like cold fire.

He stepped forward with the aid of a wooden staff that supported a broken leg, his voice calm, but sharp as winter wind.

"I am Elder Maeron Voss," he said, and the room stirred again.

He looked right at the king. Not bowing. Not blinking. "And I stand against this decision."

Silence followed his words.

My blood iced over.

The crowd gasped again, louder this time. Some nobles stood, jaws slack. A woman in emerald dropped her goblet. It shattered on the marble floor.

I stared at him.

I tried to keep my face neutral. Calm.

But inside... I was burning.

He looked right at me.

"I do not believe this boy is fit to be king," Elder Maeron said.

And the world tilted.