The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 198: A Truth Dressed in Shadows

Darius~

It had started as a dull evening. The ballroom reeked of too much perfume and false courtesy. A hundred wolves in silk and jewels, all pretending not to loathe one another. I stood in the shadows of the grand chandelier-lit hall, a glass of wine swirling in my hand, my Beta Timothy to my right. Gabriella lingered at my side, tense and stiff as usual in public. She hated these things more than I did—so many wandering eyes, so many secrets laced in laughter.

Timothy, leaned close to me, whispering something about a potential alliance with the Ironpaw Pack, but I wasn’t listening. My eyes were on the crowd—scanning, measuring.

I was calculating my next move—wondering if I should entertain that shallow Alpha from the West who kept glancing my way, or if I’d get more leverage buttering up the council elder near the orchestra—when everything shifted.

The king rose from his throne.

The room fell into a silence so sharp it felt like the air itself held its breath. It was the kind of stillness that prey senses when a predator steps into the clearing. Every head turned, as if pulled by an invisible thread, toward the man who ruled over us all.

But it wasn’t his voice that sent the tremor through my chest—it was the name he spoke, the one he summoned to his side.

Cole Lucky.

Only... it wasn’t just Cole anymore.

The very atmosphere around him shifted, tightening like a storm about to break. The moment the king announced him as his son—his heir, the one destined to wear the crown—my lungs forgot how to work.

Cole Lucky wasn’t some common-born werewolf with a lucky name.

He was Prince Zane.

The Faceless Prince.

The myth cloaked in shadow, the ghost whispered about in stories and political nightmares.

My hand trembled around my wine glass, the crimson liquid tipping dangerously close to the rim. Forgotten.

Cole Lucky—the man who stole Natalie Cross from me.

And now?

The next king of all Lycans.

I went rigid, a blade of cold panic slicing clean down my spine. If Natalie had told him the truth—about what I’d done to her... what we did—then I was finished.

No.

Silverfang was finished.

Timothy leaned in close. His breath tickled my ear.

"You think he knows?"

My voice was a low snarl. "I know he does."

But what happened next... I didn’t see it coming.

Elder Maeron stepped forward like a man on a mission. Self-proclaimed guardian of ancient laws, the keeper of sacred traditions.

He didn’t kneel.

Didn’t bow.

Didn’t even flinch.

He challenged.

Right there, in full view of the king, the prince, the court, every alpha, every noble, every other supernatural guests.

Maeron’s voice struck through the silence like a sword drawn in moonlight.

"A wolf without a wolf is cursed by the Moon Goddess herself," he declared, each word ringing like a verdict. "And Prince Zane—your future king—has not only let such a creature near him... he marked her."

The impact was instant.

Gasps sliced the air.

Screams rippled like a wave crashing through the room.

The floor felt like it might crack beneath the weight of so much panic.

"He’ll bring ruin to the throne!"

"The kingdom is doomed!"

Fear flooded the hall. Thick. Pungent. intoxicating.

I breathed it in like perfume.

And Prince Zane?

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t even twitch.

He stood like a statue carved from storm and stone, but the fury bleeding off him came in waves. I saw it—his wolf—rising behind his eyes like a shadow trying to tear through skin. Caged. Straining. Hungry.

Beside me, Gabriella’s nails sank into my forearm. "Darius," she hissed, voice trembling, "don’t say anything. We shouldn’t be here. This place is getting dangerous for us."

But I just smiled, slow and cold.

"No, darling. This is exactly where I need to be."

Because Maeron wasn’t finished.

He turned. Eyes burning with righteous fury.

And then—he pointed.

At me.

"Ask Alpha Darius Blackthorn," Maeron thundered, voice echoing through the chaos. "Ask his Beta. Ask his pack. They knew Natalie Cross. They cast her out. They will confirm the curse."

Every eye turned to me.

Dozens of heads turned. Dozens of snarls rumbled in the air like a storm threatening to break.

And then the spotlight found me—hot and blinding, like a brand searing into my skin.

Timothy swore under his breath. "Shit."

Gabriella went ghost-pale beside me.

And me?

I laughed.

Softly at first. Just a breath of amusement under my breath. Like I already knew how this would end.

Then I set my wine glass down—slow, deliberate. The crystal clinked against the marble table like the opening note of a funeral march.

I took a breath.

Then stepped forward.

And just like that, the crowd split before me, moving back as if my very presence scorched them. Their whispers were like sparks flicking against my skin—sharp, eager, full of hunger. They whispered my name like it was a sword they wanted me to swing. And I would.

Oh, I would.

Because this was it.

The moment I’d waited for.

The moment I’d burn Zane from his pedestal.

The moment I’d drag Natalie down into the dirt where she belonged.

The moment I’d leave her with no one—no protection, no allies, no way out.

Except me.

I stepped up beside Elder Maeron, who was already wearing that smug little smirk like he thought he’d done something clever.

Let him have it.

The king stared down at me from his throne, still as ice. His eyes didn’t blink. His breath didn’t hitch. He just watched. Waiting.

"Alpha Darius Blackthorn," he said at last. "What do you have to say?"

I inhaled slow and deep. Then I smiled, calm and confident.

"Your Majesty," I said, voice smooth as silk. "Elder Maeron is right."

A ripple of disbelief moved through the crowd like a gust of wind across dry grass.

"She is cursed!"

"I knew it!"

"The prince marked a wolfless? That’s a crime!"

They were shouting now, voices rising, echoing off the marble and gold.

But I didn’t flinch. I stood tall, let them have their moment. Then I raised a hand.

And silence fell instantly.

"Natalie Cross," I said, louder now, letting her name echo, venom-laced and cold, "the woman the prince has claimed as his mate... was born without a wolf."

Gasps. Outrage. Raw disbelief.

But I wasn’t finished.

Far from it.

"I’m not done," I said, voice sharper now, slicing through their panic like a scalpel.

The room held its breath.

Still, Zane didn’t move.

"There’s more to this than you know," I continued, voice calm and precise. "Much more."

Gabriella’s eyes met mine across the room—wide, pleading, terrified. She was silently begging me to stop. But this wasn’t her story to end.

This was mine to tell.

I turned back to the crowd, letting each word strike with purpose.

"Natalie Cross wasn’t just born wolfless. She is the daughter of traitors. My former Beta, Evan Cross and his mate Isla Cross—Evan was a man who plotted to fracture Silverfang from the inside. He broke our laws, disrespected our ways, betrayed me. I showed him mercy."

Another lie. I’d shot him and his mate myself. But truth was malleable, and tonight, it bent to me.

"I gave his daughter a home. Despite everything. Despite what she was. I even marked her when she knelt and begged me to—because I thought she needed protection from the unmated wolves who saw her as nothing more than prey."

I let that linger. Let it sting.

"I believed she had potential. I believed she could belong. But the truth has a way of surfacing, doesn’t it? Ever since her wolfless state surfaced, Silverfang has suffered. Sickness spread. Wolves lost control. Families turned on each other. It was like a plague—like something wrong had rooted itself in our hearts."

Now the ballroom was silent. Hooked. Horrified.

"I did what any Alpha would do. I made the hard choice. I cast her out. Not out of cruelty—but out of duty. For the good of my pack. For the survival of our bloodline."

Finally, I turned to Zane.

His eyes were locked on mine now—burning with a fury so deep it could have set the palace on fire. His wolf was staring back at me through his skin, daring me to keep going.

So I did.

"She carries a curse, Your Highness," I said, voice low and lethal. "You think you’re saving her. But you’re not. She will be your undoing."

His fists clenched. The tension in the room snapped taut.

He would try to kill me for this.

Not now.

Not here.

But someday.

And when he did, it would be with eyes full of hatred and anger—and that would be enough for me.

Because tonight, I’d already won.

Every single eye in the room had turned toward Zane. And every single heart now carried a sliver of suspicion.

What if it was true?

I smiled, bowed low to the king, and stepped back beside Maeron.

And just like that, the ballroom didn’t feel like a court anymore.

It felt like a battlefield.

A war of whispers—and I’d just fired the first shot.