The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 209: A Piece of Advice

Zane~

The ballroom felt like a ticking bomb wrapped in velvet and gold—elegant on the outside but ready to explode. Tension clung to the room like hot air, thick and suffocating. I could practically taste it on my tongue—sharp, metallic, like storm-charged air right before lightning strikes.

Red stirred restlessly in the back of my mind, pacing like he was one second away from breaking free. "This is taking too long," he growled, voice low and bristling. "I want to see Natalie, Zane. Now."

"I know," I thought back, jaw tight. "I do too. Just hold on."

My arms were folded neatly behind my back, chin tilted with practiced ease. On the outside, I was calm—stone, steel, unreadable. But inside? My pulse was pounding.

Across the room, Sebastian caught my eye. That infuriating grin tugged at his mouth—mischief personified. His eyebrows danced up and down, the universal language of "You’re gonna crack. I know it."

I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.

"Seb," I warned through the mind-link, barely keeping my expression neutral. "Stop that. I have to look serious right now."

"You look like a pressure cooker about to blow." he shot back, smug. "Loosen up."

I would’ve rolled my eyes if the moment wasn’t so serious.

My father’s voice echoed through the chamber, sharp and commanding as always.

"Owen Blackthorn... and Michael Blackthorn. Step forward."

A hush fell over the crowd like a curtain. Whispers rippled through the room as heads turned toward the tall elegant Seer Owen Blackthorn and his arrogant son, Michael Blackthorn.

The kingdom’s most revered Seer. The man who had guided generations of royals, whose visions were sacred—never wrong. And Michael, the man who once stood in front of my father and I and claimed to be the fated mate of Natalie’s mother. I watched them push through the crowd slowly, eyes wide with apprehension.

Owen’s hands trembled slightly as he bowed before my father. "Your Majesty."

My father stared down at him like a glacier waiting to crack. "Owen Blackthorn," he began, voice a calm storm, "you told me that if I revealed my son—my heir—to the world, both he and I would be murdered on the spot by unknown men."

Gasps shot through the crowd like sparks. I heard someone say in a broken whisper, "But they’re still alive. Oh my goddess, he lied?"

"And," my father continued, stepping down from the dais with deliberate weight, "you told me that the woman with my son, Natalie Cross, had no wolf. Because of that, you said she would bring destruction to Zane... and to the entire kingdom."

All eyes were locked on Owen. Even the chandeliers above seemed to lean closer.

"Why, Owen?" the king demanded. "Why would you lie to me? You, of all people."

Owen’s lips trembled. "Your Majesty..." He all of a sudden looked older than I had ever seen him, sunken and pale. "I—I saw wrong. I believed what I saw, but the visions were twisted. Foggy. I didn’t mean to deceive you."

Red snarled in my mind. "He’s lying. Or at least... not telling the whole truth."

"I never thought it would come to this," Owen went on, voice hoarse. "I thought I was protecting the crown. I was... afraid."

My father studied him for a long moment. You could feel the weight of his decision building in the silence. Then, finally, he spoke.

"I am deeply disappointed in you, Owen Blackthorn," my father said. "You allowed fear to taint your gift."

Owen’s eyes shimmered. "I understand, my king."

"As punishment," my father announced, "you are hereby suspended from your duties as the kingdom’s Seer—for one year. Let that time be used for reflection. Perhaps, by then, you will find clarity again."

The crowd murmured. Relief. Shock. Agreement.

Owen dropped to one knee. "Thank you, Your Majesty... for your mercy."

My father turned to Michael Blackthorn, who had stood there in near silence, his posture rigid but respectful.

"I have no quarrel with you, Michael," my father said. "But I do have something to say. Consider it... guidance."

Michael straightened. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"You came to me, claimed to have loved Princess Katrina," my father said, his tone sharpening. "You claimed to have searched far and wide for her after her disappearance. And yet..." My father paused, allowing the tension to build like the beat before thunder.

"In her diary—retrieved from the Silverfang pack—we discovered something else entirely."

Michael’s brows pulled together. "What?"

"You rejected her," my father said coldly. "The moment you found out she was your fated mate. You rejected her for being... weak."

The crowd let out a collective gasp. Princess Fiona—Katrina’s mother—dropped her wine glass—it shattered like the illusion of Michael’s devotion.

Michael’s face turned gray. "I... I didn’t—"

"You did," the king cut in. "And because of that rejection, Katrina fled. Alone. Scared. Broken. And do you know what you cost yourself?"

Michael shook his head, his voice cracking. "I...I..."

My father stepped closer. "You would have been the father to the celestial princess."

It hit the room like lightning.

"The child she later carried for her chosen mate, Evan," my father said, "is the daughter of the Moon Goddess herself. A child born once every two thousand years. You could have stood beside her, become the father of that child... but you let pride blind you."

I watched Michael close his eyes, swallowing his pain.

"I was a fool," he whispered. "I was young, arrogant. I thought strength meant coldness. I didn’t... I didn’t see her worth until it was too late."

Red smirked in my head, "He lost everything... because he thought she wasn’t strong enough. I’m glad he was a jerk. Imagine that guy as our father-in-law?"

I shivered at the thought. "The fool passed his genes to his son and that worked out well for us. "

My father faced the crowd now, his voice booming with the force of centuries.

"Let this serve as a lesson to all of you. It doesn’t matter who the Moon Goddess chooses for you. If you reject your fated mate, you reject a part of yourself. A piece that was handpicked by the divine. That loss will haunt you. One way or another."

There was no applause. No sound at all. Just the echo of truth ringing in everyone’s ears.

Michael bowed deeply. "Thank you... for your honesty. I will carry this lesson with me."

My father gave a final nod. "You may go."

Both Blackthorns stepped back into the crowd, shadows of their former selves. A moment passed. Then my father faced the crowd.

"My people," he said, lifting his arms slightly. "Forgive the chaos of tonight. The deceit. The revelations. I had to bring the truth to light before we could proceed with what truly matters."

He turned to me then, his eyes—so much like mine—full of pride.

"Let the crowning of Prince Zane Anderson Moor... commence."