The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 197: Curses and the Crown

Zane~

They looked at like I was the disease.

One mont I was standing beside my father, the King of Lycans, beneath the vaulted obsidian arch of the royal throne room—every eye, every breath hanging on like I was so ancient secret finally revealed.

And then Elder Maeron Voss raised his hand.

It was slow, deliberate. His eyes burned with a cold fire, and that single gesture sliced through the awe and celebration like a guillotine’s drop.

The room went deathly silent. Even the walls around us seed to hold their breath.

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

It landed like a blow.

Gasps echoed off marble and stone. I watched a woman in an erald gown drop her goblet; it shattered like a scream against the floor. Sowhere, a noble stumbled back and clutched his mate’s arm.

I had known. I had known not everyone would cheer for . I expected disdain from so, resistance from others. Every prince does. But not like this. This? This was blatant. This was an execution in front of wolves.

Even Red went still. He didn’t growl. He didn’t whisper in my mind. He just... listened.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd like tremors. A few nobles turned their heads slowly toward . So with widened eyes. Others with curiosity. But the worst were the ones who smirked like they had been waiting for this.

My father, rose from his throne with a fire I hadn’t seen in years. His silver crown caught the chandelier’s light like a star.

"How dare you?" His voice bood, shaking through the very foundation of the palace. "How dare you, Maeron, question the worth of my son—my only surviving child—in front of my court?"

Maeron didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. His broken leg trembled slightly as he leaned harder on his staff, but his expression remained like steel.

My father stepped forward, eyes blazing. "Speak now, Elder Maeron. What foul treason forces your tongue to betray your king?"

Maeron bowed his head, but it wasn’t submission. It was the kind of bow wolves gave before they pounced.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," he said, bowing his head just enough to avoid execution. "I an no disrespect to Prince Zane. I have no quarrel with him... but I speak now as one of the Elder Circle. My concerns are not born from rumors. They are born from what I have seen... heard... and slt."

The last word curled like a claw around my spine.

He slt?

My father narrowed his eyes and took a slow step down from the throne. "Then speak plainly, Maeron. If you have sothing to say, say it now before I have you thrown out on your insolence, limping arse."

Whispers fluttered through the room. A woman in violet stifled a laugh behind her fan. A duke to my right coughed awkwardly.

Maeron stood taller. "Prince Zane—known to many of us as Cole Lucky—is renowned across the supernatural world. His innovations have benefited vampires, werewolves, witches, even humans. He is brilliant, strategic, capable... and admired."

He paused, turning his eyes to the crowd like a dramatist waiting for his next act.

"But," Maeron continued, "during the ti Cole Lucky first stepped into this palace, when he was appointed as the King’s personal advisor, the Elders deed it necessary to investigate him—discreetly. We wanted to understand the man behind the myth, the man the king saw fit as a personal advisor. And while we found integrity, intelligence, and a sharp mind... we also found a flaw."

You could feel it—the collective inhale of the room. Nobles and commoners alike, leaned in, eyes glittering with intrigue. Hungry for scandal.

My father’s voice cracked through the stillness. "What flaw?"

Maeron let the silence stew, then dropped the match.

"Prince Zane has taken a new mate. Her na is Natalie Cross."

A low murmur started in the left wing of the ballroom and spread like fire. Everyone began exchanging glances. One woman turned toward her husband and whispered loud enough for to catch, "Finally, sothing juicy."

I kept my jaw tight, my arms behind my back. I felt nothing. Or at least I told myself I didn’t. Because the mont Maeron said her na, I wanted to shift. I wanted to rip him apart.

But I didn’t.

"She is not his fated mate," Maeron continued. "That was Emma Lucky. May the Goddess rest her soul. Natalie Cross... is a replacent."

"She’s not," I said quietly, but firmly.

Maeron kept going. "Do you know what else she is?"

The crowd held their breath. I knew what was coming. I saw it in his eyes. That ugly twist of prejudice cloaked in tradition.

"She is a wolfless werewolf."

The room exploded.

Gasps. Screams. A few people actually stumbled back from where they stood, retreating as if I carried the curse myself. One woman—Lady Isadora, I think—clutched her necklace like I’d drawn a blade. And another, the Duke of Ravemoor, actually took two steps back from the podium like Natalie was going to leap out from behind and bite him.

"Oh my goddess—he’s mated a cursed one."

"A wolfless? Really?"

"I heard they bring death. Ruin entire bloodlines!"

"She’s been marked?!"

"I can’t believe this—"

I smiled. Not a warm one. A cold, entertained sort of smile. I even shook my head slightly, amused by their ignorance. Still, I said nothing. Let them choke on their gossip.

My father’s voice dropped to a dangerous tone. "And what of it?" he said, his tone laced with fury. "What problem do you have with the woman my son loves?"

"Every problem, Your Majesty," Maeron replied and then stepped closer to the center of the ballroom. "You all know the old ways. A wolf without a wolf is one who has been cursed by the Moon Goddess herself. They are not just unworthy... they bring unworthiness. Misfortune. Sickness. Madness. Death."

His eyes locked on mine. "And Prince Zane—your future king—not only allowed her near him... he marked her as his mate."

The room erupted.

No longer whispers, but shouting. Chaos. Desperation.

"He’ll curse the throne!"

"The kingdom will fall!"

"We won’t bow to a cursed king!"

Red growled in my chest. My hands clenched into fists, but I didn’t move. I just stood there, jaw tight, face unreadable.

Let them scream.

Let them claw.

They didn’t know what Natalie had survived. They didn’t know that while they sipped expensive wine from jeweled goblets and danced beneath chandeliers, Natalie had been fighting to breathe in alleys and shelters. That she had been banished, broken, and still sohow—sohow—she had beco stronger than all of them.

She had transford to not just a full werewolf but a goddess of light, prosperity and love. And she had chosen to always be by her side.

My father didn’t shout this ti.

He didn’t need to.

He slowly sat back on the throne, and the entire room stilled.

His presence—regal, commanding, final—wrapped itself around the chaos like a steel cord.

He spoke softly. "Natalie Cross is not wolfless. She is not cursed. She has a wolf. A powerful one. And Zane is not dood. He is blessed. I don’t expect any of you to understand, because none of you have ever had to live a life with real loss, real pain, or real sacrifice. My son has. And still, he rises. That is the kind of king you need."

The room paused. For a heartbeat, I thought it was over.

Until Maeron stepped forward again.

"If I may, Your Majesty," he said.

My father didn’t answer.

Maeron went on anyway.

"I do not accuse the prince without evidence. I do not enjoy making enemies of kings or princes but I speak the truth. If any of you doubt my claims, I encourage you to ask the Silverfang Pack." He turned sharply and pointed with his staff.

Straight at him.

Darius Blackthorn.

The bastard who murdered Natalie’s parents. The one who branded her. Banished her. Hunted her.

He stood near the side of the ballroom, arms crossed, a crooked smile on his lips, as if he’d been waiting for his cue.

Maeron’s voice rang louder now. "Ask Alpha Darius Blackthorn. Ask his Beta, his enforcers, his pack. They knew Natalie Cross. You may think the curse isn’t real, but those who lived through her presence will say otherwise. They were the ones who cast Natalie Cross out. They can confirm her curse. The Silverfang Pack exiled her for being what she is. And now you wish to place a cursed prince—bound to a cursed woman—on the throne?"

The room erupted.

A wave of shouts, screams, gasps, and panic surged toward us. People backing away again. So yelling for the crown to pass to soone else. Accusations of favoritism. Of deception. Of betrayal.

I stood still.

I didn’t look away from Darius.

And he didn’t look away from .

Let the wolves howl.

I wasn’t backing down.