The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 308: Moonlight and Mothers

Natalie~

The morning sun poured into the royal suite in lazy ribbons of gold, dancing across the marble floor like it had nowhere else to be. Everything was quiet—almost sacred—the kind of silence that belongs to early mornings and people still tangled in dreams.

Zane lay there, half-covered in silk sheets, bare-chested and utterly unaware of how dangerously beautiful he looked. Even asleep, there was this quiet power in him, like a lion resting with one eye open. His face, usually guarded and stoic, had softened. Long lashes made shadows on high cheekbones, and his brow had finally relaxed from the weight of the world.

One arm was stretched across the spot where I’d been lying, fingers curled slightly, like his body still thought I was there.

I hated leaving the warmth, but I slipped out of bed anyway—carefully. The silk sheets whispered against my skin as I sat up, stretching slightly, stealing one more look at Zane’s sleeping face.

Bzzzt.

I flinched. Of course. The intercom. Royal mornings had no respect for romance.

I lunged across the bed to hit the receiver before it buzzed again and woke Zane—or worse, Alexander. "Yes?" I whispered into the speaker, half-daring them to answer.

The floodgates opened.

"Your Highness! It’s ti! Final dress fitting, crown posture rehearsals, hair treatnts, fragrance trials, bowing angles—"

I groaned into my hand. "It’s not even sunrise."

"But you’re getting married tomorrow!" one of my handmaidens practically squealed like she was the one walking down the aisle.

Oh. Right. That.

I turned back to look at Zane, still dead to the world. He looked too peaceful to disturb. So instead, I leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Sleep, my grumpy prince," I whispered, "You’ll need all the energy you can hoard for today’s circus."

A tiny rustle ca from the other side of the bed.

Under a nest of smaller blankets, a lump stirred. Then—out popped a sleepy mop of curls and a squinting pair of stormy eyes. Alexander. My little firecracker. All ten years of sass, sweetness, and stubbornness rolled into one.

He grunted and curled tighter, thumb hovering near his mouth before he caught himself and shoved it away like it had betrayed him.

I padded over and knelt beside him. "Co on, little dragon," I whispered, sliding my arms beneath him, "Ti to rise and shine, royal style."

He sighed dramatically but didn’t protest. His cheek settled on my shoulder as I scooped him up, his small fingers grabbing onto my nightgown like he used to when he was younger.

The doors closed behind us with a soft click, sealing Zane inside his dreams while I carried our boy into the day.

I’d insisted on prepping Alex myself this morning. No stylists. No royal aides. No handmaidens. Just . Monts like this were sacred—and I wasn’t giving them up.

In the vanity room, I sat him on the plush stool and grabbed a cloth soaked in warm water.

"Mommy, Natalie—it’s cold," he muttered with a squirm.

"It’s warm, you overdramatic gremlin," I said, gently scrubbing his cheeks.

He cracked one eye open. "You like washing . You always smile when you do."

I grinned. "Busted. I do."

"I knew it," he mumbled like a tiny detective and yawned, leaning into my touch.

Once he was clean, I helped him into his new uniform—navy blue with golden trim, the Royal Academy’s crest stitched just over his heart. It was strange seeing him like that. Gone were the soft sweaters and carefree shoes of Paris. Now he looked like—well, royalty. A prince. Zane’s son.

His little shoulders tensed slightly as he looked at his reflection.

"You nervous?" I asked, smoothing down the stiff collar.

He nodded slowly. "Will they know who I am?"

I crouched to et his eyes. "You an, will they know you’re Zane’s son?"

He hesitated, then nodded again.

"Oh, sweetheart," I chuckled softly. "You’ve got his eyes though different color, his resting warrior face, and that ridiculously confident walk like you own the hallways before you even enter them. Trust —they’ll know."

He gave a little smirk. "Good. Then they won’t ss with ."

"Oh, they’ll try," I said with a wink. "But if they do?"

He puffed out his chest. "I’ll tell them my mom’s scarier than my dad."

I laughed. "Smart boy. You’ll do just fine."

He looked down at the crest again. "Do you think the other kids will like ?"

I paused. "So will. So won’t. But that’s okay. You’re not going there to be liked by everyone. You’re going to learn, to grow, and to figure out the kind of prince you want to be."

He looked thoughtful, then asked, "Why can’t I continue attending the school in Paris?"

I softened. "Because the king asked Daddy if it was ti for you to start mingling with the royal families. To be around others like you. Paris was wonderful, but now you’re stepping into sothing bigger. It’s not a punishnt, Alex. It’s a beginning. Besides, today’s just for the formalities. No school tomorrow, or even next week—so just get through today, alright? Who knows? You might even end up liking the school."

He nodded, still chewing on the idea. "Will there be sword fighting?"

"Probably."

"Archery?"

"Definitely."

"Flying chariots?"

I raised a brow. "Now you’re just making stuff up."

He grinned. "But maybe?"

"Maybe," I said, kissing his temple. "Anything’s possible at the Royal Academy."

Just then, a knock echoed down the corridor. Roland. Always prompt. Always polished.

Alex grabbed his satchel, adjusted his collar like a pro, and marched toward the door.

"Wait!" I said, grabbing his arm.

He turned, and I fixed his hair one last ti. "There. Now you’re ready."

He nodded. "I love you."

I knelt to his height again and hugged him tight. "I love you more, little dragon."

He climbed into the royal limousine then waved at from the window like a miniature royal, grinning from ear to ear.

As soon as the car disappeared around the bend, I sighed.

And that’s when they descended.

The handmaidens were like cheerful vultures. Before I could even breathe, they whisked away—corsets, silk, lace, feathers, divine-slling oils, and a royal instructor who had the posture of a statue and the kindness of a whip.

Her na was Madam Fiora. And she was terrifying.

"No slouching, Your Highness."

"I’m not slouching."

"You are folding like a bread roll."

"I AM the bread roll."

She raised a perfectly sculpted brow. "Unacceptable. Again."

Hours passed. They had balancing books, gliding across the marble halls like so kind of celestial duck, and curtsying with elegance I didn’t know existed. My back ached. My legs scread. My patience was actively threatening to quit. This was the part I absolutely hated in every lifeti and apparently, I never learn no matter how many tis I went through this.

By the ti we reached my tenth dress fitting, I wanted to throw myself off the balcony.

"Okay, no offense to anyone here," I groaned, stepping out of yet another mountain of tulle, "but if I have to be sewn into one more sparkly cocoon, I’m becoming a nudist."

"You’d still look hot," ca Cassandra’s dry voice from behind .

I turned to see her leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She wore leather pants—again—and a scowl that read I’m only here because I respect you.

"Cass!" I cried. "You ca to rescue !"

"Don’t flatter yourself. I ca for the wine."

"And ," a soft voice added.

I blinked as Easter stepped in behind her, her cheeks pink and her lavender dress looking very elegant. In her arms, she cradled her newborn while Rose peeked in from the hallway, chased by a giggling handmaiden.

"Easter," I said, smiling warmly. "I wasn’t expecting any of you."

"I thought I’d help," she said shyly, brushing a curl from her face. "Cassandra said you were drowning in lace."

"More like suffocating," I muttered.

They joined as the seamstress brought out another dress option. Cassandra rolled her eyes, but Easter sat quietly, rocking the baby, offering quiet suggestions.

That’s when I noticed it.

A faint flush on Easter’s neck. Her scent was changing, subtly—but it was there. That rising heat in the air.

Her first shift. Her first heat.

I winced, watching her gently sway the newborn, completely unaware.

"Poor girl," I murmured under my breath.

"What?" Cassandra asked.

"She doesn’t know," I whispered. "Her heat’s coming. And she has a baby to care for. That’s gonna be brutal."

Cass’ face softened. "We’ll help her. She’s family now."

I nodded. Family. A word I hadn’t been able to use in years without flinching.

The rest of the day was a blur of more drills, more dresses that Jasmine wanted more than anything to rip into pieces, more no-you-can’t-see-prince-Zane-because-it’s-bad-luck. According to ancient royal laws—ones I’d very much like to shove off a cliff—I wasn’t allowed to even speak to Zane until tomorrow.

It felt like a lifeti.

By nightfall, I was drained. Absolutely, bone-deep exhausted.

That’s how I found myself barefoot in my private chamber, curled up with Cassandra and Easter, our legs sprawled over pillows, our hair a ss, gowns unbuttoned halfway. The windows were open, letting in the moonlight and the soft nightti breeze.

"I swear," Cassandra muttered, popping a grape into her mouth, "if one more person asks if I’m wearing a gown tomorrow, I’m showing up in full body armor."

Easter giggled sleepily. "That would be... dramatic."

"Exactly."

I was about to chi in with so snarky quip of my own when the air shifted.

Everything fell still.

The room darkened—not in shadow, but as if the light itself had bowed.

The wind outside stilled. The fla of the scented candle didn’t flicker. Ti itself held its breath.

And then—

She appeared.

Not from the shadows. Not from a doorway.

But from light.

A soft, radiant burst blood in the heart of the chamber, like the stars themselves had opened a path.

A woman stepped through.

But not just any woman.

Tall. Ethereal. Wrapped in an aura of moonlight so pure it felt sacred. Her silver hair shimred like liquid light, cascading down her back. Her eyes—stars. Whole galaxies swirled in them.

I forgot how to breathe.

The Moon Goddess.

My mother.

And beside her... another figure erged.

Softer. Warr. Mortal.

Familiar.

With gentle eyes that watered the mont they t mine. A smile tugging at trembling lips.

"...Mom?" The word cracked from my throat as I staggered to my feet.

Princess Katrina.

My mortal mother.

I gasped.