The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 348: Dreams and Royal Whims

Katrina~

"Get up, you worthless creature!"

The shout cracked like a whip, followed by the sickening thud of a fist connecting with flesh. I flinched in my dream, helpless, as a boy with horns stumbled forward. His twisted, shadowy antlers glistened like cursed thorns, catching the dim light of the dungeon walls. Chains clanged against the floor as he struggled to rise, only to be struck again, harder this ti. Blood sared across his cheek, his lips trembling with words he could barely force past the pain.

"Katrina... help ... please..."

The cry tore through like a blade. His glowing eyes—too human to belong to a monster, too broken to belong to a villain—locked onto mine. I reached out, desperate, my hand shaking as if sheer will could bridge the void between us. My fingertips touched only air. Cold, rciless air. And then—darkness.

I jolted awake, gasping, my pulse thundering like war drums in my chest. The sound of his voice still echoed in my skull, clinging to like smoke that refused to lift. My silk sheets twisted around my legs as though they too were trying to trap in that nightmare.

For a long mont, I just sat there, gripping the sheets, staring into the faint light spilling through the massive arched windows of my chamber. Dawn was coming, gilding the edges of the world in soft gold. But nothing about felt calm or rested. My body trembled, my skin damp with sweat, the echo of chains and cries lingering long after the dream had ended.

I pressed the heel of my hand to my temple, trying to steady my breath. These dreams weren’t new—they’d stalked since I was a child, always the sa boy, always the sa plea. Back then, I’d sob into my pillow, terrified. Now, at eighteen, I’d learned to bury it, to hide it beneath layers of royal composure and stubborn pride. Who would I even tell? Mom and Dad? My brother? They’d hover, try to protect , look at like I was fragile. I hated that look.

Better to lock it away. Pretend it didn’t matter.

I swung my legs out of bed, my bare feet sinking into the cool marble floor. My room was as breathtaking as ever, fit for a princess—which, inconveniently, I am one. The palace of the Golden City lood like a crown on the hill, all white stone veined with gold, overlooking the bustling world below. My chamber was my own goldplated cage: celestial murals sweeping across the walls, stars and moons painted in honor of Mom’s heritage, silks and jewels scattered about like I lived inside a fairytale.

I padded over to the vanity, catching sight of myself in the mirror’s ornate fra. Reddish-blonde hair spilled down my back in wild waves, untamable, defiant—just like . My blue eyes stared back, sharp, steady, daring the world to underestimate .

Katrina Zane Anderson-Moor. Daughter of Queen Natalie and King Zane. The Lycan King’s beloved princess. Half celestial, full Lycan, entirely too powerful for my own good.

The magic thrumd in even now, restless and alive. Light that could heal or scorch, prophecies whispering through my dreams, divine rage curled in my bones like a storm waiting to break. And then there was the wolf side—strength that made nearly invincible, instincts sharpened to a blade. I could teleport too, though my parents strictly forbade to try it unsupervised. After all, the last ti I’d attempted it alone, I’d landed in the kitchens instead of the gardens, covered in flour, scaring the cooks into dropping their trays.

I almost smiled at the mory—but then his voice echoed again in my mind, raw and desperate. "Help ."

I tightened my grip on the vanity until my hands whitened. Dreams weren’t supposed to feel this real. And yet, part of feared they weren’t dreams at all.

A soft knock at the door pulled from my thoughts. "Princess Katrina? Are you awake?" It was Eliza, my personal maid, her voice muffled but warm.

I grinned, calling out, "Co in, Eliza! And for the love of the stars, call Kat like everyone else does."

The door creaked open, and Eliza bustled in, her graying hair pinned neatly under a cap, carrying a tray laden with breakfast—fresh berries, honeyed toast, and a steaming cup of herbal tea. She set it down on the table by the window, her eyes twinkling with that mix of exasperation and affection I’d co to expect. "Oh, Your Highness—Kat—your grandfather would have my head if I didn’t use proper titles. But here, eat up. You’ve got classes at the Royal Academy today, and I hear Prince Alexander is drilling the guards this morning. Best not keep him waiting if you’re joining."

I laughed, plopping down and popping a berry into my mouth. "Alex can wait. He’s always so serious, like the weight of the crown is already crushing him. But I love him for it. He’s the best big brother—protective to a fault."

Eliza chuckled, straightening my bed. "Aye, he is. The whole family dotes on you, child. Your parents... well, they’re the heart of this kingdom."

She wasn’t wrong. Mom—Queen Natalie, the Celestial Princess— was my rock, with her ethereal grace and eyes that seed to see straight into your soul. She could heal with a touch, foresee glimpses of the future, and when she got angry? Divine rage that made the skies rumble. But with , she was all softness, braiding my hair while telling stories of her adventures before she beca queen. "Katrina, my star," she’d say, hugging tight, "you’re destined for greatness, but rember, power is a tool, not a crutch."

And Dad—King Zane, the mighty Lycan King—was my hero, all raw strength and fierce loyalty. As Night Alpha, he commanded packs with a single growl, but around , he lted. He’d scoop up even now, at eighteen, twirling like I was five. "My little wildfire," he’d rumble, his voice like thunder wrapped in butter. "You burn bright, but don’t singe yourself." He spoiled rotten—sneaking extra desserts, letting ride on his back in wolf form through the forests. And Grandpa—King Eritus Anderson Moor—was the ultimate enabler. Retired but still larger than life, he’d visit with pockets full of trinkets: enchanted jewels that glowed in the dark, rare books on forbidden magic. "For my favorite granddaughter," he’d wink, ignoring Alex’s mock protests. "You remind of your grandmother—feisty and unbreakable."

As I pulled on my academy uniform—a fitted midnight-blue tunic embroidered with the royal crest and slim pants that let move without tripping over layers of silk—Eliza’s voice filled the room like a bubbling stream.

"Your uncles are due for a visit soon," she chirped, adjusting the collar at my throat as if I couldn’t dress myself. "The gods themselves. Always bearing gifts—rember? Last ti uncle Bubble gave you that moonstone pendant that wards off nightmares."

My fingers instinctively brushed the pendant resting cool against my skin. Smooth, luminous, it glowed faintly under the morning light like it held a secret of its own. I wished it worked as promised—because the horned boy still found every night, chains rattling in the corners of my dreams.

Mom’s side of the family wasn’t just extraordinary, they were practically legends walking around like mare mortals. Uncle Jacob, the father of all werewolves, wielded every elent like it was second nature. His mate, Aunt Easter, had the gentlest soul, always offering quiet smiles that could soften even Dad’s sternest moods. Uncle Bubble commanded water, calm and steady until he wasn’t. Uncle Fox brought fire everywhere he went—literal fire, sotis burning curtains in his wake, though he swore it was "part of the show." Uncle Tiger carried the strength of earth in his hands, grounding everyone just by being there. And Uncle Eagle, quick and sharp as a storm wind, could vanish into the skies before you blinked.

They never arrived quietly. No, they swept into the palace like a storm of light and laughter, their presence bending the air itself. They told stories of distant realms, of battles fought under suns that weren’t ours, and of miracles hidden in the folds of the cosmos.

"Katrina, darling," Uncle Fox would always say, planting a kiss on my forehead while sliding so strange trinket into my palm. A vial of glowing elixir. A charm that humd when I touched it. "This will make your dreams sweeter."

If only he knew what haunted . The horned boy, the chains, the bruises. The desperate voice that never stopped calling my na.

Still, I loved them fiercely, because they loved that way first—loud, protective, overwhelming. And yet, beneath it all, I couldn’t shake the weight of their expectations, the rules they wrapped around as tightly as these uniforms. Loved, yes. But free? Not even close.

Because let’s be real—I was feisty. Impulsive. Always pushing boundaries. Like that ti I sneaked into the armory and "borrowed" Dad’s sword for a midnight duel with the guards. Or when I shifted into wolf form and chased the peacocks in the gardens, feathers flying everywhere. Mom would scold , her eyes flashing with that prophetic gleam—"Katrina, I know when you’re up to no good"—but Dad would just laugh, ruffling my hair. "She’s got spirit, Nat. Like her old man."

And then there was Nicholas. My best friend, my partner in cri. Son of Sebastian, the Vampire Lord, and Cassandra, the werewolf warrior who’d once slayed vampires for sport. Nick was a hybrid like —vampire speed and charm mixed with werewolf strength and regen. Brooding, cocky, with black hair that fell into his dark eyes just like his dad’s. We’d been thick as thieves since we were toddlers, thanks to our fathers’ unbreakable friendship. At the Royal Academy, we were infamous—skipping lectures to race through the city, pulling pranks on stuffy professors.

I mind-linked him as I headed down the grand staircase, the palace alive with servants bustling about. "Hey, bloodsucker. Ready for another boring day of history lessons?"

His response ca instantly, laced with that magnetic smirk I could practically hear. "Only if you promise to liven it up, wolf-girl. Rember last week when we swapped the potions in alchemy class? The look on Professor Thorne’s face when everything turned pink..."

I stifled a giggle as I entered the breakfast hall, where Alex was already seated, his broad shoulders tense as he pored over maps. He looked up, his eyes—mirroring Dad’s—softening. "Morning, little sis. Sleep well?"

"Like a rock," I lied, sliding into the seat beside him. Mom and Dad were there too, Mom’s hand on Dad’s arm, their love a palpable force that made the room warr.

"Katrina," Mom said, her voice lodic, "eat properly. And no teleporting to class today. Walk like a normal person."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Mom, you’re such a worrywart. I can handle it."

Dad chuckled. "Let her be, Nat. She’s got your fire."

Alex ruffled my hair. "Just don’t get into trouble without . I love you, squirt, but I can’t bail you out every ti."

The servants hovered, refilling glasses with fond smiles. Maria, the head cook, whispered as she passed, "You two rascals—Katrina and that Nicholas—give us gray hairs, but we’d be lost without your laughter."

After breakfast, Nick t at the academy gates, his lean fra lounging against a pillar. "So, about tonight," he said, falling into step beside , his voice low and thrilling. "There’s this vampire party in the undercity. Exclusive, wild. But your parents..."

"Won’t know," I whispered back, excitent bubbling. "They’d never let go. Mom always knows everything."

He grinned, fangs peeking. "Then how?"

"Mind link later. I’ve got a plan."

To be continued...