The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 436: Happy Times

Vincent/Vaelthor /Star~

A month had slipped through my fingers since that night in the forest—the night everything changed. Rayma, my grandfather, my adopted father, the ancient creator himself, had looked between Katrina and and declared our mate bond pure. Untouched. Unquestionable.

Soul-born, not blood-born.

The words still curled through my chest like a warm shadow, steady and reassuring. No more side glances. No more ancient taboos tightening like invisible chains around our throats. Katrina and I were free.

We'd returned to the grand palace soon after, its towering spires of marble and gold stabbing defiantly at the darkening sky. The place felt different now. Lighter. The halls that once whispered suspicion behind our backs now rang with laughter, open voices, and the scrape of boots that didn't stop when we entered a room. Winter and I—once half-acknowledged, half-feared—were finally family.

Dad Zane, the Lycan King himself, made sure I knew it. He had the kind of presence that filled a space before he even spoke, all iron muscle and sharp eyes. He clapped on the back more than once—hard enough to rattle my bones—and growled, "You're one of us now, boy. Don't make regret it."

Which, coming from him, was basically a hug.

Not everything was perfect. My mind was still a maze wrapped in fog. Whatever had happened to before—whatever broke enough to steal chunks of my past—refused to fully surface. mories ca in fragnts, like shards drifting just out of reach. No one pushed. Katrina especially.

At night, she'd curl against , her reddish-blonde hair spilling over my chest like autumn fire, her blue eyes soft but unafraid of the darkness in mine. "It'll co back when it's ready, Vincent," she'd whisper, fingers laced through mine. "We're making new mories now."

She was right. Every day brought sothing back—small but sharp. A flash of shadow obeying my call. The bitter sting of betrayal when I thought of my uncle Krelth. The instinctive certainty that Winter had always been my anchor.

My sister would corner in the palace gardens sotis, beneath moonlit arches and whispering leaves. There was still ice in her smile, still that quiet, coiled vengeance she hadn't fully let go of.

"Rember when we were kids, Vaelthor?" she'd ask, using my true demon na like a key against the lock in my mind. "Back in the demon realm—before Uncle turned everything into hell. We'd sneak into the forbidden caverns and weave nightmares just to scare the lesser imps."

I'd close my eyes, feeling the echo of it.

"You always had my back," she continued softly. "Even when the world wanted us dead."

"I rember pieces," I'd admit. "The way you dream-walked into my sleep… chased away the things Krelth sent after ." I t her gaze. "We were all we had, Sylthara."

Her laugh—rare and lodic—broke through the frost she wore like armor.

"And now look at us," she said, amused. "Mated to the enemy." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Though Nicholas isn't so terrible, is he?"

Nicholas Sebastian Lawrence—brooding, infuriating, and annoyingly competent. Black hair perpetually a ss, dark eyes always dancing with cocky amusent. The rare vampire-werewolf hybrid had sohow gone from potential problem to unexpected ally.

As heirs to dangerous legacies—him born of fang and claw, forged in shadow—we'd gravitated toward each other naturally. Sparring sessions in the palace courtyard beca routine. Brutal. Loud. Entertaining.

"You're slow for a demon, Shadowborn," he'd taunt, slipping past my shadow tendrils with vampire speed.

"And you talk too much for soone who bleeds so easily," I'd shoot back, twisting fear into an illusion just sharp enough to make him flinch.

Banter aside, there was respect there. Real respect. Our mates—Katrina and Winter—had shoved us into each other's orbit, and sohow… it worked.

For the first ti in longer than I could rember, the future didn't feel like sothing waiting to devour .

It felt like sothing I could finally stand in.

Rayma's visits were the highlight of everyday. The ancient being, neither light nor dark but everything in between, would appear in the throne room or the private chambers, his form shimring with neutrality before cooling into human form. He still called "Star," a na that tugged at so deep, happy cord in my heart. As Queen Natalie's grandfather and Winter and mine through Shadow, his presence brought an aura of peace that seeped into the stones themselves. Flowers blood brighter in the gardens, disputes dissolved like mist, and even the kingdom's prosperity seed to swell—crops yielding more, alliances strengthening. "Star," he'd say, his rainbow eyes twinkling, "how fares the light in your shadows?"

"Brighter every day, Dad," I'd reply, the title feeling wonderful and sweet on my tongue. Katrina adored him, her celestial magic flaring in harmonious response to his essence. "Grandpa, you've given us everything," she'd tell him, hugging the ethereal figure who sohow felt solid and warm.

Even my father—Shadow himself—had been freed.

The main gods, Sun and Selena, Rayma's other children, had torn open his eternal prison and pulled him back into the world. Their brilliance—pure, blinding, unyielding—had tempered his darkness just enough to keep it from swallowing everything around him. Not redeed. Not forgiven. Contained. They'd placed him in Rayma's care like a dangerous relic that still mattered, and Rayma, ancient and patient as the universe, had agreed to watch over him.

For a month, Shadow behaved.

That alone felt like a miracle.

He lived in Rayma's valley, where the air shimred with old magic and the mountains listened more than they spoke. His form remained what it had always been—a living void, inky tendrils coiling and uncoiling as if unsure whether to reach out or retreat. Fatherhood did not co easily to a being made of storms and silence. Every attempt at connection felt… strained. Like thunder trying to apologize.

Whenever Winter and I visited the valley, he would appear at a distance at first, as if afraid to stand too close. And during those rare monts when he did speak, his voice rumbled low and fractured.

"Vaelthor" he'd say, the na heavy in his mouth. The sound always caught, thick with sothing dangerously close to grief. "I… regret the distance. My actions—what led to my imprisonnt—stole too much. From you. From Sylthara."

He never cried. I don't think he knew how. But the silence afterward said enough.

I'd pause then, ambition stirring uneasily against caution. This was Shadow—destroyer, exile, my father. Not a storybook reconciliation waiting to happen. Still…

"It's a start," I'd tell him carefully. "Sylthara and I—we survived without you. We had to." I t the shifting darkness that passed for his gaze. "But maybe… we can build sothing now."

The tendrils around him would still, just for a mont. He'd nod once, slow and deliberate, like the movent itself cost him effort.

"Perhaps," he'd reply.

And for a being born of endless night, that single word felt dangerously close to hope.

Life flowed smoothly, a river of contentnt I never thought possible. Katrina and I stole monts in the palace's hidden alcoves, her healing touch nding any lingering doubts, my shadows dancing protectively around us. "I love you, Vincent," she'd murmur, her impulsive fire igniting passion that made my demonic strength feel invincible. "No more hiding."

"No more," I'd echo, pulling her close, our bond thrumming like a living entity.

Nicholas and Winter mirrored us—his magnetic charm drawing out her secret longing for peace, her nightmare weaving turning into shared dreams. "You're thawing , Nick," she'd tease, elbowing him playfully.

"And you're igniting , Win," he'd grin back, fangs flashing.

To be continued...