The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 126: The Palace Life

Zane~

The walls of the palace were too clean. Too polished. Too... sterile. Like a glass coffin lined in gold, all luxury and no life. It had only been four days since I arrived, but each minute stretched like a taut string, threatening to snap. The hallways echoed my steps too loudly, the stares burned into my back, and the silence screamed louder than any roar.

I was used to boardrooms, private jets, and sharp suits. Not ceremonial robes, long corridors that smelled of polished mahogany, and guards who looked at me like I’d crawled out of the sewer. They didn’t see Zane Anderson Moor, heir to the throne. They saw Cole Lucky—the billionaire CEO who had no business walking the king’s halls. And those who didn’t know me as either? They saw a stranger. A nobody. A threat.

Even the guards murmured when they thought I couldn’t hear. "Why him?" "Who is that?" "He doesn’t even bow to the king." I wanted to punch a few of them. Red wanted to tear a few apart.

"Let me out. Just for five minutes," Red growled in my mind more than once.

"You’ll rip someone’s face off."

"Exactly."

"Not helpful, Red."

The king, my father—though I was still adjusting to using the word—was no help. He made things worse.

"Zane," he said on my second day, while I was trying to disappear behind a column, "you’ll accompany me to every meeting from now on."

I blinked at him. "Why?"

He looked at me like I’d asked why the sun rose. "Because you’re my son."

I folded my arms. "That didn’t stop you from ignoring me for nineteen years."

That earned a twitch of the king’s lip. Not quite a smile, but close. "That ends now."

And just like that, I became his shadow.

Every meeting. Every strategic discussion. Every ridiculous council squabble.

The cabinet was no less confused than the guards.

"Your Majesty," one of them—a stringy man named Hollis with a voice like chalkboard scratching—asked on day three, "who exactly is this man?"

The king took a sip of his tea like he was waiting for that question. "He’s my new advisor."

I straightened, surprised. He hadn’t told me that.

"Temporarily," he added, without even glancing at me.

I scowled. Thanks for the clarity.

"You’re his advisor now," Red snorted. "Does that come with dental benefits?"

But that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, the worst came when I told my father—politely—that perhaps it wasn’t the best time to hold a royal ball.

"You want to throw a party?" I asked, raising a brow. "While someone’s plotting to kill you?"

His response?

"I might die any day. Which is exactly why I want to announce you to the world. Before someone stabs me in my sleep."

"Comforting," I muttered.

He leaned back on his throne and gave me the calmest smile. "This kingdom needs to know who their prince is."

"And what if they don’t accept me?" I asked. "What if they don’t want me?"

My father looked me square in the eye. "They will. We have Mist, and very soon, the celestial princess."

That was the end of it.

So I stayed. I endured. I played advisor to a king I barely knew. I nodded through nonsense and helped draft plans for a ball that made me want to flee into the mountains.

And the people?

The people came.

Werewolves from every stretch of the kingdom filed into the palace to speak with the king. Some were desperate, some angry, and a few... well, a few were downright bizarre.

I sat next to the king on the third morning, already tired, sipping a lukewarm cup of spiced wolfbane tea, when the first case was presented.

A graying woman limped forward, dragging behind her a full-grown sheep—alive, bleating, and confused.

"Your Majesty," she said with a dramatic curtsy, "my neighbor keeps using dark magic to shrink my livestock."

I blinked. "I... what?"

My father remained calm. "Have you seen this magic performed?"

"No, but look!" She held up a tiny chicken no bigger than a plum.

"That’s the most pathetic chicken I’ve ever seen," Red muttered. "Even I wouldn’t eat that."

I was simply dumbfounded.

The next case was worse.

A tall man with wild eyes claimed his mate had been stolen by a tree spirit and now only responded to birdsong.

"I tried barking like a wolf to bring her back," he said, "but she just threw rocks at me."

My father nodded solemnly. "Have you considered speaking to the seers?"

"Your Majesty," I whispered, "this can’t be real."

"Oh, it’s real," he said, entirely too amused. "Welcome to ruling a kingdom."

Red was howling with laughter inside my head.

"King of the bird-possessed and chicken-cursed," he said between chuckles. "That’ll look great on a banner."

But not all cases were ridiculous.

A young woman came in with bruises on her arms, begging the king to help her escape her abusive mate. A father begged for justice for his murdered son. A scout reported strange movement along the eastern border.

That sobered me.

The people needed a king. A real one. And I wondered—could I do this? Could I be what they needed? freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Even with all my money, all my skill, I had no idea how to fix a kingdom.

I missed Natalie.

I missed her voice, the way she always teased me when I took life too seriously. I missed Alexander calling me "Daddy" and asking for bedtime stories about dragons and rocket-powered wolves. I even missed Sebastian’s sarcasm and his unhealthy addiction to AB-negative blood.

They said they were fine—Natalie especially. But there was something off about her tone through the mind link.

"You’re sure you’re okay?" I asked last night.

"Yes," she replied.

"You don’t sound okay."

"Well, I am. Now stop worrying. You’re supposed to be protecting the king and playing adviser."

I knew her too well. She was hiding something.

And so was Sebastian.

Every time I reached out to him through the link asking him how the situation with his mate was going, he brushed it off with humor or distracted me with questions about palace life.

They were definitely hiding something.

I didn’t like it.

On day four, the doors of the throne room creaked open again. I exhaled, ready for another case of mysterious crop failures or sheep behaving badly.

But this time... the atmosphere changed.

Two men stepped into the room. One tall, broad-shouldered with silver hair, hard gray eyes and a strong jaw. The other younger—mid-seventies maybe—with the same gray eyes that burned like fire. Something about the younger one made my instincts bristle.

"Owen Blackthorn and his son, Michael," the herald announced.

I straightened. These men were Darius and Griffin’s family.

Even my father’s face shifted slightly—less amused, more alert.

The Blackthorns.

I hadn’t expected to see them so soon.

And judging by the weight that just dropped into the room, this wasn’t going to be another chicken-sized emergency.

"Told you," Red whispered. "Something’s coming."

And I felt it too.

Something was coming. Something big.

And somehow, I had a sinking feeling that I would be tangled right in the middle of it.