The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 188: I Didn’t know

Zane~

The moment Jacob arrived, the room seemed to hold its breath. He looked mildly amused, as if walking into chaos was his daily entertainment. His brothers flanked him—Tiger, ever silent but commanding with his earthen strength; Eagle, silver eyes dancing like wind-blown flames; Fox, red-haired and mischievous, already grinning like a fox in a henhouse; and Bubble, light and gleaming, twinkling with mischief. They stood like gods amongst mortals, and the murmurs in the court grew into a hum of awe and dread.

I stood still, arms still around Natalie, watching Jacob with careful eyes. He strolled forward like this was all some grand, slightly irritating joke. The court parted for him as though the floor itself bowed to his presence. He didn’t look at the king. He didn’t even glance at me.

He walked straight up to Natalie, who now wore a proud, dangerous smirk that had Red howling in satisfaction inside me.

Jacob arched an eyebrow. "Really, sister?" His voice carried through the silence like silk drawn over steel. "A barrier? Around the entire palace? That wasn’t very nice of you. Poor Tiger almost walked into a wall."

Natalie shrugged, folding her arms. "If it stopped you even for five seconds, then I’m calling it a win." She tilted her head playfully. "Though... clearly, the barrier wasn’t strong enough. Seeing as you all waltzed right through it."

Jacob chuckled, and the sound was like a breeze in a burning field—gentle, but ready to erupt into fire. "Of course we made it through. I’m Mist, little moon. No barrier can hold me." He winked, and the court gasped as if the ancient name still echoed in their bones.

Then Jacob’s eyes finally flicked toward my father, still dangling in the air, mouth agape and face turning a rich shade of violet. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he sighed dramatically.

"Little moon, do be a dear and release him," Jacob said, casually examining his nails. "It’s honestly embarrassing for a monarch to dangle like a worm in front of his people."

Fox stepped forward, hands in his pockets and eyes blazing gold. "Seriously, little moon. It’s one thing to punish the king, another to make us all lose our appetite with that... squirming."

Eagle flipped his long black hair over one shoulder, wind whispering around his form as if the air itself loved him. "Poor man can’t even scream properly. Not a very majestic look."

Bubble—bouncy and beaming—gave a little hop. "Maybe we should hang him from a chandelier next! That’s where arrogant kings belong, right?"

Natalie’s smirk stretched wider—not with cruelty, but with a lethal calm that vibrated with restrained fury. There was no chaos in her expression, no wild screaming. Just that quiet, coiled storm ready to snap the sky in two. Her voice, smooth and unwavering, punctured through the tension on the room.

"He stabbed Alex."

She turned fully now, facing my father like a queen about to deliver judgment, her presence taking up the entire room. "Apologize," she said, every syllable crystal clear, ringing like a bell through the silence. "To my son. And then to me."

I felt it—heat blooming in my chest like a fire newly fed. That was my mate. My woman. Standing tall like the eye of a storm, unshaken by royalty or legacy. Even though the man she was utterly dismantling was my own father, I swear—I’d never been prouder. I could’ve burst with pride.

But I stepped in, voice calm, even, slipping into the moment like water into cracks. "Sweetheart," I murmured, gently, "he will apologize. But right now, he’s choking. You might want to let him breathe first. Y’know, so he can get the words out."

Natalie rolled her eyes dramatically, letting out a sigh like she was just barely tolerating the inconvenience. "Fine."

She flicked her fingers. My father dropped like dead weight.

The thud of his body hitting the marble floor echoed like a gunshot in the quiet hall. He crumpled, gasping, coughing violently as if his lungs had only now remembered how to work. Armor clinked. Fabric rustled. The great king, once so mighty, lay on his side like a man dragged from the bottom of a dark ocean. No crown, no poise—just desperation and shame.

Then the air shifted.

Jacob stepped forward.

Every breath in the room hitched. The crowd peeled back in a ripple of awe and tension, parting as if instinctively understanding something ancient had arrived. The Mist wasn’t a legend anymore—he was here, in flesh and fury.

And my father looked up.

Recognition slammed into him. The once-proud ruler lurched upright, scrambling like a puppet yanked by tangled strings. He snatched his fallen crown, clumsily dusted it off, and jammed it back onto his head, crooked and ridiculous. Then, armor groaning, he dropped to his knees with a thud, forehead kissing the cold stone.

"Wolf Spirit," he gasped, breathless with dread. "Mist... I—I didn’t know your sister was—"

"You didn’t know?" Jacob’s voice cracked like thunder. No yelling. Just steel in silk, low and terrifying. His dark eyes shimmered with ancient might, the usual warmth in them gone—replaced by something harder, older, unforgiving.

"You’ve spent years clawing at power," Jacob continued, his words unhurried but sharp enough to draw blood. "Scheming. Whispering about wanting the Celestial Princess in your bloodline. And the moment she stood in front of you, unknowingly yours—you tried to destroy her. So tell me, Your Majesty... was that wisdom?" He leaned forward slightly. "Or arrogance?"

My father trembled, lips quivering. "I didn’t mean to harm her... I didn’t know who she was. I was only trying to protect my family’s name. The girl—Natalie—I didn’t know she was the Celestial Princess..."

Jacob let out a breath that was more scoff than sigh. "And that," he said, "is your greatest failure."

Then he stepped aside, revealing Natalie in full.

She looked radiant and dangerous, fury and light woven into every inch of her skin. Her power still shimmered faintly in the air, like embers that refused to die. There was no mistaking her now. She was the prophecy. The reckoning.

My father faltered, shoulders curling inward as he turned toward her once more. "Please... Princess," he choked out. "I never meant for your child—my grandchild—to suffer. I didn’t give that order—it was all a misunderstanding. I swear it. I apologize... to Alexander. And to you. Please... forgive my blindness."

Natalie didn’t answer right away.

Her eyes narrowed, sharp as talons, studying him. Measuring. Judging. Like a hawk deciding whether to swoop or let the mouse scurry away broken.

I stepped behind her, placing my hand lightly on her back. "Sweetheart," I murmured across our link, soft and private, "you don’t owe him forgiveness. You’ve already shown him who holds the power now."

My father, still on his knees, shook his head desperately. "I was wrong," he said, voice cracking. "I thought I was doing the right thing. There was a prophecy—early yesterday. From Seer Owen Blackthorn. He told me I would lose everything... unless I acted. Unless I made sure the line of kings stayed unbroken and untainted."

A ripple went through the room like a dropped stone in a still pond.

Murmurs sparked instantly—hushed, uneasy whispers leaping from mouth to ear like fire on dry grass.

Natalie tilted her head slightly. Her voice was calm, curious, but wrapped in steel. "What exactly did Owen say to you?"

My father’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. The room waited, breathless.