The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 128: Dignity

Zane~

I stood near my father’s side, still wearing the face of Cole Lucky—cold, unreadable, distant. The mask I’d worn for years now. And yet, when Owen Blackthorn’s voice broke the silence again, I felt something ancient stir inside me. Red shifted, ears perked. The restless wolf was listening.

"If I may ask, Your Majesty," Owen said, bowing with an edge of ice in his voice, "why is Mr. Lucky here? And more importantly... why is he the one entrusted with a matter as sensitive as this?"

The gall.

I didn’t move, didn’t flinch. But I met Owen’s eyes. Calm. Silent. The kind of silence that unnerves men who crave control.

My father, however, just chuckled—a low, amused sound that sent a ripple through the gathered court.

"Because," he said, rising from his throne with the grace of a panther, "Mr. Lucky is no ordinary man. He’s incredible."

I shot him a sideways glance, confused. He’d never spoken of me like this—not in public, not even in private. Outside of Nora and Charlie, no one ever knew we had ties. For the sake of safety, we played our roles—distant, detached, strangers by design. And never had I been acknowledged for anything by him. Most days, his words to me barely stretched beyond orders. I understood all that, we couldn’t allow our enemies connect the dots between us. But today... he looked the Blackthorns dead in the eye, his presence sharp as steel and just as cold.

"He is my new royal adviser for a reason. A man with an impeccable record. Cole Lucky has handled situations that would crumble most men. His reputation alone has quelled uprisings, sealed treaties, and restored order in places chaos once ruled."

He turned to me—chin high, smug. Actually proud.

"Everything he touches turns to gold."

I swallowed, throat dry. Something twisted in my chest—warm, wild, and way too dangerous. Was that... praise? From him? What the hell for?

"Don’t flinch, Zane," Red’s voice slid through my mind. "If he sees it gets to you, he’ll shut it down."

So I locked it down. Jaw set. Eyes cold. Expression unreadable.

But deep inside, where no one could see—

Something cracked.

The soft, aching fissure that formed when someone you’ve spent your whole life trying to please finally looks at you like you’re worth something.

"Trust me, Owen," my father said, "Cole will deliver."

Owen gave a stiff nod, but his lips were pressed so tightly they nearly disappeared.

Michael, to his credit, remained still. But the tension in his shoulders didn’t go unnoticed. He wasn’t nearly as skilled at hiding disdain as his father.

Owen cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but... how did you come to know Mr. Lucky so intimately?"

That was a snake’s question.

My father’s smile deepened. "Focus on the matter at hand, Owen."

A pause. A silent dismissal.

I stepped forward before Owen could prod further. "Gentlemen," I said, voice sharp and commanding, "if you would join me in a private room, I’d like to review all the evidence you have on Princess Katrina’s death. Every scrap. Every document. I don’t care if it’s on napkins or scratched into bark—I want it all."

Michael nodded first. "Of course," he said quietly. "Whatever you need."

Owen followed reluctantly, though his face remained impassive. "Naturally."

As they turned, my father’s eyes locked onto mine.

"Make this work, Zane," his voice rang through our mind link, cold and sharp. "Spin it in our favor. Break Silverfang. I don’t care how—burn them to the ground. I want Darius and whoever’s standing by his side punished severely for their insolence."

"Understood, Your Majesty," I replied, voice calm, controlled—even as Red let out a low, warning growl in the back of my mind.

My father leaned back on his throne, unimpressed, already moving on as the next dispute—a petty land quarrel—was announced.

Without a word, I turned and gestured for the Blackthorns to follow.

The private meeting room was down a quiet corridor within the palace. High stained-glass windows filtered golden light into the hallway, coloring the floor with delicate swirls of blue and amber. Guards stood aside as I led them in, shutting the door behind us with a gentle click.

The second the door clicked shut, Michael’s perfect facade cracked like cheap porcelain.

"Oh, you might’ve dazzled the king," he said, voice low and laced with venom, "but don’t fool yourself into thinking that earns you a place here."

I turned at a deliberate pace, eyes locking onto his like a blade sliding into its sheath.

"Come again?"

He took a step forward, all pretense stripped away. The disdain on his face was no longer subtle—it slithered across his features like smoke curling from a dying fire.

"This palace," he said slowly, like each word was dipped in poison, "was built for legacy and dignity. For those with noble blood, kissed by the Moon Goddess herself. Not for... whatever it is you are. Having money isn’t everything, Cole."

I didn’t say a word.

Red let out a low, warning growl.

Owen didn’t flinch. He just stood there, calm as ever. "Michael—"

"No, Dad," Michael cut him off sharply, his voice brittle with restrained rage. "I’ve kept quiet long enough. In the throne room, sure—I’ll play the game. But here? Behind closed doors? I’ll speak the truth."

He took another step, practically spitting the words now. "This place wasn’t meant for strays dressing up like wolves."

For a moment, silence wrapped around us. The soft ticking of the antique clock on the wall was the only sound, each second piercing the tension like daggers.

I blinked. Once. Slowly.

Then, I laughed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was the kind of laugh you give when you’ve heard this song before—and you’re tired of pretending it’s a new tune.

"Dignity," I repeated, almost thoughtfully. "That’s what we’re calling it now?"

Michael’s posture faltered, just slightly.

I stepped forward, each word deliberate, my voice dipping low enough to sting. "Is that what you were clinging to when you spent years sweeping your brother’s sins under the royal rug? And now that the mess is too big to hide... suddenly you find your voice?"

His jaw tightened.

I took another step, eyes locked on his. "Or maybe you’d like to give me your definition of dignity? You seem to wear the word like armor. But from where I’m standing, it looks a lot more like foolishness."