All Chapters of The Kings Forbidden Mate: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Five years had passed since the long war ended, and the capital had blossomed into a thriving center of peace and prosperity. The palace gardens were a tapestry of summer colors — vibrant roses climbing trellises, jasmine vines heavy with fragrant blooms, and fruit trees laden with ripe cherries and plums. The air carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, while distant laughter from the city streets reminded everyone that the realm had truly healed.In the royal study, sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, illuminating maps and ancient tomes spread across the heavy oak table. Prince Aether Draven, now five years old, sat on a cushioned stool, his dark curls catching the light as he carefully traced letters on a parchment with a small quill. His golden eyes, flecked with delicate silver, were focused with quiet determination — a perfect blend of his fathers’ strengths.Caelan sat beside him, guiding the boy’s hand with gentle patience. His own presence

The capital shimmered under the clear summer night sky as the Festival of Stars began. Lanterns of silver and gold hung from every balcony and tree, their soft glow blending with the natural starlight above. The streets were alive with music, laughter, and the scent of roasted nuts, spiced honey cakes, and fresh summer fruits. People from every loyal pack had gathered — border lycans in fur-trimmed cloaks, southern traders with colorful silks, and capital citizens waving small silver wolf banners. For the first time in living memory, the festival felt truly unburdened, a celebration of survival and the new era the kingdom had earned.In the royal family’s private viewing pavilion overlooking the main square, Prince Aether Draven, now six years old, stood on tiptoe at the railing, his small hands gripping the carved wood as he watched the fireworks burst overhead in showers of silver and gold. His dark curls bounced with excitement, and his golden eyes — flecked with delicate silver —

The royal study was bathed in the soft glow of evening lanterns, their silver light casting long shadows across the heavy oak table covered with maps and reports. Outside the tall windows, the capital slept peacefully under a clear summer sky, but inside, a quiet tension filled the air.Prince Aether Draven, now eight years old, sat on a cushioned stool, his small hands carefully tracing letters on a parchment. His dark curls caught the light, and his golden eyes — flecked with delicate silver — were focused with quiet determination. He had grown into a bright, curious boy, but tonight his usual energy was subdued.Caelan sat beside him, one hand resting gently on his son’s shoulder. His own presence radiated calm resilience, the ancient power within him a steady, nurturing force that occasionally sent gentle moonlight threads drifting toward Aether to steady his hand or ease his frustration.“You are doing well, Aether,” Caelan said softly, voice warm with encouragement. “The letters

Twelve years had slipped by like quiet river currents since the long war ended, and the capital had become a thriving beacon of peace and prosperity. The palace gardens overflowed with vibrant summer blooms — roses climbing trellises, jasmine vines heavy with fragrant flowers, and fruit trees laden with ripe cherries and plums. The air carried the sweet, heady scent of life in full bloom, mirroring the profound joy that had taken root within the royal family.In the royal training courtyard, sunlight streamed through the open arches, illuminating the soft grass where Prince Aether Draven, now twelve years old, practiced with a real steel blade under careful supervision. His dark curls bounced with each controlled swing, and his golden eyes — flecked with delicate silver — were focused with quiet determination. He moved with surprising grace for his age, combining Lucien’s taught forms with an instinctive fluidity that hinted at Caelan’s influence.Caelan watched from the shaded colonn

Twenty years had passed since the long war ended, and the capital had transformed into a magnificent jewel of peace and prosperity. The palace gardens were a masterpiece of blooming beauty — roses climbing ancient trellises in vibrant shades of crimson and white, jasmine vines heavy with fragrant flowers winding around marble columns, and fruit trees laden with ripe cherries, plums, and golden apples. The air carried the sweet, heady scent of summer in full bloom, mingling with the distant sounds of the city: merchants calling out their wares, children laughing in the streets, and the steady rhythm of a realm that had finally found lasting harmony.In the grand training courtyard, sunlight streamed through the open arches, illuminating the soft grass where Prince Aether Draven, now twenty years old, sparred with a real steel blade under the watchful eyes of his fathers. He had grown into a tall, athletic young man with dark curls that fell across his forehead when he moved, and golden