The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 608: The Coronation (III)

[Meredith].

Helena flushed faintly as Dennis grinned. "We will see what fate allows."

Draven then added casually, "The wedding should come after you are officially made Alpha of Mystic Furs."

Dennis’ grin widened. "Then I suppose I must prepare myself."

Laughter softened the space around us, and for a moment, it felt almost normal.

Jeffery approached next, leading several elite warriors. They bowed deeply.

"Your Majesties," Jeffery said firmly, pride clear in his tone.

I inclined my head to them. These were the ones who would bleed for this crown if necessary. That thought did not escape me.

Finally, Randall approached us, with the Council of Elders behind him. Their robes flowed like aged shadows in his wake.

They bowed together.

Then, Randall raised his goblet. "To King Draven and Queen Meredith. May your reign bring Stormveil to heights unseen."

We drank. When the goblets lowered, Draven’s expression shifted slightly—measured, and sharp. His gaze scanned the line, then he spoke calmly. "Where is Reginald Fellowes?"

Not Elder Reginald. Just his name.

One of the older council members cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, he did not inform us of his absence or the reason for it. We are equally surprised."

Draven leaned back slightly in his chair. His voice dropped. "Is Reginald Fellowes publicly declaring war against my reign?"

Instantly, silence fell so fast it was almost violent. Several elders immediately bowed deeper.

"No, Your Majesty."

"Certainly not."

"Impossible."

Fear had entered the air, a welcome shift.

Draven’s gaze lingered on each of them. "Tomorrow, by nine in the morning. All council members will attend a meeting here in the palace."

There was no room for negotiation.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Then, he dismissed them with a small motion of his fingers. They retreated quickly.

The music resumed, and conversations rose again. Servants circulated with more wine and platters of food.

The banquet continued as though nothing heavy had just passed between the crown and the council.

---

We left the banquet before the evening could grow too loud.

Draven did not announce it. He never needed to. One look from him, one subtle gesture, and the guards opened the way.

The doors closed behind us, muffling the music, the laughter, the endless toasts. The silence that followed felt heavier than the crown had ever been.

We walked side by side through the palace corridors, our steps unhurried. Only when we were safely inside his chambers did Draven finally speak.

"Tomorrow morning," he said calmly, removing his gloves, "I will take action against Reginald."

I turned to him fully.

"And the elders who backed him," he added, his voice low and even. "Whether Reginald attends the meeting or not, it changes nothing. Mercy will not be part of this."

There was no rage in his tone, one that I did not miss. So, I moved closer and placed my hand against his chest, grounding him and myself.

"Be careful," I said softly. "Do not let this stain your name or our reign. People will be watching for any excuse to paint you as ruthless."

His eyes softened slightly as he looked down at me. "I know," he said. "I will not give them that satisfaction."

That answer eased my slight nerves.

Just then, a knock came at the door, and my Ladies-in-waiting entered quietly with my permission. Their movements were reverent now, almost cautious, as though they were afraid to mishandle me.

They helped me out of the gown piece by piece. Only when the weight was finally lifted from my shoulders did I realise how tense I had been holding myself.

The crown came last. The moment it left my head, I released a breath I had been holding all evening.

The room felt suddenly quieter and real. Once I was dressed down, the girls bowed and slipped out, closing the doors softly behind them.

Draven reached for my hand without a word and led me into his bathroom.

The space was vast—stone, steam, and warm candlelight reflecting off marble walls. He turned the water himself, testing the temperature before stepping in with me. The warmth wrapped around us.

I leaned against him instinctively, resting my forehead against his chest as the water washed away the scent of wine and ceremony.

"I still find it hard to believe," I admitted quietly. "That I’m here. That this is real."

He rested his chin lightly on the top of my head. "You’ve always belonged here," he said. "The world is only just catching up."

I let myself breathe, knowing I would grow used to the crown and the weight of duty.

So, in this quiet moment, with Draven’s arms around me and the world held at bay, I allowed myself to simply be Meredith.

---

[Third Person].

The Fellowes Residence was unnaturally quiet that evening, with silence thick enough to choke on.

In his private study, Reginald Fellowes sat alone. The curtains were drawn despite the hour. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the polished wood shelves lined with records of his achievements, alliances, victories.

He poured himself another glass of whiskey. The liquid burned down his throat, but it did nothing to cool the storm raging inside him.

He was already thinking that by now, the coronation ceremony was over, and the entire Stormveil would be chanting their names. King Draven Oatrun. Queen Meredith Carter.

His jaw tightened at the thought. He had gambled and lost publicly.

He had stood in that council chamber so certain, so confident, so convinced that Meredith was nothing more than a political ornament.

Instead, she had humiliated his bloodline. He and his daughter. The glass in his hand cracked slightly under the pressure of his grip.

Another slow drink, and his thoughts shifted from humiliation to survival. Draven had called a meeting for tomorrow morning. And Draven was no longer a mere Alpha. He was King now.

Reginald’s eyes hardened.

---

Meanwhile, upstairs, in a room once decorated with pride and prestige, Wanda lay against her pillows.

The healer had done her work well. Most of the bruising had faded, and the deeper injuries were nearly healed.

Wanda’s body would recover, but her pride would not. She stared at the ceiling with a tight jaw.

She was sure that somewhere beyond these walls, the palace would be glittering tonight with music, laughter and toasts. And Meredith would be wearing the crown.

Wanda’s fingers slowly curled into the bedsheets and then tightened. The fabric twisted violently in her fists.

She could still see the way Meredith had looked at her in the arena with control, superiority and pity. The pity was what burned the most.

A sharp breath escaped her lungs. She had been regarded as a mere stepping stone, as a demonstration, as something to be dismantled for the education of others.

Her nails dug into her palms now as her eyes darkened.

Draven would rule, Meredith would sit beside him. And Stormveil would celebrate.

Wanda closed her eyes, but there was no peace behind them. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

And in different corners of the same house, father and daughter sat in silence, both nursing pride and fury, completely unaware that their storm was still brewing.