The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 425

Chapter 425: Wanda Confronts Meredith
[Third Person].

As the night deepened, the torches along the great hall burned lower, their golden glow softening to a dim amber hue.

The musicians played one last gentle melody before retreating to the sides of the hall. The murmur of conversation slowed.

Even the Elders, who had lingered over their wine and quiet debates, began to lean back in their chairs, content or exhausted.

Randall Oatrun rose from his seat at the head of the table. Despite the long evening, his bearing was still regal, his tone clear.

“It has been a night well spent,” he said, his gaze sweeping the length of the hall. “Our people have returned, our trust in Stormveil’s strength is renewed, and our Alpha son has shown once again that the Oatrun bloodline stands for resilience and loyalty.”

The room stirred with agreement—light applause, murmurs of approval. Randall waited for the sound to fade before continuing.

“Before we end this gathering, I would like to call upon Alpha Draven to give a closing word to mark the night.”

Immediately, all eyes turned to Draven again as he slowly rose from his seat.

“Tonight has been long,” he began, “but necessary.” His gaze travelled over the faces at the table.

“When I was sent to Duskmoor,” he continued, “it was not to wage war, but to uphold peace. When that peace broke, I didn’t fight to bring back victory. I fought to bring our people home. The blood we shed, the losses we endured, they were not just mine. They were Stormveil’s.”

His tone was even, but the weight beneath it pulled the room into complete stillness.

“We return now to rebuild,” Draven said. “And as we do, we remember that unity is not born from fear, but from purpose. Let tonight serve as that reminder.”

Then he inclined his head briefly toward his father. “That is all.”

For a long moment, silence lingered again, then applause followed, growing from a respectful rhythm into genuine applause.

Randall nodded once, pride veiled in restraint. “Well spoken.”

Wanda, still seated, stared at Draven. Every word he spoke burned into her mind—the effortless command, the weight he carried without raising his voice, the way Meredith stood beside him as though she belonged there.

Her fingers clenched around the stem of her goblet until her knuckles whitened.

The applause went on around her, but she heard only the sound of her father’s quiet sigh beside her—a sound that felt like disappointment.

When she finally stood, she did it slowly, fixing her expression back into its flawless mask. Then, she smiled, she nodded, she looked every bit the dignified daughter of Reginald Fellowes.

But beneath it all, jealousy smouldered, alive and patient.

As some of the guests began to drift toward the exits, the murmur of conversation thickened around the great hall.

Randall had just dismissed the crowd when the silver-armoured delegate from King Alderic approached and bowed low before Draven.

“Your Majesty’s envoy requests a moment,” Randall said smoothly.

Draven inclined his head. “Very well.” Then, turning to Meredith, his expression softened. “Go on ahead. I will find you shortly.”

She nodded once, a quiet understanding passing between them and turned toward the long corridor that led out of the banquet hall.

From across the room, Wanda watched the exchange. The simple trust in Meredith’s nod and the protective warmth in Draven’s tone scraped at her like glass.

When Meredith walked away, alone and unguarded, Wanda’s pulse quickened. ‘Perfect,’ she thought, rising smoothly to her feet.

—

The corridor was quiet, lined with high arched windows where moonlight spilt across the polished floors.

Meredith walked steadily, her expression calm, her thoughts half-drifting toward the relief of privacy.

“Luna Meredith.”

Just then, the voice came from behind her—silky, measured, but edged with challenge.

Meredith slowed, then turned. Wanda stood at the end of the corridor, her gown catching the light like a blade.

“Miss Fellowes,” Meredith greeted, her tone civil.

“You left early,” Wanda said, taking a few steps closer, her heels clicking lightly. “I thought it rude not to wish you a proper welcome back to Stormveil.”

Meredith’s lips curved faintly into a smile that wasn’t a smile. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

“Was it?” Wanda’s smile sharpened. “I simply wanted to see if the rumours were true—if the new Luna had learned how to hold her head up among wolves who still remember what she was.”

Meredith tilted her head slightly, completely unruffled. “And what was I, Wanda?”

“A cursed, wolfless girl from a medicine pack,” Wanda said softly, every word laced with poison. “Some of us were surprised to see you sitting beside him tonight. Others were merely amused.”

Meredith’s eyes didn’t flicker. “Then they must have found the evening entertaining.”

For a second, Wanda faltered, thrown off by the calm reply. “You don’t seem to mind being mocked,” she said.

“I have learned that wolves bark loudest when they are afraid of what stands in front of them,” Meredith answered, her tone even, almost kind. “You used to bark the same way.”

Instantly, colour rose in Wanda’s cheeks. “Careful, Luna,” she hissed, the title sounding like an insult. “You might forget who you are talking to.”

“No,” Meredith said quietly, stepping closer until they were almost face to face.

“I remember exactly who you are. You are the woman who always thought she could humiliate me and walk away untouched. But tell me, how does it feel watching the man you wanted defend someone else in front of an entire hall?”

Wanda’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Meredith smiled faintly, serene as moonlight. “Next time you want to test me, choose your place better. Corridors echo, and you wouldn’t want everyone hearing what desperation sounds like.”

Then, she turned away with quiet poise, her steps steady, deliberate. Her gown brushed softly against the marble floor as she moved, every motion a statement of restraint and dignity.

But behind her, Wanda’s breath came faster. The venom of humiliation burned down her throat, hotter than wine.

‘She dares to talk to me like that?’

How could Wanda tolerate that? Just then, in two long strides, she caught up and seized Meredith’s wrist.

Meredith stiffened, her head turning sharply over her shoulder. The expression in her eyes was warning.

“Let go,” she said evenly.

Wanda’s grip only tightened, her nails digging faintly into Meredith’s skin. “Who do you think you are to speak to me that way?” she hissed.