The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 437

Chapter 437: The Only Measure
[Third Person].

~Oatrun Estate~

A few hours after lunch…

Draven sat before the wide mahogany desk, the afternoon light angling across the shelves packed with ancient scrolls and leather-bound records of Stormveil’s history.

He had just finished recounting the whole arc of the war in Duskmoor, or rather, his curated version of it.

He deliberately omitted Meredith’s role in the battle. Not a whisper of how fearlessly she fought at his side.

He refused to let anyone, even his own father, drag Meredith into a political dissection she didn’t deserve.

Randall exhaled, fingers tapping once on the desk. When he spoke next, his tone sharpened.

“Now… about Meredith.”

Draven felt his spine stiffen as his father’s gaze locked onto his.

“Draven, I know she is your mate,” he began, voice steady, “but I want to use this opportunity to remind you once again that the council will never agree to her crowning.”

Silence pressed into the room. Then—

“A wolfless woman cannot be made Queen, no matter how much you love her.”

Draven’s jaw ticked. “That is not anyone’s business,” he said, his voice came out low and edged.

Randall’s eyes sharpened. “It is everyone’s business,” he countered, leaning forward slightly.

“Do you think you would have been chosen as Alpha, much less the next Alpha King, if you were wolfless?”

Draven didn’t answer the question. He hated that the truth of it scraped coldly against his ribs.

He knew what Stormveil valued. He knew the ancient traditions, the Council’s rigidity, the public’s expectations. And his father knew that he knew.

Randall continued, his tone grave but not cruel,

“Having a wolf is one of the basic qualifications of our kind. Without it, a person cannot be entrusted with the crown. You would not have been, and your mate will not be.”

His words were firm and final—spoken like a decree.

Draven’s fists tightened at his sides.

Because while Randall spoke of rules and customs, Draven thought of Meredith—the way she carried herself with quiet strength, the way she had stepped into danger without hesitation, the way she saw people not as power pieces but as lives.

He refused to let anyone diminish her, so he lifted his gaze, cold determination sliding into place.

“Is having a wolf the only measure of a leader?” Draven asked, his voice deepening.

Randall’s brows rose slightly. But Draven went on, controlled but fierce.

“Is that truly all it takes? A wolf? Because my mate has every quality a ruler should have, whether it be strength, intelligence, resilience, or courage.”

Randall opened his mouth, but Draven pushed harder.

“So should she be denied her place beside me simply because she has not manifested a wolf?”

The room fell quiet again, heavy and charged.

Randall studied his son with a sharper gaze than before because he recognized the unyielding in Draven’s stance.

He recognized himself.

Randall listened and waited patiently until Draven was done, then he leaned back in his chair with a long, measured inhale, the kind that signalled he was about to dismantle everything calmly, piece by piece.

“You are missing the point, Draven,” he said with a low but firm voice.

Draven’s jaw flexed, but his father overlooked it and continued, his tone gaining weight,

“Having a wolf is not just tradition. It is what proves one is a real werewolf. Without a wolf, one cannot rule. Not here. Not in Stormveil. Not ever.”

Draven’s eyes narrowed. To him, it sounded like his father simply didn’t want Meredith.

Randall saw the thought flash across his son’s face. His voice sharpened. “Don’t assume this is because I dislike your mate.”

Draven didn’t answer, but his silence was loud.

Randall leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk, his stare unflinching.

“I am telling you this because the Council and the Alphas will come for you over this once again, but more strongly. They will challenge you, undermine you, and if necessary, remove you from the path to the crown.”

A cold line of tension cut through Draven’s shoulders, but Randall continued, more intensely now.

“I am doing this for your sake. To prepare you. So you know how to present your case and defend it when they eventually confront you.”

Silence swallowed the study. Draven drew in a small breath and released it slowly, the fight in him simmering but held back.

Finally, he spoke quietly, “…Thank you.”

He didn’t promise agreement or concede to anything. He simply acknowledged the warning, then he rose to his feet.

His father didn’t stop him.

Draven bowed his head stiffly—the bare minimum respect expected between father and son, and walked out of the study.

The door clicked shut behind him.

His boots echoed against the polished floors as he walked, his mind turning sharply, relentlessly.

Could Meredith stand beside him at his coronation without revealing she had a wolf?

He knew the answer deep down. Her wolf wasn’t just powerful, it was ancient—a force beyond anything Stormveil had seen in generations.

If the Elders caught even a hint of it, they wouldn’t just question her. They would fear her, and fear made men do reckless, murderous things.

He ground his teeth lightly. There had to be a way, some route between danger and duty.

But every path he imagined put Meredith in the crosshairs.

He exhaled harshly and shook his head. “Before that time comes… I will find a solution.”

There was no other option for him or for her.

For now, he would focus on something he could do. But for now, he needed to go to Xamira as he still needed answers about the nanny who had fallen to her death.

With his jaw set, Draven turned and headed toward the wing and then the floor where his daughter lived.

—

It hadn’t been long, Meredith returned with Xamira and Lucy to the little girl’s bedroom when Draven arrived and stepped inside.

Lucy straightened immediately and bowed deeply.

Both Meredith and Xamira blinked in surprise as Meredith’s grip tightened around the envelope in her hand, which she had yet to read.

‘Draven. Now?’ She thought. She hadn’t expected him this soon.

Without thinking, she slipped the letter behind her back, pressing it discreetly between the pillow she was resting on and the couch cushion as she rose slightly from her seat.

Xamira, however, lit up like the sun. “Daddy!”

She ran toward him, her tiny feet pattering across the polished floor.