The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 431

Chapter 431: Their Mother

[Meredith].

Draven and I entered the ground-floor dining hall together.

It was larger than the one from yesterday, rectangular and lined with tall windows that poured morning light across the polished wood floor.

Dennis, Jeffery, and Oscar were already seated, steam rising from the platters on the table.

They instinctively moved to stand when Draven and I stepped in, but Draven lifted a hand to stop them.

"No need," he said.

They sank back into their seats.

A servant immediately pulled out the head chair for Draven and then the seat beside it for me. I settled down quietly, smoothing the hem of my silver top across my lap.

Just then, Dennis grinned at me from across the table. "Your choice of outfit is commendable. Looks like you’re settling into this Luna role far better than you think."

I returned his smile. "I have to play my role perfectly. I don’t intend to embarrass your brother."

Dennis chuckled, and Jeffery hid a faint smirk behind his cup. Oscar gave a polite nod but remained reserved as always.

Moments later, the creaking sound of the double doors snapped everyone to attention. Randall Oatrun entered.

Immediately, we all rose to our feet, including Draven. And that surprised me.

By rank, Draven didn’t owe anyone that courtesy. But then again, Randall was not just any wolf. He had once been Alpha of the Mystic Furs and later Alpha King of all Stormveil during his era.

Even now, as a Council Elder, his presence carried the weight of all his former crowns. And besides all that, he was still Draven’s father.

Everyone bowed their heads slightly. Then, Randall gestured with a brief sweep of his hand. "Sit."

Servants hurried forward, pulling out the large seat at the opposite end of the table for him. He sat with the stillness of someone used to commanding rooms, his gaze sharp, scanning the table—and lingering for a fraction of a second on me.

There was no warmth or change—just acknowledgement, nothing more. But I kept my face smooth.

Randall spoke first, his voice deep and even. "I trust everyone rested well after last night."

"Yes, Father," Draven and Dennis replied first. Next was Jeffery and Oscar, while I gave a simple nod in response.

Randall flicked his fingers, and the servants moved immediately, placing trays of roasted meats, eggs, bread, and fruit before each of us.

For a moment, the hall filled only with the soft clinking of cutlery. I kept my posture straight, choosing to eat quietly. Every time I felt Randall’s gaze shift in my direction—even briefly—I made sure not to shift or fidget.

I would not give this man a single crack to interpret as fear.

Draven’s advice echoed in my head. "Hide it. Or erase it."

I kept my breathing steady, my shoulders relaxed, and my expression calm.

And yet... in the quiet undercurrent of the moment, I could feel Draven’s attention on me. Subtle. Protective. Ensuring I was okay without ever letting the others know.

Across the table, Dennis gave me a small, encouraging wink. Jeffery offered a polite nod, while Oscar observed silently, but there was something sharper in his gaze this morning—an awareness I couldn’t read yet.

A few minutes later, Randall finally broke the silence.

"After breakfast," he said as he reached for his cup, "I have something important to say."

Draven lifted his gaze. "Very well."

Then Randall’s eyes shifted to me again, cool and assessing—but not dismissive. Simply measuring.

I held his stare for a breath, calm and unshaken, before looking back to my plate.

After Randall finished the last sip of his tea, he set the cup down with deliberate calm and lifted his gaze—first to Draven, then to me.

"The matter I have to discuss," he said. "We will cover them now."

My spine straightened instinctively. ’So, it wasn’t just Draven he wanted.’

Draven leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "Go on."

Randall folded his hands on the table. His eyes were sharp, assessing, but not openly hostile.

This was a man who had ruled for decades without flinching—who had learned to carve truth from silence and strength from the smallest gesture.

"Last night’s banquet," Randall began, "was not merely a celebration. It was a message. Stormveil’s leaders needed to see that you"—his eyes moved briefly to Draven—"have returned. And that you," he shifted to me, "stand beside him. So, you must conduct yourself properly."

I held his gaze, calm and unblinking.

I knew this was a subtle test. His tone never wavered, but I could feel the weight behind every word: Show me you can handle this. Show me you won’t crumble.

Before I could respond, Draven spoke on my behalf. "She has already conducted herself accordingly."

Randall’s eyebrow lifted a fraction—amused or surprised, I couldn’t tell. "Confidence is one thing," he said, settling back in his chair, "but confidence must be supported by understanding. Meredith, are you aware of the expectations that come with standing as Luna of the Mystic Furs here in Stormveil, not Duskmoor?"

My head lifted a little in surprise. ’Their mother?’

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