The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel 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.

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

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