The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 616: Too Busy to Spare Them a Thought

[Third Person].

Throughout it all, Wanda sat silently. This was new—for once, she had no sharp remark, no mocking smile.

Her fingers tightened slowly in her lap as she stared at the table. The truth pressed down on her harder than her father’s shouting ever could.

Since the duel, everything had changed. The friends who once crowded her orbit were gone. Invitations had stopped coming. No parties. No messages bearing her name.

A few calls had come through at first, thinly veiled with curiosity, but whether they were meant as sympathy or quiet ridicule, Wanda could not tell. Either way, the result was the same. Humiliation.

Now, with Draven’s heavy punishment on her family, her situation was even worse.

When Reginald finally paused to draw breath, Levi spoke again, carefully. "Father... like it or not, Draven is King. You are dealing with the Crown now. There are times when conceding—"

Reginald cut him off with a glare sharp enough to silence the room. "Do not say that word again." His voice was cold, absolute. "Draven is no King. And I will not accept defeat."

The room fell quiet. Levi lowered his gaze, while Wanda remained still with misery etched across her face.

And Reginald Fellowes sat rigid at the head of the table, clinging to his pride as the world moved on without him.

***

A Few Weeks Later...

The Carter residence was far quieter than the palace these days, but not peaceful.

In the sitting room, Monique and Mabel sat opposite each other, porcelain teacups resting on saucers that clinked more sharply than necessary each time they set them down.

Outside, neighbours have been speaking Meredith’s name with admiration. Inside, her sisters spoke of it with venom.

"Did you hear?" Monique said stiffly. "She appointed women to advisory roles in court. Women from merchant families. Even one from a minor warrior clan."

Mabel’s jaw tightened. "Outsiders."

"Yes. Outsiders." Monique’s lips pressed thin. "And not a thought spared for her own blood."

Mabel let out a sharp laugh. "Of course not. Meredith has always been like that. Playing virtuous." She lifted her teacup and took a hard sip. "She’s doing it so the public will adore her. So ,they will chant her name and call her wise."

Monique nodded, bitterness simmering beneath her composed exterior. "What an ungrateful child. After everything this family endured because of her."

"Endured?" Mabel snapped. "We were the ones who suffered when she was cursed. The whispers. The embarrassment." Her fingers tightened around her cup. "Now everyone assumes we are benefiting from her crown now that the tide has turned."

Then, she leaned back, her eyes flashing. "They think we are enjoying palace favours, that doors are opening for us." Her laugh was hollow. "If only they knew their ’beloved Queen’ barely acknowledges our existence."

Monique’s voice dropped, colder now. "She has always resented us."

Mabel slammed her cup down harder than intended, tea sloshing over the rim. "I wish father and mother had let her die when we were younger."

The words hung in the air, ugly and raw. Monique did not rebuke her, instead, she stirred her tea slowly.

"Now she stands at the highest rank in Stormveil after the King, and we are expected to smile and clap."

Mabel’s eyes burned with rage. "Let her enjoy it. Crowns are heavy. Power changes people." She leaned forward slightly. "One mistake... and they will turn on her."

Monique gave a thin smile. "Yes," she murmured. "And when that day comes, we will see how high her head remains."

The two sisters continued sipping their tea, bitterness thick between them, convincing themselves that Meredith’s rise was temporary, because admitting her strength would mean admitting their own cruelty.

And that was something neither of them was prepared to face.

---

Back at the palace, the atmosphere was entirely different.

Meredith had no knowledge of the resentment festering within the walls of the Carter residence. She did not wake thinking of her sisters. She did not sleep worrying about their feelings.

She was simply too occupied with meetings, reform drafts, reviewing petitions, quiet consultations with Draven, and adjusting to the rhythm of governance.

It was, perhaps, true what people often said—that those who rise do not always hear the grumbling of those left behind. Not because they are heartless, but because they are busy carrying weight.

That evening, Meredith sat at the writing desk in her private study, candlelight flickering softly against parchment. For once, the matters before her were not political. They were personal.

She dipped her quill in ink and began writing to her grandmother.

She informed her of the coronation—of how she and Draven had successfully ascended the throne. She described the ceremony briefly, the blessing of the Moon Goddess, the shift within the Council.

But beneath the formal updates was something deeper. Meredith asked about the future.

She did not phrase it fearfully, but cautiously. If there were storms ahead, if there were unseen threats or remarkable turns of fate, she wanted guidance. As Queen, she could no longer afford ignorance.

Her grandmother had always seen further than others.

When Meredith finished, she read the letter once more, ensuring that nothing sensitive could be misinterpreted if intercepted. Then she folded it carefully and placed it into a specially treated envelope.

Draven entered quietly as she pressed her seal into warm wax. "All done?" he asked.

She nodded.

Without hesitation, he summoned Jeffery, whom he had invited to the palace earlier.

When Jeffery arrived, Draven handed him the sealed letter personally. "Deliver this discreetly to my mate’s grandmother," he instructed. "No detours."

Jeffery bowed. "It will reach safely, your majesty."

Meredith watched him leave and felt a small wave of relief settle within her. Then, she turned her attention to Draven.

"There is something else," she said at last.

Draven could tell by her tone that this was not casual, so he said, "Tell me."

"Xamira," Meredith continued. "I think now is the perfect time to get rid of her."

Now that they had ascended the throne, the palace had grown more complicated. Eyes were everywhere. Servants and Guards rotating shifts. One mistake could expose Xamira’s identity, and once that happened, the girl would become a target.

Or worse, if anyone discovered what she was, they would try to use her against them.

Draven’s expression sharpened. "You’re right. Give me a week, and I will arrange it."

Relief softened Meredith’s shoulders immediately. That was all she wanted.

Draven stepped closer and cupped her face gently, brushing his thumb along her cheek. Before she could react, he leaned down and pressed a slow, warm kiss to her forehead.

Meredith closed her eyes briefly, letting the moment settle.