The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 487

Chapter 487: Destined to Rule

[Meredith].

Instantly, something clicked loudly inside my mind.

"That’s why you are always fighting with him," I whispered. "That’s why you two can’t stand each other."

"Correction, I can’t stand him." Valmora snapped. "I despise him. He keeps secrets from his own vessel, your mate, while expecting me to play nice."

I ran a trembling hand through my hair, thinking, thinking, trying to process the weight of what I had just learned.

"Why?" I asked. "Why would Rhovan hide something like this from Draven?"

"For selfish reasons, obviously," Valmora said without hesitation. "If Draven knew he wasn’t a full werewolf, he would refuse the throne. He would walk away from becoming King."

I frowned deeply. "But what stops him from abdicating later, Valmora? If he finds out eventually, what makes you think he won’t step down then?"

Her answer came instantly. "You will stop him."

My entire body went cold. "What?" My voice shook. "Why?"

"Because it is your destiny to rule," Valmora said simply. "And Draven is your second-chance mate. That means he must be King."

The words didn’t feel real. Destiny. Rule. King.

Everything felt too big, too heavy. And then something else occurred to me—a thought so absurd I almost choked on it.

"Wait," I whispered. "Marc Harris was my first mate. If he hadn’t rejected me, are you saying he... would have been King?"

The ridiculousness of it nearly tore a laugh from me. Marc Harris, as King?

"All you need to know is that Draven would never be King without you." Valmora’s voice curled into my mind with terrifying certainty.

My breath got caught, and she continued before I could even react.

"If the Moon Goddess hadn’t paired you to him the moment that foolish wolf rejected you at the Lunar Ball, then in the future, Draven would have discovered what he truly was—and he would never have agreed to take the throne."

My pulse stilled.

"And if that same foolish wolf hadn’t rejected you," Valmora added, almost scoffing, "then fate would have dragged him to the throne instead."

I stared blankly at the wall. ’Marc Harris... King? Draven refusing the throne? Me being the hinge that changed everything?’

My thoughts spun, weaving chaos.

Valmora’s tone deepened, rich and regal. "Remember who I am. I am Valmora—the Wolf Queen. And that makes you the Wolf Queen as well. Destined to rule the werewolves."

I inhaled shakily. "So... whoever is my mate gets to be King?"

"Yes."

The certainty in her voice felt like a weight on my chest.

"And not just King," Valmora continued. "Once you and Draven ascend the throne, your rule continues until you both decide you are done. If you ever decide at all."

My fingers trembled. "That’s—impossible," I whispered. "Every royal pack rules for five years. How can we rule indefinitely?"

Valmora huffed, annoyed. "That shouldn’t be your concern. Just wait and see."

Valmora actually laughed softly. "Remember, Meredith—some truths are meant to be unlocked at their perfect timing."

And it wasn’t because destiny demanded it or because Valmora had told me he needed me to be Queen.

But it was only because I didn’t even know how to tell him. How to break something this heavy across his back. How to comfort him afterward.

I didn’t know where to begin. Not with the questions surrounding his mother and with whatever Randall had done and the motive behind it.

There were too many truths, and every one of them felt dangerous.

My thoughts spiraled so deeply that I didn’t notice Draven move until his warm hand touched my shoulder.

"Meredith," he murmured, voice laced with concern. "Are you okay?"

I blinked and forced myself back to the present. "Yes," I said too quickly.

He didn’t believe it. I saw it in the way his brows drew together. "I called your name a few times. You didn’t respond."

I managed a small thin fragile smile. "Sorry. I was just... thinking."

Draven looked like he wanted to press the issue, dig deeper, peel back whatever was burdening me, but I couldn’t let him now. At least not until I figured out how to carry this truth without breaking him.

So before he could speak again, I gestured to the cup in his hand with a soft, forced brightness. "You brought that for me?"

He studied me for a heartbeat too long before finally lifting the cup and placing it gently into my hands.

"It will help you relax," he said softly.

I nodded and took the cup, grateful for the warmth, the distraction, thankful for him, even if it twisted guilt deeper into my heart.