The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 633

Chapter 633: Oppositions Arising (III)

[Third Person].

Confusion crossed Randall’s face. Then, his gaze sharpened. "How is that my fault? And why," he added carefully, "did you never mention your mate was not a pure werewolf?"

Draven almost scoffed. "When you discovered she had a wolf, did you not sense there was something more to her?"

"You should not have assumed I knew," Randall replied calmly.

Draven’s jaw tightened. He ignored his response and turned the conversation around. "You asked how you were to blame," he said. "I will tell you."

Randall stood still.

"If it were not for the fact that I am a Lycan," Draven continued, his voice sharpening, "would I have needed to hold back? To defend myself without risking exposure?"

A brief but unmistakable flicker of nervousness and realization crossed Randall’s eyes. ’So, he knows.’

Draven’s gaze turned cutting. "Is this not your moment to deny the allegation and defend yourself?"

Randall bowed his head slightly. "I cannot deny the truth."

A short, bitter laugh escaped Draven. "You cannot deny it now that it stands before you. But you did well to wrap it tightly in the past. To keep me in the dark."

Then, he lowered his voice. "If I had not discovered what I truly am, I would have exposed myself during Estella’s attack. And suffered for it."

Just then, Randall lifted his eyes. "I know you do not trust me," he said steadily. "But everything I did was for your future. You had to become the strongest werewolf alive. So no one would challenge your reign."

Draven rose halfway from the throne. "By cheating nature?" he demanded. "By altering my destiny?" His eyes burned. "Are you certain you did not do it for your own selfish interest?"

Randall did not flinch. "It does not matter the intention behind my past actions," he replied. "What matters is that the Moon Goddess blessed your reign."

Draven struck his hand against the arm of the throne. The crack rang out sharply through the hall. His fury was barely contained. But Randall only bowed again.

"The matter of the dissatisfied Elders," he added calmly, "will be handled by me. There is no need for Your Majesty to concern yourself."

Then, he bowed deeper this time and excused himself. Next, he turned and left. The doors closed behind him, and silence swallowed the hall.

Draven stood rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. In his heart, something hardened. This was no longer only about Estella. This was about truth and deception.

Much later, once he had composed himself, he sent for Oscar. Oscar entered swiftly and bowed.

"I want a full investigation into the border breach," Draven ordered. "How the vampires entered. Who failed. Whether there was internal assistance. Leave nothing unchecked."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

After Oscar departed, Draven summoned another trusted operative quietly—one who did not operate through official channels.

When the man knelt before him, Draven’s voice was low and cold. "I want you to investigate Randall Oatrun."

The operative did not react.

"Every alliance. Every hidden transaction. Every decision made years ago during his reign as both Alpha of Mystic Furs and King of Stormveil. I want dirt. And I want proof."

A pause followed briefly, then Draven added, "No one must know you are doing this."

The man bowed profoundly. "It will be done as you ordered, your majesty."

---

That same late morning, the petitions began to arrive one after another, sealed in formal wax and signed with trembling restraint or bold defiance.

Draven read the first one with a calm face. By the third, his jaw had tightened. By the seventh, the parchment in his hand nearly tore in half.

"The Queen’s fae lineage presents an existential risk to werewolf sovereignty..."

"Stormveil was founded upon pure wolf blood..."

"For the stability of the throne, we humbly request reconsideration of Her Majesty’s position..."

’Humbly?’ Draven let out a low, humourless laugh. "They are asking to be killed," he muttered under his breath.

He stacked the letters roughly on the table, his eyes dark. A knock followed shortly after.

The Royal Steward bowed. "Your Majesty, lunch has been served. Her Majesty is waiting."

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