CHAPTER 244: GABRIEL CARTER VS REGINALD FELLOWES

(Third Person).

Reginald didn’t blink. Those words didn’t even move him.

"Then perhaps you should blame yourself, Gabriel. You’re the one who brought a useless daughter into this world—one unfit to wear a crown even when she married into royalty," he said.

Gabriel let out a sharp scoff. His lip curled into something between a sneer and a smile.

"And perhaps you should remember not to dictate to a grown man whether or not he keeps his wife." His voice dipped, rich with mockery. "Or is it that you think your daughter is the one fit to be Queen?"

A heavy murmur erupted instantly, filling the chamber with sharp whispers. Heads turned, eyes flicked between Reginald and Gabriel.

Reginald’s face darkened like a stormfront. "Watch your tongue—"

But Gabriel wasn’t finished. His voice rose, not in volume, but in precision—each word striking clean as a blade.

"Don’t think we don’t know your game. You’ve had your daughter—who, let’s be honest, is well past the age most women have a home and pups—hovering around Draven for years. For what? Do you think we are too blind to see you’re grooming her to take the throne as Queen?"

Reginald’s hands clenched against the table. "You’re spewing rubbish. And I wasn’t speaking to you—"

Gabriel chuckled darkly, cutting him off. "And I wasn’t asking for permission. You forget yourself, Reginald. You’ve never ruled so much as a village, yet you sit here as if your voice weighs the same as mine. You are here by connection, not merit. Never forget your place."

The chamber was now a boiling pot—whispers turned to open muttering, chairs shifted, some Elders shaking their heads in disapproval, others leaning forward as if watching a brawl unfold.

Reginald shoved back his chair, fury in his eyes, but before he could lunge across the table, two Betas moved in quickly to restrain him. His breathing was heavy, his face flushed.

From his seat, Draven allowed the corner of his mouth to lift slightly. He didn’t intervene. Watching them tear into each other was far more entertaining than stopping it.

One man was furious because his schemes had been dragged into the light.

The other—a man who had never shown his daughter kindness—was suddenly defending her honour.

It was... fascinating.

Then Draven’s gaze slid toward Reginald. He’d known Wanda had been pushed into his orbit from a young age, but only now did the full picture sharpen.

The hostility Wanda held toward Meredith wasn’t just jealousy—it was the kind of venom bred from deliberate grooming, probably a lifelong mission planted by her father.

And now, Draven thought, watching Reginald’s barely restrained rage, the pieces start to fit.

Finally, Draven leaned back in his chair, finally breaking the silence that had hung over him like a coiled storm.

His voice cut through the murmurs—deep, steady, and carrying enough weight to still the restless air in the council chamber.

"Enough," he said.

The word landed like a command.

Gabriel, Reginald, and the few others still on their feet hesitated, then sat back down on their seats. The scrape of chairs against the polished floor echoed in the hushed room.

Draven’s gaze travelled slowly across every face at the table, making certain each man felt the pressure of his attention.

"I know," he began, his tone calm and deliberate, "that some of you speak today with what you believe are good intentions for me." He allowed the faintest smirk to curl his lips. "And I know that some of you speak out of selfish motives."

A ripple of discomfort stirred the chamber.

Draven leaned forward, resting one arm on the table. "Let’s not pretend otherwise. Some of you have tried—more than once—to push your daughters into my arms. Some of you have cornered me in private with proposals, as if I’m too blind to see the leash you’d be slipping over my neck."

Several of the Alphas shifted in their seats. A few elders looked away, eyes fixed on the carvings in the table as if they suddenly found them fascinating. One cleared his throat a little too loudly.

"I don’t," Draven continued, "and will not, play your games. I have no plans to divorce my wife."

The murmuring started again—soft but charged.

His eyes locked on Reginald, sharp enough to pierce. "And as for you, Elder Reginald... whoever whispered to you that I married Meredith only to use her as a pawn lied to you. Lied—and made you look a fool in front of everyone here."

A muscle in Reginald’s jaw ticked as his hands clenched beneath the table. The insult was deliberate. He knew it.

Every man present knew it and Draven knew it because he had actually meant to deliver that message straight to Reginald.

In truth, Reginald wasn’t as focused on the humiliation as he was on the source of the contradiction. Wanda had been the one to tell him. Wanda never lied to him. She would never dare.

That left only one conclusion in his mind—Draven was the liar, hiding his real plans.

Draven didn’t give Reginald the chance to speak. His voice deepened.

"I have chosen to spend my life with Meredith Carter. When I take the throne, she will be your Queen. And from this moment, let it be known that this is the last time anyone here insults the future Queen of our race—whether in whispers or in the open. If word reaches me again, the rules will be enforced without mercy."

The tension in the room turned heavier. Several faces hardened. Even Draven’s father, Randall, wore a deep frown, his disapproval plain as daylight.

Draven noted it—and stored it away. They would speak later. He had a question or two for his father as well.

From his seat, King Alderic gave a single approving nod, his expression unreadable but his eyes keen.

This was the tone a future King should take. No Alpha destined for the throne could afford to be bent by the will of others.