CHAPTER 247: A MOTHER’S WORRY?

(Third Person).

~Stormveil~

Gabriel pushed open the bedroom door with a sharp shove, the weight of the day clinging to his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

The faint scent of lavender from Margareth’s perfume lingered in the air, soft and calming—yet it did nothing to cool the heat simmering in his chest.

Margareth was seated at the vanity, carefully unpinning her hair. She caught sight of him in the mirror, her eyes narrowing at the tension etched into every line of his face.

"You’re home late," she said softly, turning on the stool. "What happened? Is everything all right?"

He didn’t answer right away, instead tugging off his jacket with jerky movements and tossing it onto the bed. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose. "Reginald Fellowes," he muttered, his voice low but simmering with venom. "That rotten, power-obsessed old fool... he disgraced me today."

Margareth blinked. "Disgraced you? How?"

Gabriel’s jaw tightened, his voice rising. "He had the audacity to speak about our daughter—our daughter—as if she were dirt. He called Meredith wolfless to my face in front of everyone, like he was announcing the weather. I should have ripped his tongue out right there."

Margareth’s fingers stilled against her lap. She didn’t speak, but in her heart, she couldn’t entirely deny it—Meredith’s existence had been a burden for them in the eyes of their world.

Gabriel must have sensed her silence, because he turned to her with a bitter laugh.

"You know I’m right. If it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t have to suffer embarrassment at every damn turn. We should never have had a child like her."

Margareth sighed, her gaze slipping to the floor. She didn’t argue.

"But," Gabriel went on, his chest puffing slightly, "I put Reginald in his place. I reminded him who he was speaking to, and I made sure he sat back down before his arrogance got him thrown out of that meeting."

Margareth raised a brow, but before she could respond, Gabriel’s tone shifted. "Though that wasn’t even the most shocking part of the day."

She straightened. "No? Then what was?"

Gabriel’s lips thinned. "Draven. In front of the entire council, he stood up for Meredith."

Margareth’s eyes widened. "He did what?"

"Not only that," Gabriel said, still sounding as though he barely believed it himself, "he declared she was his mate."

The words hung in the air between them. Margareth shook her head, disbelief etched into every movement. "That’s... impossible. She’s wolfless, Gabriel. How could they have felt the mate bond? This makes no sense."

"I don’t know," Gabriel admitted, pacing toward the window.

Margareth’s voice hardened slightly. "He’s lying. He must be lying."

Gabriel paused, looking out into the darkened grounds beyond. "Maybe. But Draven isn’t the sort who makes up stories. He’s arrogant—too proud to tell such a lie. And yet... It’s possible that he is trying to fool us all."

Margareth crossed her arms, frowning. "Then why are those elders so obsessed with his marriage? Why do they care if he stays with Meredith or not? It’s not their business."

Gabriel turned back to her, a cold practicality in his tone. "It is their business. They want a queen who can lead beside him, not a useless girl who can’t even shift. The elders are right, Margareth. A person without strength should never be allowed near power."

Her frown deepened. "You didn’t say that out loud, did you? Not in front of the others?"

Gabriel’s nose scrunched up. "Of course not. I’m not an idiot."

With that, he stripped off his waistcoat and tossed it aside, his irritation returning full force. "Now... where’s dinner? I’m starving."

"The servants are setting the table," Margareth replied.

When Gabriel stormed out of the bedroom in search of dinner, the door shut with a sharp click that seemed to echo in the quiet.

Margareth stood motionless in the centre of the room, her hands lightly clasped in front of her. She listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway before moving toward the vanity.

Her reflection stared back at her—poised, composed, with only the faintest crease between her brows betraying the unease coiling in her chest.

Draven’s claim according to her husband’s description, replayed in her mind like a stubborn echo.

She scoffed under her breath, shaking her head. "Wolfless girls don’t get mates," she whispered to herself, though the certainty she tried to summon felt brittle.

For all her life, she had believed Meredith’s lack of a wolf was a sentence—an immovable truth that made her daughter less in the eyes of their people. If Draven truly felt the bond, then everything she had clung to about her daughter’s limits could be wrong.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. That possibility unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. Because if Draven was telling the truth, then Meredith’s position could become untouchable—something even the elders would have to bow to.

Margareth’s gaze drifted to the far wall, to the framed portrait of her four children as toddlers. Meredith, in the centre, had the brightest smile of them all.

Margareth remembered how, back then, she had been proud. Proud of the girl’s beauty, of her gentleness. But as the years went on and no wolf emerged... pride had given way to disappointment, then to cold resignation.

She traced a finger over the edge of the vanity. "You’ve always been a burden," she murmured, almost as if speaking to the memory in the photograph.

Yet now, if Draven’s words were true, that same burden might rise higher than anyone expected—higher than Margareth herself.

And that... that she could not allow without understanding exactly what Draven was playing at.

Her eyes narrowed, thoughts sharpening into the beginnings of a plan.

If Gabriel intended to send Mabel and Gary to Duskmoor, Margareth would make sure they did more than just observe. She would instruct them to dig—deep enough to uncover whatever truth Draven was hiding.

Because if Meredith truly held the mate bond with a future king... then Margareth needed to know how to use it, before it used her.