CHAPTER 459: A LINE DRAWN IN BLOOD

[Meredith].

"Alinthia." The King’s tone dropped low, echoing with authority.

It silenced her instantly.

Everyone froze once more, except Draven, who remained as unbothered as a boulder in a storm. Standing there with quiet dominance, one hand loosely resting by his side, he didn’t even glance at the princess anymore.

Instead, he turned his head slightly toward me, the tilt of his chin subtle but unmistakable:

He dared anyone in the room to disrespect me.

Almost immediately, something warm and electric slid down my spine.

Princess Alinthia’s lips quivered with outrage, but it was the Queen who finally intervened—softly, tactfully.

"Your Majesty," she said, hoping to pull him back into diplomacy. "I’m sure this is only a misunderstanding—"

"Is it?" the King asked, turning fully to his daughter. "Alinthia, explain yourself."

The princess visibly swallowed. Her sharp, venomous glare flicked to me, but she kept her chin raised.

"I only meant to greet Alpha Draven properly," she said with strained politeness. "Stormveil’s strongest Alpha deserves warmth and respect. I didn’t intend any offence."

Liar.

Her earlier hostility from the garden replayed through my mind crystal clear.

The Queen sighed. "Even so, child, you must maintain propriety in front of a visiting Luna."

Princess Alinthia’s jaw tightened. And then, she looked at me directly.

"Luna Meredith," she said sweetly, "please don’t misunderstand. I only wanted to honour your mate."

I met her gaze calmly and smiled—polite, graceful, and composed.

"Of course," I said. "But next time, Princess... honour him from a distance."

Her expression cracked.

Draven’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

The King laughed with a dry, approving rumble that echoed across the room. "Well said," he remarked.

Princess Alinthia paled. She looked between her father’s amusement, Draven’s indifference, and my composed smile. And for the second time, her confidence faltered.

Her fingers trembled at her sides.

The King leaned back in his chair, exhaling. "I suppose the palace needed a reminder," he murmured, "that a queen must stand her ground."

His gaze met mine briefly, and something respectful flickered there—respect—from a King.

I inhaled slowly, grounding myself.

Princess Alinthia dropped her head, defeated, and the Queen finally stepped forward, gently placing a hand on her daughter’s back.

"That is enough for today," she said tightly. "You may leave us."

The Princess hesitated but obeyed, turning sharply and storming out with her pride in tatters.

As the doors shut behind her, Queen Loraina exhaled deeply, rubbing her temple.

"My apologies, Alpha Draven," she said again. "And to you, Luna Meredith. My daughter can be... spirited."

Spirited.

That was one way to describe a spoiled fuse of jealousy and entitlement.

I only bowed my head politely. "It’s quite all right, Your Majesty."

Draven didn’t speak, but his fingers brushed the back of my hand subtly.

King Alderic cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "let us not allow one child’s foolishness to sour a visit I have long anticipated."

His words hung softly in the air. Then Draven bowed once. "Then we shall take our leave, Your Majesty. Rest well."

I followed immediately, offering a deep bow to both King and Queen.

The moment we stepped out of the royal chambers, Draven took my hand—firm, steady. Jeffery fell behind us, and Azul and Kira quickly joined, silent shadows following our steps.

We walked through the hall in composed silence. Draven’s grip never loosened; he didn’t rush, didn’t falter—he simply led. And I let myself be led, not because I needed support, but because the two of us leaving together felt right.

Only when the palace doors opened to the bright courtyard did Draven finally slow his pace.

Our convoy waited, warriors already positioned around the cars.

He guided me down the steps without letting go of my hand.

When we reached the first car, Draven opened the door for me. I met his eyes briefly—just a flicker—and then slipped inside.

The door closed with a quiet, decisive click.

Then Draven rounded the vehicle, and one of the guards immediately opened the opposite door for him.

He slipped inside with his usual quiet dominance, buckled his belt, and the convoy rolled forward, leaving the palace shrinking behind us.

I turned to him with a raised brow. "You really threatened the princess about her tongue?"

A slow, wicked smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Why? Were you not satisfied?"

I didn’t even bother hiding my nod.

’Satisfied?’ Of course I was.

That spoiled, arrogant princess needed to be put in her place, and who better than Draven to do it without lifting a finger?

Before I could get lost in that gratifying thought again, Draven reached for my hand. He brought it up and deliberately pressed a slow, warm kiss to the back of it.

"No one can touch you," he murmured.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and my fingers curled slightly in his hold.

As our convoy passed through the palace gates, Draven finally released my hand and shifted his attention to me again.

"So," he said, "did the Queen give you a hard time when she pulled you away?"

I shook my head quickly. "No. She was surprisingly kind. And she told me a lot."

His eyes sharpened with interest.

So I told him everything Queen Loraina revealed about how the king was slowly being poisoned, why the palace had kept it quiet—how someone powerful must have orchestrated it.

And how the Queen feared the same danger could befall Draven once he ascended the throne.

Draven didn’t react with shock. He didn’t even blink. He just listened calmly, like someone who already saw the storm on the horizon long before anyone else smelled the rain.

My brows knitted. "You knew."

His jaw flexed slightly. "I suspected. Those power-hungry elders... men like Reginald... they all plant their spies everywhere. Even in the palace."

I stared at him. "And you are not worried?"

"Worried?" He huffed a dark sound. "No. But prepared? Yes."

I bit the inside of my cheek. Everything Queen Loraina said replayed in my mind.

"Is there a way to stop the spies completely?"

I hated the pleading tone in my voice, but I couldn’t help it. The idea of Draven walking into that battlefield of politics alone, surrounded by hidden threats, made something cold settle in my stomach.

"Unfortunately," Draven said, his tone firm and unyielding, "no. No amount of screening can stop them all."

My heart sank a little. "So, there is nothing we can do?"

"Oh, there is." His voice dropped, turning deadly calm.

I looked up at him.

Draven stared out the window as the forest flashed by, his expression carved in unshakeable resolve.

"It cannot be stopped," he said, "but it can be controlled."

Then, he turned his head and met my eyes with a gaze that sent a chill—one part fear, two parts awe down my spine.

"During my reign," he said quietly, "any spy caught will be tortured, killed, and their body returned to the one who sent them."

I held my breath. There was no exaggeration in his voice—no cruelty for the sake of cruelty—just truth—cold, certain, and terrifyingly clear.

Draven wasn’t simply planning to rule. He was planning to draw a line in blood. And anyone who crossed it would not live long enough to regret the mistake.