The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 626: Saving Her King (V)

[Third Person].

Draven did not react outwardly, but his fingers tightened subtly against the armrest of the throne.

Estella leaned even closer. "You think hiding what you are makes you stronger?" she whispered. "You think they would still kneel... if they knew?"

His gaze sharpened, a storm brewing in it.

Estella straightened slowly and stepped back, giving the hall her profile again. Then she said clearly, voice carrying, "You sit on a throne built on lies."

Murmurs rippled faintly through the Elders. Meanwhile, Draven’s eyes never left her. She met his gaze and smiled again—manipulative, daring.

"Go on," she said. "Tell them. Tell them what you truly are."

The challenge hung in the air like a drawn sword.

Draven’s fury simmered beneath stillness, but he did not rise to it. He would not let her destabilize him. He definitely would not give her that satisfaction.

"What do you want?" he asked instead.

Estella’s smile widened slightly. "Ah. There it is." She circled him slowly now, like a predator inspecting its prey.

"But just know that no matter what it is," Draven continued evenly, "you cannot have it."

Her laughter rang sharp this time. "Your confidence is... charming."

Then almost immediately, the laughter stopped abruptly. And her expression shifted to cold, claiming.

She stopped directly in front of him again and looked at the throne beneath him. Then at him. Her voice dropped into something far more dangerous.

"You are sitting in my seat."

Once again, murmurs spread through the hall like a rising tide. Alphas exchanged glances. Elders leaned toward one another, whispering sharply. Her statement hung heavy in the air.

Draven’s voice cut through the noise. "Which seat are you referring to, Estella?"

One of the Alphas tried to take a step forward, fury flashing in his eyes despite the vampires surrounding him.

"You have lost your mind. You invade Stormveil with vampires and dare to speak of taking the throne?"

Estella did not look offended. She looked amused instead. "As Randall Oatrun’s first child," she said smoothly, "it is my turn to reign."

A ripple of disbelief followed.

Then she gave a soft snigger. "And where is Randall? That old man should be here. I suppose he knew I was coming and decided not to show his face."

Oscar’s voice came steady from the side. "You have no biological tie to Randall Oatrun. You were adopted. Nothing more."

Estella turned her head slowly toward him. Her smile sharpened. "An adopted child," she said softly, "is still a child."

Then she faced the hall again, spreading her hands slightly.

"I forgot to introduce myself properly." Her eyes gleamed. "I am Estella Oatrun." She paused for a bit, then asked, "Does that make more sense now?"

Her laughter echoed—controlled, but edged with madness.

An Elder with a face red with fury spat back, "You plotted treason once and were banished for it. Now you return with more audacity to usurp the throne? Where does a vampire get such guts?"

Estella’s smirk deepened. "This," she said.

In the blink of an eye, she vanished and reappeared beside him. The Elder stiffened in fright. Two vampires flanked him instantly, pinning him in place.

Estella leaned close enough for him to feel her cold breath. But before she could act further, Draven moved.

He crossed the distance in a flash, seized her by the arm, and flung her backwards with controlled force.

"Enough!" he thundered.

She landed lightly, barely phased by his sudden actions.

"Take your night crawlers," Draven continued coldly, "and return to whatever darkness you crawled out from. You have no right to claim Stormveil’s throne."

Estella laughed again. "And why not?" she asked lightly. Without waiting, she began listing.

"Because I am a woman and women do not rule? What a foolish rule forged by the worst of misogynists."

A few Alphas bristled.

She tilted her head. "Or is it because I am a vampire?" She asked, her smirk widening dangerously. "Are you going to tell me that vampires have no right to rule werewolves?"

She stepped closer. Then, looking Draven squarely in the eyes, she asked him, "Do you truly have that right?"

Draven’s fury burned beneath a controlled stillness. He knew precisely what Estella was doing. She was testing him, prodding, tempting him to slip, and tempting him to deny something he himself struggled to define.

Just then, Rhovan’s voice echoed in his mind. "Do not listen to her. She is trying to disarm and control your mind."

Draven responded sharply through the bond, "It’s not like I’m deaf. And it’s not like she is wrong."

Meanwhile, Estella’s gaze sharpened, sensing the tension. "Today," she declared loudly, addressing the hall, "before Stormveil’s great leaders, you will prove yourself."

Her eyes returned to Draven as her voice hardened. "I came for the throne. And I will have it."

She let her words sink in for a moment before adding, "Or I will leave with Randall’s head."

The hall froze as all the Alphas and Elders inhaled sharply. They were completely humiliated by Estella’s audaciousness.

On the other hand, Estella began removing pieces of her armour, unclasping them one by one and letting them fall to the marble floor. When she was done, she rolled her shoulders, loose and ready.

"Today," she continued, circling him slowly, "you will go down in history for one tiny reason."

Her smile curved wickedly. "Not because you are unworthy of facing me." Then, she leaned slightly closer. "But because you chose to live in denial of who you truly are."

A silence thicker than blood settled. And finally, she lifted her hand without looking away from Draven.

"If any hostage moves," she instructed her vampire soldiers calmly, "snap their necks."

"Yes, Lady Estella!" they answered in chilling unison and tightened their stance around the Alphas and Elders.

Estella stopped pacing and stood before Draven with blazing eyes. Then, she moved without warning.

One second, she stood before him, her lips curved in that taunting smile, and the next, she was in full vampire mode.

Her eyes darkened. Veins surfaced faintly beneath pale skin, and her nails lengthened into vicious talons.

Then, she struck. Her hand flashed across Draven’s face, and four crimson lines tore through his cheek.

Blood splattered across the marble, and a collective gasp tore through the hall.

And the duel began.