[Third Person].
Oscar returned to the palace before evening approached. And he did not need to announce success; Draven already saw it in his face.
"Your majesty, they have been delivered," Oscar said. "Reginald knelt."
A slow, dangerous satisfaction settled in Draven’s expression. "And?"
"He did not speak. But his temper was... visible." Oscar chose his words carefully. "His servants witnessed everything."
Draven leaned back slightly in his chair. "Good." There was no form of gloating in his tone.
Then, without hesitation, he added, "Place the Fellowes residence under tight watch. I want reports on everything. Whoever enters. Whoever leaves. Whoever lingers outside their gates. Even if it is a fly hovering too long."
Oscar inclined his head. "Yes, Your Majesty." He paused, then ventured carefully, "May I ask... why not allow the retired elders to visit him? Many of them resent him. They might bla him for their downfall. It would isolate him further."
Draven’s fingers tapped once on the armrest before going still. "As much as I would enjoy seeing them turn on each other," he said evenly, "I will not create an avenue for conspiracy."
Oscar listened closely.
"Cornered n do foolish things," Draven continued. "If they gather under the excuse of anger, they could just as easily gather under the excuse of revenge. I will not allow even the shadow of organization."
Then, his gaze hardened. "They can grieve their lost positions separately."
Oscar nodded slowly.
"Even if they attempt to conspire through private calls," Draven added, "their movents and communications are being monitored. They will find no room to breathe."
A faint, almost approving smile touched Oscar’s lips. "Those elders will not risk their remaining nobility, or their heads, by colluding with Reginald again."
"Exactly," Draven replied. Then, he rose, signalling the end of the discussion. "Keep inford."
Oscar bowed. "At once, Your Majesty."
---
Draven found redith in her chamber, near the tall windows overlooking the inner gardens.
She turned as he entered, reading his face before he even spoke. "It’s done?" she asked.
"It’s done," he confird. Then he told her everything—stripping Reginald of title and nobility, the house arrest on Reginald, and the punishnt he gave the other elders that offended them.
redith listened without interrupting. When he finished, she actually clapped softly once. "That," she said, impressed, "was decisive."
Draven stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Reginald will not rise from this."
redith studied him. "Do not underestimate a man who has been cornered," she said gently. "Especially one whose pride has just been publicly torn apart."
Draven’s jaw tightened slightly. "I don’t," he assured her. "That’s why he is being watched."
Her shoulders relaxed at that. "Good," she murmured. "Then we stay two steps ahead."
He brushed his thumb lightly along her jaw. "We stay ten."
---
Later that evening, Dennis phoned Draven to inquire about how he handled his enemies.
"Well?" Dennis demanded imdiately. "Tell you didn’t go soft on them, especially that arrogant pain-in-the-ass, crafty, rebellious old wolf."
Draven leaned back in his chair. "I expelled him permanently from the council, stripped his family of nobility, and gave him three months’ house arrest."
There was a beat of silence, then Dennis burst out laughing—a full, unapologetic laugh.
"I don’t mind losing money," he said between chuckles, "just to see what Reginald’s face looks like right now. I am proud of you, brother."
Draven allowed himself a faint smirk.
When Dennis finally cald, his tone shifted slightly. "I plan to hold my Alpha titling ceremony in a month."
Draven raised a brow slightly.
"So, I’m extending the invitation early, Your Majesty," Dennis added deliberately, teasing the title.
Draven scoffed softly. "You have my approval. And my support," he added. "If you need assistance—security, formal endorsent, political backing—you co to directly."
"Of course, I will," Dennis said. "I’m not about to waste my royal connections and relationships."
Draven had a good laugh, then ended the call.
***
In the weeks following Reginald Fellowes’ expulsion, Stormveil changed in tone.
At first, the noble houses whispered in corridors and behind silk curtains. So called the new King ruthless. Others called him decisive.
But as days passed and no chaos followed the council shake-up, fear gradually gave way to acceptance.
Among rchants and minor officials, approval spread faster.
"King Draven wastes no ti," they would say in marketplaces.
"Those elders were long past their pri."
"He removed rot before it spread."
The fact that the dismissals had been frad as honourable retirents preserved dignity, but everyone knew what had truly happened. The ssage was clear: the throne was no longer ceremonial. It was active.
Reginald’s house remained under watch. No public protests followed. No rebellion stirred. The dismissed elders, having tasted how close they had co to ruin, kept their heads down and submitted their resignations within the allotted ti.
Within a fortnight, vacancies in the Council of Elders were quietly filled. But this ti, the selection process was different.
Under redith’s subtle but firm suggestions, candidates were screened not rely for lineage but for rit. Scholars, strategists, seasoned warriors, and even a respected rchant-lord found themselves summoned for private interviews within the palace.
It was not loudly announced as a reform. It simply happened, and the court understood that Stormveil was entering a different era.
A "Royal Advisory Circle" was also ford—smaller, sharper, directly accountable to the Crown.
Oscar oversaw its structure, but it was whispered that many of the initial recomndations bore the Queen’s influence.
For the first ti in generations, won of rank were consulted on trade and diplomatic matters without mockery. redith did not demand recognition. She simply participated and proved difficult to ignore.
By the end of the month, stability had settled over Stormveil.
The people began saying it openly now: "Their reign will be strong."
And with the political ground solidified, attention shifted to the next celebration, Dennis Oatrun’s formal ascension as Alpha of Mystic Furs.
Though King Draven and Queen redith did not attend the titling ceremony in person, their absence was strategic.
They sent royal delegates bearing lavish gifts: ceremonial blades forged in the palace armoury, rare wines from the royal cellar, and a personal letter sealed with the King’s crest.
It was understood that the Crown acknowledged him. And soon after, preparations began for sothing far grander—
Dennis and Helena’s wedding.
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