<h4>Chapter 663: Inviting the Faes</h4>


    <strong><i>[Third Person].</i></strong>


    A weekter, the Grand Hall in the Royal Pce was once again filled.


    This time, not with celebration, nor judgment, but with purpose.


    Every seat was upied. The council of elders stood in their designated positions, the Royal Alphas gathered with attentive expressions, and the high-ranking officials remained silent, awaiting the King’s words.


    At the front, Draven and Meredith sat upon their thrones. The atmosphere was steady and focused.


    Then, Draven rose. "I have called this assembly," he began, his voice carrying clearly across the hall, "to address the security of Stormveil."


    At once, the attention in the room sharpened.


    "The Great Wall," he continued, "has protected ournds for generations. But past events have made one thing clear, our enemies are not done."


    A faint tension settled over the hall.


    "We cannot afford another breach." Draven’s gaze swept across them. "I intend to strengthen the Wall. And I have found a way to do so."


    That drew interest, subtle, but present.


    Draven continued. "The Queen’s grandmother is a fae."


    That alone stirred quiet reactions across the room.


    "The fae possess runic abilities unlike any other. They are willing to assist us in securing the Wall... permanently."


    This time, the reaction was more noticeable. Whispers started quietly, then spread. The idea of working with fae—of allowing them such involvement—was not a small matter.


    Draven did not interrupt them. He allowed the murmurs to settle naturally.


    "They wille under certain conditions," he added calmly. "Conditions that will be revealed upon their arrival."


    The hall remained filled with quiet discussion. Eyes shifted between one another, weighing, considering.


    Then, Randall stepped forward. "My King," he said, bowing slightly before lifting his gaze. "This is a wise decision."


    The murmurs softened.


    "If the fae can truly strengthen the Wall," he continued, "then Stormveil stands to gain greatly." His tone grew firmer. "There are already signs that another war may not be far off. We cannot afford to be unprepared—not again."


    His words settled heavily.


    "And if this alliance can prevent our enemies from ever breaching our defenses..." he finished, "then it is worth pursuing."


    A small pause followed, then one elder stepped forward. "I agree."


    Another followed. "This would benefit the kingdom."


    Soon, more voices joined.


    "The risks are outweighed by the gain."


    "We must secure our borders."


    "The King’s decision is sound."


    One by one, the resistance faded, and approval took its ce.


    Draven observed them all, then nodded once. "I will send an invitation," he said. "When their conditions are presented, you will be informed."


    There were no objections; only agreement. The decision had already been made.


    "Then this assembly is concluded."


    The hall bowed as one. And slowly, the leaders of Stormveil began to disperse—each one aware that something significant had just been set into motion.


    As the hall gradually emptied, Draven’s gaze shifted. "Dennis."


    Dennis, who had been preparing to leave with the others, paused and stepped back forward. "Your Majesty."


    "Stay."


    He nodded.


    One by one, the remaining elders, alphas, and officials exited the Grand Hall until only a few guards remained at a distance.


    Then Draven spoke. "Send for Jeffery."


    Dennis’s expression sharpened slightly. "To deliver the invitation?"


    "Yes," Draven replied. "He will go to the Faes."


    Dennis gave a small nod. "I will have him here this evening."


    Draven inclined his head once. "Good."


    There was nothing more to add, so Draven dismissed him.


    Dennis bowed slightly before turning and leaving the hall.


    A few momentster, the space grew quiet again. Then, Draven turned to Meredith. "Come," he said.


    He reached for her hand without hesitation, his hold firm yet careful, as though even that simple contact carried more weight now. Together, they left the Grand Hall.


    Lunch had already been prepared.


    When they arrived, the servants moved quietly, ensuring everything was set before withdrawing to a respectful distance.


    Draven pulled out a chair for Meredith before she could do it herself, and she sat. Then, he took his seat as well and settled his gaze on her.


    "How are they today?" he asked.


    Meredith understood immediately what he meant, so she shifted slightly in her seat with one hand resting gently on her stomach.


    "They’ve been calm," she said. "No trouble."


    Draven gave a small nod, as if that alone settled something in him. Then, as naturally as everything else, he rose from his seat and reached her side.


    Meredith didn’t question his actions. She simply leaned back slightly to give him space.


    His hand settled on her stomach. He held it there briefly, his thumb brushing gently and almost absentmindedly.


    "Do you both hear your father?" he asked quietly. "Don’t trouble your mother. Remain peaceful, okay?"


    There was no embarrassment in this, no awkwardness. This had already be part of their routine.


    Meredith’s lips curved faintly, but she said nothing.


    After a second, he withdrew his hand and returned to his seat as if nothing unusual had happened.


    Then they began eating.


    Draven didn’t overload her te this time, but he still guided the meal in quieter ways—sliding certain dishes closer, pouring her drink before she asked, making sure she ate enough without making it a discussion.


    Meredith followed his rhythm easily. This, too, had be normal.


    At some point, she slowed slightly, which wasn’t enough for others to notice, but he did.


    "Tired?" he asked.


    "A little."


    He nodded once. That was sufficient. Then they finished without hurrying.


    —


    Later, in their chambers, Meredith sat at the edge of the bed, adjusting the fall of her robe as she settled morefortably.


    Draven moved without a word. He knelt in front of her and took her foot into his hands without an exnation.


    Meredith leaned back slightly, allowing him.


    His touch was confident now—firm where necessary, soothing the tension caused by the subtle changes in her body.


    "You’re quieter today," she said after a while.


    Draven didn’t look up. "I’m thinking."


    "About the wall?"


    "Yes," he said, then his grip softened slightly as his thumb pressed along her arch. "And them," he added.


    Meredith nced down at him. That was expected. Draven had been like this for weeks now—more attentive, more deliberate, his focus split between the kingdom... and what wasing.


    "They are fine," she assured him.


    "I know." But he didn’t stop, because knowing wasn’t the same as making sure.


    The room fell quiet again, filled only with the steady rhythm of his hands and the calm that had slowly settled between them.


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