The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 498

Chapter 498: It’s Time

[Third Person].

Everyone gathered again in the vast living area as dusk settled fully outside.

The space felt warmer now, lit by oil lamps hung low and candles set into carved niches along the walls.

The room wasn’t grand, but it breathed history—woven mats layered over stone floors, low cushions arranged in a loose circle, and short-legged wooden tables placed carefully in front of each guest.

Meredith sat beside Draven this time, close enough that their shoulders brushed when they settled.

Dennis took a seat across from them, Jeffery beside him, while Azul and Deidra sat slightly back, respectful but included.

Meredith’s grandmother occupied the head space—not elevated, but naturally commanding, her presence alone anchoring the room.

Just then, servants moved in quietly, setting bowls and plates onto the low tables.

The first spread was modest but fragrant: steamed roots glazed in herbs, flatbread still warm from the hearth, slow-cooked vegetables seasoned with unfamiliar spices, and bowls of grain mixed with berries and nuts.

Clay cups of deep-purple plum wine followed, their sweetness noticeable even before tasting.

Dennis stared at the table, then stared a little longer. His expression tightened.

Meredith’s grandmother tilted her head slightly in his direction, clearly aware.

"You look displeased," she said calmly. "Is my food lacking?"

Dennis stiffened. "No—no, ma’am. Not at all." He straightened, forcing a polite smile. "It looks... very healthy."

Jeffery bit down hard on his lip. Draven lowered his gaze, shoulders shifting once as if suppressing a reaction, while Meredith hid her smile behind her cup.

The old woman studied Dennis for a long second, then lifted her hand and gave a small, deliberate signal to one of the servants.

Moments later, the scent hit first.

Several new dishes were carried in—platters of roasted chicken, skin crisped over open firewood, herbs charred into the meat, juices still sizzling faintly.

Meredith recognized it instantly, and her breath caught before she could stop herself.

"Fire-roasted," she said softly, a smile pulling at her lips. "You still make it the same way."

Her grandmother’s mouth curved, just barely. "Some things are not meant to be changed."

On the other hand, Dennis’s entire demeanour transformed. He leaned forward, eyes lighting up, all restraint gone.

"Now this," he said reverently, already reaching for a piece.

No one stopped him.

As the servants finished arranging the dishes, Meredith’s grandmother began to explain each one—where the herbs were grown, how long the grains were soaked, and why certain foods were paired together.

This wasn’t just a meal; it was a lesson, a quiet insistence on intention.

Everyone ate slowly at first, tasting one dish at a time. Draven was visibly surprised, his posture easing as he sampled the food.

"I’ve never eaten anything like this," he admitted quietly to Meredith.

She smiled at him, warm and knowing. "Then enjoy it while we are here."

Just then, her grandmother’s voice cut gently through the hum of the room. "The plum wine is sweet," she warned, "but do not be deceived. It carries more bite than it admits."

Dennis nodded enthusiastically and promptly ignored the warning. He poured himself another cup, drinking with obvious pleasure, head bobbing in approval.

"This," he declared, "is dangerous."

The old woman merely hummed.

Laughter lingered softly in the air, but beneath it, Meredith felt the pull of the night tightening, like the world itself was waiting.

---

Thirty minutes later, Dennis had clearly passed the point of moderation.

He leaned back against his cushion, plum wine cup loosely cradled in his hand, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes too bright.

He glanced around the room again, then laughed softly to himself before turning his attention back to Meredith’s grandmother.

"I still don’t get it," he said, gesturing vaguely around him. "A place like this—quiet, hidden, full of... whatever this is." He waved his cup again. "How did I not know it existed until now?"

The room stilled, just a fraction. Meredith felt it before anyone else did.

But her grandmother did not bristle or scold. She simply turned her head slightly toward Dennis, her expression unreadable, and her voice calm.

"Not everything is meant to be discovered," she said. "Some things are meant to be found only when the time is right."

Dennis blinked. "That sounds like a riddle."

"It is," she replied without hesitation.

Jeffery cleared his throat. Draven, meanwhile, sat a little straighter. There was something in the old woman’s tone that tugged at him—not vague, not drunken nonsense, but layered. Intentional.

He had the strange sense that her words were not meant just for Dennis.

At that instant, her breath caught in her throat. ’Why would Draven want to take a walk right now?’ She thought to herself.

Just then, Meredith felt Valmora stir, sharp and alert. "Don’t stall. Excuse yourself. Redirect him. Now."

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