The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven Chapter 658: Final Moments

News of the scandal did not stay confined within the palace walls for long. By midday, it had permeated the bustling streets of Stormveil, whispered by guards, palace servants, and officials who had witnessed the assembly. As evening descended, the story had taken root in every corner of the capital.

Initially, the reaction was pure disbelief. That shock soon gave way to profound disgust. The people began to speak of these matters openly. Wanda Fellowes, a noblewoman once held in high regard, had attempted to poison the royal bloodline to serve her own ambitions. Even more harrowing were the hushed rumors regarding the unspeakable relationship she shared with her own brother.

These revelations stirred a deep sense of revulsion among the citizenry, far exceeding mere outrage. However, their fury burned brightest when directed toward Reginald. The man had dared to stand before them, hurling accusations against the Queen and painting her as a cruel tyrant—when in reality, his own household had rotted into filth.

"He tried to deceive us."

"He plotted to turn us against the crown."

"How shameless."

By the next dawn, compassion had vanished, replaced entirely by cold, hard judgment.

---

The first day of the public procession signaled the commencement of their ultimate humiliation. Shackled in heavy chains, Reginald, Levi, and the other condemned male members of the Fellowes clan were dragged through the primary thoroughfares under the watch of heavily armed guards.

The moment they appeared, the onlookers pressed forward, their ire unrestrained. A torrent of curses filled the air, accompanied by rotten produce, scraps of filth, and sharp stones hurled at the captives. Many spat upon the ground, their faces twisted with sheer loathing.

"Look at them!"

"This is their true nature exposed!"

"Even beasts possess more shame!"

The insults cut deep, yet the ordeal had only begun. For seven consecutive mornings, they were paraded through the city. With each passing day, the atmosphere grew increasingly hostile. Any lingering doubts held by the populace evaporated, replaced by a collective, merciless fury. Levi, who had once traversed these same streets with his head held high, now kept his gaze anchored to the dirt. The crushing weight of the public’s hatred felt heavier with every word hurled his way. Reginald, formerly a man of immense influence, could no longer support his own frame. His posture buckled under the ceaseless degradation, stripping away his remaining dignity layer by agonizing layer.

Not a single voice rose in their defense; pity was entirely absent. By the seventh day, the crowd did not gather out of curiosity, but to bear witness to the bitter end.

---

Levi sat within his damp cell, the distant clamor of the city muffled and faint. The chaotic intensity of the previous days had faded into an oppressive silence, leaving him alone with his grim reflections. Everything had unspooled with terrifying speed. His mind perpetually replayed the scene in the hall—the accusations, the looks of utter disdain, and the finality of the King’s verdict. He gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening against the iron shackles on his wrists.

Ultimately, it was not the looming punishment that haunted him, but Meredith herself. He recalled her poised demeanor, her steady voice, and the clinical precision with which she had dismantled them. A surge of bitterness constricted his chest.

"She didn't need to go that far..." his voice was little more than a ragged whisper in the gloom.

Regardless of her justification, nothing remained for him. He saw only the wreckage of his existence. His reputation, his future, and the very name he carried were all reduced to ash. He leaned his head back, exhaling a shuddering breath. "I will never forgive you for this."

Meanwhile, in a neighboring cell, Reginald sat hunched over, his body burdened by profound exhaustion and grief. Initially, his thoughts centered on Wanda and the crushing weight of the truth. Now, he fixated on all that had been lost.

"My children..." he murmured, his voice trembling. The phantom image of his daughter in her casket haunted his thoughts. The reality of her heinous actions clashed violently with the memories of the father he had believed himself to be. Had he truly raised them to be such monsters? Had his failure been so absolute? His hands shook violently until, slowly, his despair hardened into vengeful rage.

"That woman..." he hissed, his face darkening with malice. From the moment Meredith had emerged by Draven's side, he had sensed a shift, a disruption he had foolishly underestimated. If only he had struck sooner, before she consolidated her power. His breathing turned ragged. "I should have eliminated you sooner."

But regret is a phantom that arrives only when the path behind has already been burned.

---

By twilight, the executions commenced. Levi was escorted out first. The setting was controlled, starkly removed from the chaotic streets. Guards stood at attention as a single cup of wine was presented to him. Levi studied the vessel, the implications clear. A hollow, mirthless smile played on his lips.

"So, this is how the story closes."

He accepted the cup without a struggle. After a fleeting pause, he drained it in one continuous motion. The cup tumbled from his numb fingers to the floor. A subtle tremor racked his frame before his strength failed completely. He slumped forward, his breathing ceasing as life slipped away. Just like that, it was finished.

The news of his demise reached Reginald quickly. Upon hearing it, the older man froze. For a long moment, the words refused to register. Then, "My son..." his voice shattered. The last vestige of his resolve crumbled under the weight of grief. He bowed his head, his frame convulsing as the agonizing truth settled in. Levi, the final pillar of his legacy, was gone.

Shortly thereafter, the guards returned for him. This time, he offered no resistance; there was nothing left to fight for. He was dragged to the execution grounds, where a massive crowd awaited with grim, resolute faces. They had gathered for this specific moment. As Reginald was pushed to the center of the marked ground, the murmurs surged—low, guttural, and dripping with judgment.

Once the guards retreated, the first stone flew. It struck him with enough force to make him stagger, a pained cry tearing from his throat. Another followed. And another. Soon, the air was thick with the projectiles of the crowd, each stone carrying the righteous fury of a people who had been lied to, insulted, and nearly manipulated against their own sovereign.

"You deceived us!"

"You tried to frame the Queen!"

"This is your due punishment!"

Reginald stumbled under the relentless barrage, his body recoiling at every impact. The pain arrived from every direction, pitiless and unyielding, offering no mercy and no path for retreat. His shouts eventually dwindled, his strength fading into nothingness until he lay silent.

The flying stones ceased, and a profound hush settled over the crowd. The fury that had burned so fiercely had finally spent itself. No one stepped forward to speak; the mood of the capital was clear: justice had been served. The name of the Fellowes family would never rise again, etched into history only as a cautionary tale for those who would dare tread down such a treacherous path.