<h4>Chapter 210: Granting Xamira’s Freedom</h4>


    <strong><i>Meredith.</i></strong>


    Dinner had just begun by the time I arrived at the grand dining hall.


    Everyone was already there—Dennis and Jeffery deep in quiet conversation, Wanda all smiles and polished charm, and Draven, seated at the head of the table, dark-eyed and unreadable.


    I caught his gaze for a split second and gave him a simple nod. He didn’t smile or speak. He just inclined his head slightly in return, which was enough.


    I moved to his right side, pulled the chair back, and sat down. My body eased into the familiar leather.


    Dinnermenced shortly after. The servants shifted with graceful precision,ying down bowls and tes and goblets on the table.


    A tray ofmb stew in bone broth was ced before me, alongside garlic mashed potatoes and a tter of roasted root vegetables.


    I picked up my spoon, stirred the stew gently, but couldn’t bring myself to take a bite.


    Instead, my mind drifted back to Xamira.


    That little girl was sitting upstairs right now, eating alone in her room, her cries still echoing faintly in my memory.


    I could practically hear her calling for Draven, and I hated the image that stirred inside me—a child reaching out for affection, forpany, and receiving silence instead.


    I understood loneliness. Too well.


    I shot a nce across the table.


    And there sat the very reason that child had been exiled from the dining hall.


    Wanda.


    With her soft smile and hands folded neatly beside her te, she looked like the perfect portrait of refinement. A lie in silk.


    I wanted to throw my wine in her face.


    How could someone be so vile, so effortlessly cruel, and yet act like she had a clean conscience?


    She had instigated Xamira to push me—and had walked away before the mess.


    She had let the child bear the full weight of the punishment. And now, she sat here, well-fed and smug, while Xamira ate behind a closed door upstairs, thinking no one cared.


    If it were up to me, that injustice would end tonight.


    "Jeffery," I heard Draven’s deep voice break the heavy silence. I turned my head to listen.


    "Yes, Alpha," Jeffery replied as he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "I will be heading into town tomorrow. The fake investigativemittee is holding another meeting, and I n to observe. After that, I will take a look around. Might be signs of movement."


    Draven gave a curt nod. "Be careful. They’re likely nning something more aggressive soon."


    "I will go with him to take a look around," Dennis chimed in without missing a beat. "Two sets of eyes are better than one. And who knows, we may catch something."


    Another approving nod from Draven. "Good. Watch the outskirts of the West District. And don’t forget: Don’t engage unless provoked."


    "Understood."


    Their voices melted back into quiet conversation, but my heart was still thudding for another reason.


    I took a slow bite of my stew and chewed in silence, casting another nce toward Wanda. She chipped a few words into the conversation.


    This woman was just rotten to the core.


    But tonight, I would fix one thing—at least for Xamira.


    As I continued eating, my mind was already drafting how best to bring it up with Draven.


    After all, now that we were no longer at odds, I could push for what I knew was right for the little girl’s sake.


    ---


    After dinner, as everyone slowly began to rise from their seats, I caught Draven’s gaze. I didn’t hesitate and calmly stepped toward him.


    "Draven, there’s something important I need to talk to you about," I said softly, so no one else could hear.


    His eyes searched mine for a moment—deep and unreadable but attentive. Then, without a word, he gave me the faintest nod and gestured for me to follow.


    I trailed him out of the dining hall, our footsteps the only sound down the quiet corridor.


    The tension wasn’t sharp like before, just present—like something quietly watching us from the shadows.


    We walked in silence up the staircase, side by side, neither of us speaking.


    I was grateful for that as it allowed me time to choose my words carefully tonight otherwise, my goal might fail.


    When we reached his bedroom door, he opened it and stepped aside for me to enter first.


    The scent of him clung to the walls—cedarwood, earth, something darker. The space was as always—dimly lit by the low golden light of the sconce on the far wall. It was familiar and intimate.


    He closed the door behind us with a quiet click, then leaned against it as lines appeared on his forehead.


    "You seem worried. What did you want to talk about?" he inquired.


    I didn’t waste time. "It’s about Xamira."


    His brows tightened.


    "I saw her this evening," I went on. "Well... I heard her crying first. She was asking to eat with you."


    Draven didn’t move, but something shifted in his stance.


    "I know what she did to me that day," I added. "I know it was wrong. But she’s just a child, and we both know who put her up to it."


    "Wanda," he said tly.


    I nodded, d he already knew about it. "And yet Wanda still sits at the table, eating without a care in the world while Xamira cries alone in her room."


    Silence fell between us for a beat.


    "She pushed you into a pool," he said, voice low. "You could have hit your head, passed out, drowned—"


    "I didn’t," I cut in gently. "And I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to forgive."


    His jaw clenched.


    "She’s just a child," I pressed. "And whether or not you’re angry with her, she still sees you as the only parent figure she has left. The only person she craves eptance from. The longer you keep her away, the more damage you will cause."


    He said nothing, just looked down slightly, as if weighing everything.


    "She’s learning how to process consequence," I continued, "but she’s also learning abandonment. And I think one of those lessons is far more dangerous than the other."


    At that, Draven finally moved. He pushed off the door and walked past me, heading toward the window. His hand rested on the ledge.


    "Her actions were unthinkable for a girl her age," he said again, but quieter now.


    "I know. But she’s like seven or eight, Draven. And she’s scared."


    He turned to me, then. And for once, I saw more than just the Alpha in his expression. I saw a man genuinely torn between duty and emotion.


    "I will think about it," he said atst.


    I took a step closer. "I think you should have gone past the processing stage now. You need to let her sit with us again. Give her the chance to make amends, not rot in silence."


    His gaze flicked away, then back. "You are serious about this?"


    "I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t."


    I don’t know what Draven thinks I am. Xamira is a child whose innocence was yed with by the wrong hands.


    I would never bear grudges against a child.


    Another long pause. Then finally, he exhaled slowly. "Fine. I will speak with her," he said. "Tomorrow. But if she ever does anything like that again—"


    "She won’t," I promised as relief bloomed in my chest.