Chapter 10 - The Spring of Valenwood
One year later, the snows across the northern ranges melted away to reveal rolling hills of vibrant green and valleys bursting with wildflowers.
In the heart of Frost Hollow, Miriam Ashcroft sat on her porch, rocking gently in her wooden chair as she watched a young girl run across the village square, laughing as a magnificent, half-grown white wolf bounded playfully at her heels.
Further north, within the towering walls of Blackwood Fortress, the Great Hall was filled with the sound of music, laughter, and celebration.
The wedding of King Rowan Blackwood and Eliza Hawthorne was an event that united the northern mountain clans, the southern mercantile houses, and the wild frontier tribes under a single banner of peace and equity. There were no grand decrees of conquest, no demands of tribute—only feasting, dancing, and the quiet, steady hum of a realm at peace.
Seated upon the throne of Blackwood, Rowan no longer looked like a weary warlord haunted by grief. His arm rested comfortably around Eliza, who wore a simple dress of forest green embroidered with tiny silver leaves, the golden-repaired ivory pendant catching the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows.
At the foot of the dais, stretched out across the warm flagstones, lay Valen, the great silver wolf. His coat gleamed like polished silver, his amber eyes half-closed in absolute contentment.
As the courtyard bells rang out across the valley, welcoming the bright warmth of the endless spring, Rowan leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Eliza’s hair.
"They said kindness couldn't survive the road," Rowan whispered with a quiet, joyful smile.
Eliza looked up, her gray eyes sparkling with quiet triumph as she leaned her head against his shoulder.
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"They just didn't know the road," she replied softly.
And across the northern realm, from the high mountain passes to the edge of the quiet sea, the winter finally gave way to a sunlit, everlasting dawn.
