Chapter 9 - The Spring Thaw
Three months later, the bitter snows of the northern territories finally began to melt, yielding to the bright, warm green shoots of spring across the rolling hills of Silvercrest.
The great hall of the keep was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and clinking goblets. But tonight was not a somber pack meeting or a tense political delegation.
Tonight was a wedding feast.
The entire pack of Silvercrest—along with high-ranking nobles, elders, and allied alphas from all five territories—crowded the banquet tables. At the center of the high dais sat Genevieve, radiant, healthy, and wearing a breathtaking gown of spun silver silk that shimmered like moonlight.
In her arms rested a healthy, beautiful baby boy with a shock of dark hair and striking, brilliant golden-flecked eyes—the new heir of Silvercrest, sleeping peacefully against her chest.
Standing beside her chair, dressed in formal royal regalia of midnight black and silver embroidery, was King Alaric.
As the pack musicians struck up a lively celebratory tune, Alaric leaned down, gently placing a kiss upon Genevieve’s forehead before pressing another soft kiss to the top of the sleeping infant's head.
“The northern borders are secure,” Alaric murmured quietly, his eyes filled with a deep, fierce devotion. “The renegades have been permanently exiled to the far southern wastes, and Arthur and your sister are mere memories fading in the dust.”
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Genevieve looked up into his golden eyes, a profound sense of peace washing over her soul. The betrayal that had once threatened to destroy her life felt like a lifetime ago. She had lost a cruel, hollow mate—and gained an empire, a fiercely loyal pack, and a king who loved her with absolute, unyielding devotion.
“I know,” Genevieve smiled softly, resting her hand over Alaric’s large palm. “And spring has finally arrived.”
