Chapter 10 - The Legend of the Wolf Queen
Years later, travelers crossing the Frostpeak mountain pass would often stop at the roadside taverns to warm themselves by the hearth and listen to the old songs sung by the valley bards.
They sang of a human princess who walked into a court of stone without an army, armed only with her honor and the truth in her heart. They sang of a Wolf King who brought every pack from the northern forests to her door not to conquer, but to crown her.
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And at the center of the citadel, high above the pine forests where the silver moon shone brightest against the snow, Queen Clare walked hand-in-hand with a growing boy whose laughter echoed through the stone halls.
She no longer wore the heavy crown of Whitmore, nor did she carry the burden of her father's court. She wore the circlet of Blackwood, her wrist bore the mark of the eternal bond, and she knew—with every breath she took—that she had never needed to beg.
