Chapter 11 - Echoes of the Past
The celebration of the coronation echoed through the ice-spire halls of Frostpeak well into the night, but deep within her private chambers, Giselle found herself staring at a small wooden box resting on her dressing table. It was the only item she had been allowed to bring from her cold attic in Oak Haven—a box containing a faded ribbon and a journal filled with notes she had written during her loneliest years.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. The heavy oak door creaked open, and Stellan stepped inside, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He unbuckled his heavy leather bracers, tossing them onto a nearby chair before walking over to wrap his arms around her from behind.
"You're quiet tonight, my queen," Stellan murmured, resting his chin softly against her silver hair. "Is the shadow of the south still weighing on your mind?"
"Not the south," Giselle replied softly, turning slightly in his embrace to look up into his golden eyes. "Just... remembering the girl who used to stare at these very walls through a cracked mirror, wondering if she would ever see the sky. Sometimes it feels like a dream. How did I survive all of that, Stellan?"
"Because your spirit is forged from something unbreakable," Stellan answered, his voice fierce yet tender. He gently brushed a strand of silver hair away from her cheek. "And your family... Thomas and Martha are locked away in the ice mines, working off the debt of their cruelty. They will never hurt you again."
"I know," Giselle whispered, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. "Yet, a part of me wonders if my mother ever truly looked at me and saw her own flesh and blood, or if she only saw a ghost of a secret she wanted to bury."
Before Stellan could reply, a sudden, sharp rap echoed at the outer chamber doors. A high-ranking scout burst into the anteroom, breathing heavily, carrying a scorched scroll bearing the seal of the eastern trade guilds.
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"My King, My Queen," the scout panted, dropping to one knee. "Smoke rises from the eastern border pass. Lord Sterling’s surviving loyalists have allied with a rogue mercenary faction. They are marching toward the Wolfswood with enchanted siege weapons."
Stellan’s eyes flashed with blinding, molten gold, his inner wolf snapping to the surface. "They dare test us again?"
