The square lit with golden fire, music rising like a heartbeat through Vargorath's stone veins. Children danced, elders wept with joy, and warriors clasped hands in fierce embraces. Long tables were set beneath the open sky, food and drink flowing as laughter replaced the silence of war.
Bards sang of moonfire and starlight, of wolves and wings, of victory carved from shadow. And through it all, the people remembered, not only the cost, but the strength it took to rise again.
Inside the castle, the celebration deepened into something richer, more intimate.
Tapestries fluttered as warmth returned to the ancient halls. Courtiers and warriors alike filled the great chamber, their faces lit by chandeliers and triumph. Goblets clinked, laughter rang beneath the vaulted ceiling, and the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine filled the air. Music played, harps and drums and flutes weaving a sound both noble and wild.
Thornak stood with Lara at his side, their hands entwined, eyes scanning the room with quiet pride. The royal twins, Iris and Jasmine, danced freely among the guests, their silver hair catching the candlelight. King Maelor shared stories with Aurion near the hearth, old wounds forgotten for one night of peace.
Above them all, carved into the stone, the crest of the Lycans gleamed.
It was a night Vargorath would never forget.
At the far end of the hall, Aedric stood quietly, watching the revelers dance beneath the high torches and swaying banners.
He saw Thornak and Lara. She wore a soft silver gown and her golden hair swept up and pinned with delicate crystal combs. Thornak stood tall beside her in deep blue robes trimmed with silver. As they danced, Lara laughed aloud when he spun her too quickly, nearly knocking into a servant. He grinned, whispered something that made her giggle harder, and the two moved together, carefree and radiant beneath the golden lights.
He thought of leaving, he was already getting bored, then he saw her, Rell. She wasn't dressed for battle, instead, she wore a simple gown, soft blue. It clung to her figure just enough to whisper its shape, flowing at the waist and falling in clean lines that moved with her. Her arms were bare, her hair loose for once, curling down her back like a dark river.
Aedric saw her from across the room and froze.
For a heartbeat, he didn't recognize her. The warrior was still there, but softened, radiant. And in that moment, something in him shifted, caught off guard by the quiet grace of her beauty.
Before he could take a step toward Rell, a figure moved into his path, Helen, Lara's mother, her smile warm and knowing.
"Hello, Prince Aedric," she said gently.
His heart skipped a beat, caught between surprise and something he couldn't name.
Aedric blinked. "Lady Helen… what are you doing here?"
She smiled, unbothered. "I was invited... along with my husband. And your son."
He froze. "My… s-son?"
Her smile faded, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Are you going to deny it now?"
He swallowed hard. "I… I didn't think..."
"Don't lie to me, Prince Aedric." Her voice was low. Cold. "It took me a while to figure it out."
She stepped closer.
"You were Araya's mate."
He flinched. "I didn't mean to.. "
"You left her. You left them. Why?"
"Can we talk somewhere more private?" he asked softly.
Lady Helen gave a small nod. "Yes."
He led her through the castle corridors to a quiet alcove tucked behind a tapestry-lined hallway. The sounds of celebration faded behind them.
There, Aedric spoke, everything. From the night he left, to the marriage that swallowed him whole, to the regret that never stopped gnawing at his soul.
When he finally fell silent, Lady Helen let out a long sigh.
"Araya was heartbroken," she said quietly. "She waited. She hoped. Until hope hurt more than silence."
His throat tightened. "I never had the courage to ask before… but where is she now?"
Helen's face crumpled. "She died… in childbirth."
The words hung in the air like a bell tolling far too late. Aedric closed his eyes, grief hollowing him from within. He stood frozen, the weight of Helen's words pressing down like stone. His breath shook as he tried to steady himself, but the guilt clawed too deep.
"I should've come back," he whispered. "I should've..."
Helen stepped forward and took his hand gently. Her voice, when it came, was soft but steady.
"Araya understood, Aedric," she said. "She knew the weight you carried, the chains that held you. She forgave you, long before the end."
He looked at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
"She wanted you to know… you shouldn't carry this like a wound that never heals. Her death wasn't your fault. And if she could speak to you now, she'd tell you not to let sorrow drown what you still have."
Aedric swallowed hard, his voice a rasp. "I don't deserve forgiveness."
"No one does," Helen said simply. "But sometimes, we're given it anyway."
She reached up and placed a hand over his heart.
"I've seen Liam with Corin. Two boys, two brothers, playing as if they were always meant to. They don't know who they are to each other, but blood does."
She met his gaze, firm and kind.
"You have to tell them. Both of them. They deserve the truth, and you deserve a chance to make things right."
As she said it, Lady Helen turned and walked away, her footsteps quiet against the stone floor.
Aedric stood there for a long moment, unmoving, the weight of truth pressing hard against his chest.
Then he heard her voice, low, teasing, familiar.
"Princeling, what are you doing here alone?"
He turned. Rell stood in the archway, brow arched, the flicker of torchlight dancing across her features.
Without thinking, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. The tears came then, silent, hot against his cheeks.
Rell froze for half a breath, then, sensing the storm within him, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and held him close. No questions. No hesitation. Just quiet strength.
She held him, steady and still, letting him breathe against her shoulder.
"I don't want to talk about it," he murmured after a while, his voice rough.
Rell's hand moved gently across his back. "I didn't ask. I figured you will… when you're ready."
Aedric said nothing more, and she didn't ask. They stood there in the quiet, wrapped in each other's arms.
After he was calm he let go.
"Would you like to go to the garden?" She asked softly.
Aedric shook his head. "No. I think I'll go to bed."
A pause.
"Do you mind… staying with me tonight?" he added, almost shyly.
She arched a brow, smirking. "Princeling, shouldn't you buy me dinner first before inviting me to your bed?"
Aedric laughed, the sound quiet but real, his first in days.
Aedric's chamber was dimly lit, the fire casting gentle shadows along the stone walls. Rell stepped in first, her eyes scanning the room as if expecting ghosts to stir from the corners. Aedric followed, slower, the weight of everything unsaid pressing heavy on his shoulders.
The maids had done their work. His ex-wife's belongings were gone, every trace cleared, but her scent still lingered faintly, clinging to the air like a memory that refused to fade.
They didn't speak much. For a while, they talked quietly of the war, of the fallen, of things easier to name than grief. Then, at last, they lay down, fully clothed, shoulder to shoulder. It was not desire that brought them close but something gentler. A quiet understanding. A fragile peace.
Rell curled against him, her arm wrapping softly around his waist, her presence steady and warm.
Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was kind.