EPILOGUE
A year and half later.
Dawn spills like honey across Silvercrest.
The air is fresh with smells of pine and new rain, and the walls no longer carry whispers of treachery or glamours.
Banners of black and silver hang together on the ramparts, the emblems of Nightfell and Silvercrest entwined in one sigil.
Wolves move through the courtyard below—some training, others laughing, going on about their daily business.
From the balcony of the Queen’s Wing, Freya watches them. Her attention shifts momentarily when a pair of sparrows fly and perch on the railing, chirping. Noctra doesn’t let them rest. He appears suddenly, black wings wide open and scares them away.
“Such a tease,” she taunts the raven, laughing softly.
“Training started before sunrise,” Jax says, stepping beside her. His cloak catches the wind, silver thread flashing once before settling.
Freya smiles faintly. “Peace is easier to guard when everyone remembers how to fight, brother.”
He nods once. “We’re stronger than ever before.”
“Nightfell’s warriors have helped with that,” she says.
“They’re rough,” Jax replies, eyes still on the courtyard. “But effective. Ours needed that.”
Freya glances at him. “And you?”
There’s a small pause. “I don’t need help staying sharp,” he says with a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Then, adds: “Just purpose.”
Her smile softens. “You found it?”
He exhales through his nose—a sound almost like a laugh. “Didn’t have to look far. Now someone’s got to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart again.”
“It’s the Goddess’s blessing that we have you for that very reason, Beta Jax,” she says, laughing lightly. “Thank you.”
He takes it as the highest of compliments, bowing low. “You’re welcome, High Luna.”
He leaves to oversee training, and the balcony grows quiet again. The sun climbs higher, glinting off the rooftops of the training sheds and healers’ huts. Freya turns toward the council hall where the morning meeting waits.
◆◆◆
The grand table gleams in the center of the room. On one side sit Silvercrest members—Brin, Maelin, Tamsin—and on the other, warriors from Nightfell. Rowan sits at the head with Freya, his dark cloak draped over the back of his chair. His presence is commanding but it also grounds her.
Brin speaks first. “The eastern borders are stable. The last of the rogues have joined the fold. Riverbane’s pack members are also slowly blending in with us for the first time since their Alpha’s surrender. As per reports, they’re finally growing comfortable.”
Maelin nods. “Two new pups were born under the full moon. Both healthy.”
Tamsin flips through her notes. “The stores are replenished. The apothecary’s rebuilding will finish before winter.”
Freya listens, chin resting on her hand. “Good,” she says softly. “No one goes hungry this winter. Not one child.”
Brin smiles. “Already arranged.”
The meeting ends smoothly. As the others rise and leave, Rowan lingers behind. He watches her gather the papers, suppressing a smile.
“You’ve turned this broken place into something living,” he says quietly.
Freya looks up. “You helped.”
He leans on the table, one brow raised. “Did I? I only followed your lead.”
“Rogues don’t follow,” she says, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
Rowan steps closer, holding her hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it. “For you, they kneel.”
As the silence between them stretches, Freya feels very aware of every inch of her body because of how intently Rowan is watching her. She lets out a shuddering breath at last.
“Council dismissed,” Freya says to no one.
◆◆◆
They walk together through the corridor, sunlight striping the marble floor.
At the door to her chamber, Rowan stops. “You look at me,” he mumbles, “like you’re waiting for permission.”
She turns, arching a brow. “To do what?”
He takes a slow step closer. “To stop pretending you don’t know how I feel. Even though I have told you and shown it to you on numerous occasions. Both in the cover of darkness, and in bright blinding light by the window.”
“You’re shameless,” she says, biting her lip as a silent invitation.
Rowan’s hand lifts, and his fingers brush her jaw. “Tell me to stop,” he says.
“Never,” she says, shaking her head.
He kisses her.
Freya wonders if someday she will stop feeling that deep pleasure and sense of calm when their lips meet in another kiss, but it has been more than a year, and she has yet to stop feeling it.
Her hands rise to his shoulders, anchoring herself to him.
The world narrows to their heartbeats and breath, to the warmth of Rowan’s lips and the quiet soothing storm that has always lived between them.
“Found you!”
They spring apart as Finn bursts through the half-open door, Ivy giggling behind him.
Freya blinks, breathless. “Finn—”
“You were hiding!” he says proudly.
“We won!” Ivy adds, clapping her hands.
Rowan laughs, kneeling to their height. “I could’ve sworn I was guarding the Queen’s Wing.”
Freya crosses her arms. “We weren’t hiding. We were—”
“Losing gracefully,” Rowan finishes with a grin.
Finn bursts into laughter and darts away. Ivy chases after him, their giggles echoing down the corridor.
Freya shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re a terrible influence.”
“I prefer charming,” Rowan says, straightening before kissing her again.
As they part, she glances toward the hall where her children’s laughter fades. “They deserve this. A life without fear and control.”
Rowan’s eyes soften. “You gave it to them.”
◆◆◆
That evening, when the keep quiets and the fires burn low, Freya walks through the Queen’s Wing. The corridors lit by silver moonlight.
Along the walls stretch the ancient murals—carvings of every High Luna who ever ruled under the Goddess’s blessing. Their faces glow faintly, light rippling through stone.
Freya stops before the last mural. For years, it had been blank. Now, silver lines shimmer where her image has formed—eyes bright, silver and black cloak billowing, crown alight with flame, and her arms patterned with crescents and blue ribbons.
Freya touches the stone. Warmth answers and Nyx stirs faintly within her, reminding her she's always there.
Rowan steps beside her, close enough that their shoulders brush.
“Two kingdoms reborn beneath one moon,” he murmurs.
Freya nods slowly, leaning back into this chest as his lips lower to her neck. “And one promise kept.”
Outside, the night deepens. The murals glow once more, light shimmering like breath before fading to stillness. The moonlight lingers on their faces as a quiet, eternal blessing.
And beneath it, Silvercrest finally sleeps in peace.
THE END.