Chapter 19: Price of an Unspoken Apology

Late summer swept across Frostfang in quiet waves.

For the first time in years, the fields beyond the outer walls shimmered with harvest gold. Children ran freely between orchard groves that had once been battlegrounds. And in the town square, a stage was built—not for war declarations, but for music.

The first Peace Festival in living memory was underway.

Freya watched from the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, cloak unadorned. She had declined every formal invitation. Her only concession was standing in the back where no one would notice the faint shimmer of silver scars beneath her sleeves.

“You’re not enjoying yourself?” Theo asked, appearing beside her with two mugs of chilled berry mead.

“I’m not used to crowds that don’t carry weapons,” she muttered, taking the drink anyway.

He laughed. “You led a revolution. Surely a song or two doesn’t scare you.”