Chapter 11
1113words
Gone was his elegant silk coat, replaced by a coarse linen shirt. His hair had turned completely white, as though winter had settled permanently upon him. Clutching a leather-wrapped package, he spotted me and fell heavily to his knees on the stone steps.
"Isabella, my daughter." His voice quavered. "I've come to confess. My debts to your mother, to you, to all of House Morningstar—today I begin to repay them."
The square fell silent. Tovak stood nearby, leaning on his cane, while Leicester moved to my side, his hand gently supporting my elbow, eyes filled with concern.
Staring at my father's hunched form, I remembered how in my previous life he'd surrendered Mother's Contract Magic manuscripts to Orden for royal favor. How he'd turned deaf ears to my desperate pleas. The old pain returned, dull and throbbing like a badly healed wound.
"What right have you to repent?" My voice was quiet but edged with frost. "Where were you when Mother died in the king's dungeon? Where were you when Seraphina sent me to my death in the wasteland?"
Arthur raised his head, eyes red-rimmed, and pulled yellowed papers from his package—Mother's Contract Magic manuscripts, their edges worn and curled from constant handling.
"I know my wrongs." Tears fell onto the manuscripts, blurring ancient ink. "For family prestige, for royal favor, I surrendered your mother's work. When she discovered my betrayal and tried to recover them, the king imprisoned her. I… I feared losing my title so much that I never even visited her cell."
He paused, withdrawing a silver pendant from his pocket, my mother's name etched into its surface. "She left this for you. I've kept it hidden all these years—too afraid to give it to you, yet unable to discard it. I told myself that once I gained enough influence, I'd save you both. But in the end… it was all for nothing."
Leicester's hand rested gently on my back as I stared at Mother's familiar handwriting. I remembered her teaching me Contract Magic, her voice soft but firm: "Contracts are a power of protection, never a weapon for vengeance." Suddenly, I felt hollow, drained of anger.
I knelt, taking the manuscript and pendant. My fingers brushed his hands—once soft with privilege, now rough with calluses.
"I can forgive you," I said, drawing a deep breath. "But you must honor Mother's memory and all those harmed by you and the king. Build a Repentance Monument at the border between our peoples. Carve your mistakes, the king's cruelty, and three centuries of lies into stone. Let future generations see how pride and favoritism can destroy."
Father bowed until his forehead struck stone with a hollow sound. "I will. I'll quarry the stone with my own hands, carve every word myself, and guard the monument until my dying day."
Just then, Lucas arrived with several werewolves, Grey in tow. Silver chains bound his claws, and fresh scars marked his face. His eyes still burned with resentment as they swept across the crowd, though his former savagery had dimmed. "Isabella, don't think you can sit in judgment over me! I'm a wolf tribe warrior, not your captive!"
Tovak approached Grey, tapping his cane sharply against stone. "You're no warrior. You're a traitor." He turned to address the crowd, voice carrying. "For a governor's title, Grey helped poison his own pack brothers. At Sacred Grove, he used Seraphina as a shield before killing her. After Orden's capture, he contacted the king's loyalists, trying to reignite war between our peoples. Lucas has gathered proof of all these crimes."
Angry shouts erupted from the crowd. An elderly werewolf raised his walking stick. "Exile him! Send him to the depths of the Black Forest, never to return!" Grey opened his mouth to protest, but Lucas's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "This is wolf clan justice. You betrayed your pack and our alliance. Consider yourself lucky—exile is our most merciful sentence."
They led Grey away. He no longer struggled, but glanced back once at the palace, his eyes filled with something complex—perhaps regret, perhaps merely calculation.
Tovak approached Lucas and presented his bone staff. "From this day forward, you lead the wolf clan. Remember—our people need protection, not conquest." Lucas accepted the staff with a solemn nod. "I will remember, Elder."
As sunset painted the sky, the crowd slowly dispersed.
Leicester took my hand, leading me to the palace garden where Moonflowers—Mother's favorites—bloomed with pale purple petals.
From his pocket, he produced a bronze ring engraved with both races' emblems—a werewolf bearing a bone staff beside a vampire holding blood jade—mirroring the ancient Alliance Pact.
"Isabella, I have a request." Leicester's expression grew solemn, sunset fire dancing in his crimson eyes. "I wish to form an eternal symbiotic contract with you. I'll surrender part of my immortality for a lifespan equal to yours—to walk beside you through every blood moon, every changing season."
I stared at him, stunned. Vampire immortality—coveted by so many, attainable by so few—and he would sacrifice it willingly. "You needn't do this," I whispered. "Your love is enough."
"No," he said firmly, sliding the bronze ring onto my finger. "I refuse to watch you age while I remain unchanged. I won't live centuries alone, sustained only by memories. Contract Magic is protection—and this ring is my protection for you."
I stared at the bronze ring, finally understanding Mother's words about "the power of protection."
Rising on tiptoe, I pressed my lips to Leicester's cheek. Though his skin remained cool, it filled me with warmth and safety.
In the distance, Tovak and my father conversed quietly. Nearby, Moonflowers nodded in the evening breeze. For the first time in memory, the world felt right.
At dawn, Father gathered his tools and departed for the border to begin quarrying stone for the monument.
Lucas led the wolf clan in routing the king's remaining loyalists, while Tovak and Lady Victoria drafted terms for lasting peace.
Leicester and I watched from the palace balcony as vampires and werewolves raised houses and tilled fields side by side. The bronze ring caught sunlight, warm against my skin.
"Look," Leicester said softly, gesturing toward the bustling square. "Your mother's dream—our dream—has finally come true."
I nodded, squeezing his hand. Our rings touched, generating warmth like a captured flame between our palms.
Old grievances had finally been laid to rest. Hatred had transformed into repentance, war into peace. Leicester and I would carry this protective power forward, walking our path together.
