By sunset, the palace was quiet.
The mages stood at the heart of the grand courtyard, their hands raised toward the sky. Threads of light and color - earth green, flame gold, water blue, air silver - intertwined above them, forming a great luminous circle that spread across the city like dawn breaking anew.
All who had been trapped in Petrid's spell - the nobles, the servants, even the guards - gasped awake. The puppet soldiers, their wills once stolen, fell lifeless to the ground, their torment finally ended.
The curse was broken.
When it was done, King Roland, pale and weary, walked to the mages. To the astonishment of all, he fell to his knees before them.
"Great Elders," he said, his voice hoarse, "I have stolen more lives than I can ever repay. I hunted your kind in blindness and fear. Yet you protected what I destroyed - and saved what I could not."
He bowed his head. "I offer my crown, my gold, and my life, if you will have them."
Maelor shook his head. "We seek no throne, Your Majesty. The forest calls us home. That is reward enough."
Roland raised his eyes, and for the first time in years, there was peace in them. "Then take my gratitude, and my daughter's safety, as the kingdom's atonement."
***
The next morning came soft and blue.
William stood by the palace gates, a new horse saddled and waiting. The wounds on his arm had been bound by Selune's magic, but his eyes still carried the exhaustion of a man who had seen too much of death and love in one night.
Elyon approached him, dressed no longer as a fugitive or a princess, but in a simple gown of white and silver. The light touched her hair like fire through glass.
"So," she said, trying to smile, "you're leaving."
He nodded. "Ludia calls. My father will want to know I still live - and what became of the alliance he forged."
Elyon looked down. "Tell him it still stands."
William chuckled softly. "I will. Though I suspect he'll ask why his son returned with a scar and not a bride."
She glanced up sharply, blushing. "William-"
A deep voice interrupted. "Then perhaps he should take her properly next time."
King Roland stood a few paces behind them, leaning lightly on a cane. His face was drawn but alive, his tone half-serious, half-playful. "You protected my daughter when I could not. You stood by her when my kingdom turned its back. For that, Prince William, I owe you more than honor can repay."
He smiled faintly. "So, I offer you what all fathers fear most: my daughter's hand."
"Father!" Elyon gasped, her cheeks burning.
William bowed, grinning. "I accept - when she's ready to offer it."
Roland's laughter was quiet, but real. "Then you'll do."
He turned away, leaving them to the silence that followed - a silence that felt like the world pausing, as if even time held its breath for them.
William reached out, his gloved hand brushing her cheek. "I will return," he said softly. "Not as an ally, not as a wolf, but as a man who intends to claim what his heart already has."
Elyon's voice trembled. "Then I'll be waiting."
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead - gentle, reverent, the kind of promise that needed no oath. Then he mounted his horse, turned once to meet her gaze, and rode out through the palace gates into the rising dawn.
Elyon watched him until he was gone, her hand still lifted as if to catch the wind that followed him.
The sun climbed over the ruins of Nitchgard, and for the first time in a generation, its light was clean.
She closed her eyes.
Her story - at last - was only beginning.