Chapter 122 Echoes of the Past
Wynter's POV
The checkpoint guard's hand hovered over his weapon as his eyes tracked from Chase's silver-and-grey traveling cloak to the three Rogues flanking us. I felt Chase tense beside me through the Bond, his Alpha instincts bristling at the implied threat, but before the situation could escalate, I stepped forward.
"I'm Wynter Vaughn," I said, keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart. "Arthur Vaughn's daughter. I request an audience with Lord Julian Ashwood."
The guard's entire demeanor shifted. His hand dropped from his weapon, and something that looked almost like reverence flickered across his weathered face.
"Arthur's daughter?" He studied me more carefully, and I watched recognition dawn. "You have his eyes. And his—" He stopped, clearing his throat roughly. "Lord Julian will want to see you immediately. Please, follow me."
As we passed through the gates into Emerald Valley proper, I felt my chest tighten with emotions I'd been holding back since we'd left the safe house. The cobblestone streets were clean and well-maintained, lined with shops whose windows displayed goods rather than bars. Children played in a small park without armed guards hovering nearby. People walked with their heads up, their faces open rather than pinched with fear.
This is what my father fought for, I thought, my throat burning. This is what he died trying to protect.
Through the Bond, I felt Chase's hand find mine, his fingers interlacing with a gentle squeeze. He'd be proud of you, his mental voice came through warm and certain. For finishing what he started.
I hope so, I sent back, blinking against the tears threatening to spill.
Jax moved closer to my other side, his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings with the wariness of someone who'd spent too long in hostile territory. But even he seemed to relax slightly as we progressed deeper into the city, as if the absence of threat was itself unsettling.
We walked through familiar streets, and with each step, memories I'd tried to bury came flooding back. That bakery on the corner—I remembered my father buying me sweet rolls there when I was six. The fountain in the square where I'd thrown coins and made wishes that never came true.
The Lord's palace rose before us—not the fortress-like structure of Bloodrock, but an elegant complex of interconnected buildings that managed to convey both strength and welcome. My feet knew the path without conscious thought, muscle memory guiding me through gates I'd passed through countless times as a little girl.
We were escorted deeper into the palace, through corridors lined with portraits of past leaders and tapestries depicting Emerald Valley's history. Finally, we reached an antechamber outside the Lord's private audience hall—a room I recognized immediately despite the years that had passed.
The same tall windows overlooking the gardens. The same carved wooden benches. The same small table in the corner where I'd colored pictures while important discussions happened behind closed doors.
"Please wait here," the guard said. "Lord Julian will see you shortly."
As the door closed behind him, I moved to the window, looking out at the gardens below. Through the Bond, I felt Chase's curiosity, his question unspoken but clear.
"I used to play down there," I said quietly, pointing to a particular corner where an old oak tree stood. "My father would bring me here when I was little. I'd spend hours in those gardens while he worked." I paused, the memories threatening to overwhelm me. "Lord Julian—he wasn't just my father's superior. He was like family."
Chase came to stand beside me, his presence steady and grounding. "You really knew him," he said softly.
"I called him Uncle Julian," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "And he used to carry me on his shoulders through these very halls, telling me stories about Emerald Valley's history." I stopped, swallowing hard. "The last time I was here, I was twelve years old. The day before my father left on that final mission."
Before Chase could respond, the door to the audience hall opened, and a servant appeared. "Lord Julian will see you now."
I straightened my shoulders, forcing my grief back down where it couldn't interfere with what we'd come here to do. But as we crossed the threshold into the audience hall, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe.
Lord Julian stood by the tall windows overlooking the gardens, his back to us, hands clasped behind him in a posture I remembered from childhood. The morning light caught the silver in his hair, and for a moment he looked exactly as I remembered—strong, steady, safe.
He turned as we entered, and I watched his expression transform in the space of a heartbeat. Shock. Disbelief. Recognition so profound it made him sway slightly on his feet.
"Wynter?" His voice cracked on my name. "Little Wynter?"
And then he was moving toward me, his formal bearing crumbling as he closed the distance. He stopped just in front of me, his hands coming up as if to touch my face, then hesitating—as if he couldn't quite believe I was real.
"You were this tall last time I saw you," he said finally, his voice thick with emotion as he held his hand at roughly waist height. "You look so much like him. Not just the eyes—the way you stand."
My throat closed up completely. "Uncle Julian," I managed, and the childhood name broke something in both of us.
He pulled me into a brief, tight embrace, then stepped back quickly, visibly pulling himself together. When he turned to Chase, I could see him forcing his grief aside, the Lord and Alpha taking precedence over the grieving friend.
"Lord Sterling," he said, his voice steadying. "I owe you and your father an apology. When Arthur died, when the evidence seemed to point toward Silvermoon involvement, I—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "I let grief cloud my judgment. I should have investigated more thoroughly before casting blame."
"You were manipulated," Chase said, his voice carrying a firmness that surprised me. "We all were. Draven Kaine is a master at turning allies against each other." He paused, and through the Bond I felt him wrestling with his next words. "But I won't pretend Silvermoon handled the aftermath well. My father has spent years regretting that we didn't have the capability to catch the real enemy. Our failure to act decisively, to communicate clearly with Emerald Valley—it let the misunderstanding fester."
Lord Julian studied Chase for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Your honesty is appreciated, Lord Sterling. And it speaks well of Silvermoon's current intentions." He gestured toward a sitting area near the windows. "Please. I believe you came here for more than apologies and reunions."
Once we were seated, I carefully unwrapped the ledger from its protective cloth. Morvanna's amulet hung heavy around my neck as I placed the book on the table between us.
"This is Owen Fletcher's ledger," I said, watching Lord Julian's face carefully. "He was a spy Bloodrock planted at the school—a mole who kept tabs on everything happening here. He documented everything—every forged document and every plan Draven made to incite war between territories."
"Fletcher?" Lord Julian frowned slightly, the name clearly unfamiliar. "I don't recall—"