Chapter 111 CHAPTER 111
The meeting was called before the night had fully settled.
Silverpine’s great hall was lit with low-burning lamps, their glow casting long shadows against the stone walls. The air inside felt tight, heavy with unease, as though the pack itself sensed that something fundamental had shifted. This was not a gathering for ceremony or celebration. It was a reckoning.
Sebastian stood near the center of the hall, his posture stiff, his hands clenched at his sides. Across from him sat his parents, Richard and Lydia Moore, their faces drawn and tense. Beside them were Hilda and Cedric Hale, their expressions tight with worry. Further along the table sat several elders of the Silverpine pack - men and women who had lived long enough to remember older wars, older alliances, and the price of offending a throne.
No one spoke at first.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until one of the elders finally leaned forward, fingers steepled.
“Are you certain,” he asked, his voice calm but probing, “that the girl you saw was Cindy?”
Sebastian lifted his head. “I’m certain.”
Another elder frowned. “People do look alike. Are you sure it was the Hale girl you saw?”
“She changed,” Sebastian admitted. “She looks healthier. Stronger. But it was her. I’ve seen her every day of my life. I know her face.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
“And she is truly the Princess of Mooncrest?” Hilda asked quietly, her voice strained.
“Yes,” Sebastian said. “Lisa Ashvale.”
The name seemed to echo against the stone.
The room remained heavy after Sebastian’s confirmation.
No one spoke for a moment, as though the truth itself had taken up space among them, pressing against the walls of the great hall. Then Richard Moore leaned forward slowly, his elbows resting on the table, his head bowed.
“This is my fault,” he said quietly.
Several heads turned toward him.
“I should have asked questions,” Richard continued, his voice tightening. “Seventeen years ago, when you came to Silverpine with a child in your arms.” His gaze lifted and fixed on Hale. “I should have asked where she came from.”
Cedric stiffened slightly but said nothing.
“You told me she was safe,” Richard went on. “You said you’d raise her as your own. That she would want for nothing. I trusted you.” His voice cracked. “That trust was foolish.”
“Richard….” Lydia began.
He shook his head. “No. Listen to me.” His hands curled into fists. “The Mooncrest attack happened the same night the queen disappeared with her child. We all knew that. We all mourned them. And then, not long after, a toddler appears in Silverpine.”
His eyes burned with regret. “I should have seen it. I should have made the connection. I should have investigated. Instead, I chose the easier path and believed what I was told.”
Cedric finally spoke, his voice rough. “I never meant for…”
“But you did,” Richard interrupted sharply. “You meant for her to stay unseen. You meant for her to blend into the background, and I allowed it.”
The elders shifted uneasily.
One of them stood, her movements slow and deliberate. “Richard,” she said gently, “no one would have imagined it.”
He looked at her, unconvinced.
“At the time,” she continued, “the world believed the queen and her child were dead. Entire kingdoms mourned them. When Cedric and Hilda arrived with a baby, no one questioned it because no one believed there was anything left to question.”
Another elder nodded. “Grief blinds reason. It did then. It would now.”
“That child was hidden in plain sight,” a third added. “And it fooled us all.”
Richard exhaled shakily, the anger draining into something closer to sorrow. “That doesn’t absolve me.”
“No,” the elder woman said calmly. “But it does remind us that hindsight is cruel. What’s done is done.”
She looked around the table, her gaze sharp now. “We cannot change seventeen years ago. We can only decide what kind of pack we are now.”
The hall fell silent again.
“Regret will not protect Silverpine,” she finished. “Only action will.”
Richard straightened slowly, the weight of her words settling over him. His eyes flicked briefly toward Sebastian - not with blame, but with something heavier.
Responsibility.
Richard Moore exhaled sharply as his mind went back to what they had been discussing before. “Did you speak to her? The princess.”
Sebastian hesitated for the briefest moment. “No. We didn’t get a chance.”
Lydia studied him closely. “Did she recognize you?”
“She knew who I was,” he said. “I think she… ignored me.”
That did not bring comfort.
“That’s worse,” one of the elders muttered. “Silence leaves too much room for interpretation.”
Cedric Hale rubbed his temples. “What did she tell the King - her brother?”
Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t know.”
The hall filled with uneasy whispers.
“That’s the problem,” another elder said sharply. “Whatever image she portrayed of Silverpine to the King – is what believes of all of us. It will decide the fate of Silverpine.”
Hilda’s hands tightened in her lap. “Liam Blackthorne came to Silverpine twice after Cindy left.”
Several heads turned toward her.
“Yes,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “He asked nothing. Said nothing. Just watched.”
“And now we learn,” an elder said slowly, “That the girl we dismissed was already under royal protection.”
The implication hung heavy in the air.
“Did he know?” Lydia asked quietly. “Did Liam already know who she was?”
No one answered.
Because the silence itself felt like an answer.
“If the King knows,” Richard said grimly, “Then Silverpine stands accused of mistreating his sister.”
“And worse,” another elder added, “the future Alpha rejected her.”
All eyes turned back to Sebastian.
The weight of it pressed down on him like a physical force.
“The pack’s future is at risk,” the elder continued. “Alliances can shatter over less. Silence from Mooncrest is not mercy. It is calculation.”
“Then we must act,” Richard said, straightening. “I will go to Mooncrest and ask forgiveness.”
A sharp shake of the head came from one of the elder women. “No.”
Richard stiffened. “No?”
“You going alone will not soften this,” she said. “You are the Alpha’s father, yes, but the wound is personal.”
Her gaze shifted to Sebastian. “It was he who rejected her.”
Sebastian’s stomach dropped. He remembered everything that had happened in the classroom earlier in the day – but he did not dare say it aloud. It was only going to make things worse if the elders knew how he had made a fool out of himself.
“If forgiveness is possible,” she continued, “it must come from her. And if she forgives him, it will be easier for the King to follow.”
Hilda swallowed hard. “You’re asking him to fix this.”
“We are asking him to try,” the elder replied evenly. “Because if he fails, Silverpine may pay the price.”
Sebastian clenched his fists. “You want me to make her like me.”
“We want you to earn her forgiveness,” another elder said. “There is a difference.”
“And until then,” Richard added slowly, “you will not worsen the situation.”
Lydia’s voice was quiet but firm. “You will not disrespect the bond further.”
Sebastian looked up sharply. “You want me to…”
“If the Princess does not raise the rejection,” the elder woman said, cutting in, “neither will you.”
The words settled heavily.
Sebastian felt something cold settle in his chest.
The meeting dragged on, voices rising and falling as plans were debated and fears laid bare. But all Sebastian heard was the unspoken truth beneath it all.
The future of Silverpine now rested on the forgiveness of the girl they had once called nothing.