Chapter 222 CHAPTER 222
The gates of Silverpine had not been this crowded in weeks.
Word had spread long before the elders arrived—that their Alpha was returning, that judgment had been passed, that whatever had happened in Mooncrest would finally be known. And so the people gathered, not loudly, not chaotically, but with a quiet, restless anticipation that hung thick in the air like the stillness before rain.
Some stood in small groups, whispering among themselves. Others waited in silence, their eyes fixed on the road that led into the heart of the pack. Even the wind seemed to move slower, as though it, too, was waiting.
At the front of the gathering stood Beta Mason, who had held the pack together in Richard’s absence. His posture was steady, but there was a tension in his shoulders that betrayed the weight he had been carrying alone. Beside him stood Luna Lydia, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her gaze searching the distance with a quiet urgency she could not quite hide.
Then…
Movement.
The faint sound of approaching vehicles returning.
The elders had arrived.
Alpha Richard stepped forward first, his presence immediately drawing the attention of everyone gathered. He looked different—not broken, but changed. There was a gravity to him now, something heavier than authority, something earned through what he had faced.
Behind him were the other elders, and alongside them, a small group of guards from Mooncrest - silent, watchful, their presence alone enough to remind everyone that things were no longer as they had been.
Mason stepped forward, bowing his head slightly.
“Alpha,” he greeted.
Richard placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and grateful.
“You’ve done well,” he said quietly. “The pack held together.”
Mason nodded, stepping back to give him space.
But before anything else could be said, Lydia moved.
She closed the distance between them quickly, her eyes scanning the group behind him.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
Her breath caught.
“Where is Sebastian?” she asked, her voice tight, barely holding steady. “What happened to him? Did they….”
Her words faltered, but the fear behind them was clear.
Richard reached for her hand, grounding her gently.
“Lydia,” he said softly, “he is well.”
She stilled.
“He was not punished,” Richard continued. “The king was fair. He did not let anger guide his judgment—not even where his sister was concerned.”
Relief washed over her so suddenly it almost made her sway.
“Where is he now?” She asked, quieter now.
Richard allowed himself the smallest breath before answering.
“He is with the princess,” he said. “There are things they needed to speak about… things only the two of them can resolve.”
Lydia nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just enough.
“I knew it,” she murmured, almost to herself. “That child… the princess… she had a good heart. I felt it, even then.”
Richard’s gaze softened as he looked at her.
“You were always kinder to her than most,” he said.
A shadow crossed Lydia’s face.
“Yes,” she admitted quietly. “Until the bond was revealed… and then I became just like everyone else.”
Her voice lowered, heavy with something that had been sitting with her for far too long.
“I turned on her,” she said. “I looked at her and saw only what I feared for my son, not who she truly was.”
Richard tightened his hold on her hand slightly.
“It was not just you,” he said. “We all did it. We judged her by what we saw on the surface, not by what she carried within.”
His gaze shifted briefly to the gathered pack.
“She would have made a great Luna,” he added, not loudly, but firmly enough to be heard.
A quiet ripple moved through the crowd.
Lydia swallowed.
“And the bond?” she asked after a moment. “Is there still a chance it can be restored?”
Richard shook his head slowly.
“No,” he said. “From what I have seen… and from what I was told in Mooncrest… the princess has already found another mate.”
That settled something final in the air.
Not painful.
But undeniable.
The gathering shifted as more people stepped forward, each hoping for answers, for clarity, for something to hold onto after weeks of uncertainty.
Among them were Hilda and Anna.
Their eyes searched the returning group with growing unease.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
But one face was missing.
Hilda’s breath quickened as she stepped forward, pulling Anna along with her.
“Alpha Richard,” she called, her voice already trembling. “Where is my husband?”
The murmurs around them softened.
Richard’s expression changed—not harsh, not cold, but firm in a way that left no room for misunderstanding.
“He was found guilty,” Richard said.
The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Hilda blinked.
“What… what do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“He has been imprisoned,” Richard continued. “For his crimes against the princess… and for what he allowed to happen under his roof.”
Anna’s hand tightened around her mother’s arm.
“For how long?” she asked, her voice small despite herself.
Richard did not soften the answer.
“Seventeen years,” he said. “With hard labor.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then it broke.
Hilda’s knees nearly gave way as a wail tore from her throat, raw and unrestrained.
“Seventeen years?” she cried. “He won’t survive that—he’s too old—he’ll die in there!”
Anna’s composure shattered beside her, tears spilling freely now as she clung to her mother.
“This isn’t fair,” she said, her voice breaking. “He didn’t—he—”
But the words faltered.
Because even she could not finish that sentence.
Around them, the murmurs returned.
Not quiet this time.
Not gentle.
“He’s too old?” one voice said from the crowd. “Was she not too young?”
Another followed, sharper.
“She worked for them for years—did they ever stop to wonder if she would survive?”
A third voice, colder now.
“She was just a child, and they treated her like she was nothing.”
The words spread, not shouted, but spoken with a weight that carried further than any raised voice could.
Hilda froze.
Anna stiffened.
They turned slowly, looking at the faces around them.
Faces they had known all their lives.
Faces that now held no sympathy.
No softness.
Only memory.
Only judgment.
It hit them then - not suddenly, but all at once.
There would be no comfort here.
No understanding.
No one to stand beside them.
Anna’s grip on her mother tightened as fear began to creep in beneath the grief.
“Mother…” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Hilda didn’t respond immediately.
Her eyes moved across the crowd again, as if searching for even a single familiar warmth.
There was none.
Only distance.
Only quiet rejection.
“We should go,” Anna said, more urgently now.
That seemed to pull Hilda back.
She nodded faintly, her shoulders shaking as she turned away from the gathering.
Together, they moved—slowly at first, then faster—as they retreated from the eyes of the pack.
From the whispers.
From the truth they could no longer ignore.
Into the confines of the same house their woes first began - by their own actions.