Chapter 265 A Reason to Fight
Chapter 265 A Reason to Fight
The cold air of the bathroom felt heavy and still around them as the tears finally broke through.
Both of them were crying, the raw weight of the moment pressing down on their chests until it hurt to breathe.
"I'm sorry," the king pleaded softly, his voice thick with guilt as he reached out to pull her closer against his chest. "I didn't want to stress you, my love, and honestly... I don't even think there is a solution to this. My time is simply running out."
Hearing those words broke something inside Felda. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck with a desperate, crushing strength, as if sheer willpower alone could anchor him to the earth. "Oh please, don't ever hide anything from me again," she sobbed into his shoulder, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. "Do you hear me? Never again. You don't have to carry this alone. I can do and undo with my power now; we will find a way, I swear it."
They held each other tightly on the cold stone floor, letting the tears fall until the sharp, frantic edge of the panic slowly began to dull.
After a long while, the heavy breathing slowed. King Daze gently scooped her up into his arms, carrying her out of the blood-stained bathroom and over to the sunken stone bathing tub.
He washed away the grim reminders of the sickness with tender, careful hands, treating her like she was made of glass. Afterward, wrapped in thick, warm furs, they walked back out to the warmth of the bedroom.
Later that afternoon, a soft knock sounded at the chamber doors. Lady Eve pushed them open, carrying a stack of fresh, luxurious royal garments that the king had commanded her to procure for Felda.
Felda smiled brightly, her eyes lighting up as she looked at the rich fabrics, the deep crimson silks and gold-threaded furs fit for a true queen of the Blood Moon pack.
Eve helped her dress, her old face lined with a deeply relieved smile as she watched the effortless, lingering touches shared between the king and the woman he had tormented for so long. The dark storm of the past seemed to finally be lifting from the palace walls.
By the evening, Tovanna could no longer bear staying cooped up alone in her chamber. The silence was too loud, and the strange, unsettling shifts in her own body and mind left her feeling hollow. She missed her mother desperately, craving the comfort of her presence and needing answers about the strange, shifting currents of energy she had felt vanish from her skin.
She walked down the long, torch-lit corridor and stopped outside the king's heavy oak doors, raising a hand to knock.
Inside, Felda and the king exchanged a knowing glance, instantly recognizing the familiar, nervous rhythm of the knocks.
"Come in," the king commanded, his voice deep and steady.
The guards stationed outside heaved the massive doors open, and Tovanna stepped inside. She paused, bowing respectfully to the king first, and then to her mother.
"Mother, I miss you," Tovanna blurted out without wasting a single second, her voice wobbling with emotion. She fought hard against the childish urge to burst into tears and sprint across the room to throw herself into Felda's arms, forcing herself to walk with the measured grace expected of a princess.
Felda looked at her daughter, her heart swelling with an ache of pure love. The young girl was dressed at last like the true princess she was meant to be, her dark, mournful black gowns cast aside for vibrant, noble colors. No longer hiding in the shadows like an outcast or a witch, she looked radiant. Felda smiled warmly, stretching her hand out toward her.
"I've missed you too, my baby," Felda said, her voice catching slightly. "Come here."
Instinctively, Tovanna tried to use her magic, the familiar, effortless pull of teleportation she had grown so accustomed to using, wishing to simply vanish and appear right beside her mother without taking a step.
But nothing happened.
She stood frozen in the middle of the room, her feet planted firmly on the cold floorboards.
Panic flashed across Tovanna's face, and a frustrated whimper slipped past her lips. "Why is it not working again? Am I no longer a witch? Have I lost it completely?"
Felda smiled softly, shaking her head. "You were never truly a witch, my sweet girl. The magic was only borrowing your vessel. It has returned to its rightful owner."
Tovanna blinked, her eyes rounding in genuine surprise. "Really? It's back with you?"
Felda nodded, a gentle laugh bubbling up in her throat. "Yes, right here."
"Ah-ah!" Tovanna let out a bright, ringing laugh of pure relief, tossing her hands up. "That's great! That is honestly the best thing I've heard all week!"
Any lingering bitterness or fear vanished. This time, she didn't try to use magic; she simply ran across the floor as fast as her legs could carry her, crashing into her mother's lap and throwing her arms around her neck in a fierce, breathless hug.
King Daze leaned back against the headboard, watching the beautiful, chaotic scene unfold before him. A profound warmth bloomed in his chest, chasing away the cold shadows of the sickness that lingered in his veins.
In that quiet, perfect moment, he found a fierce, unbreakable reason to keep fighting. He couldn't leave them. He refused to die now, not when his life was finally becoming everything he had ever dreamed it could be.
•••
For the next few weeks, the king turned his back on the war rooms and council meetings as much as he possibly could, dedicating every waking hour to making himself completely available to his daughter and the woman he intended to crown as his queen. He spoiled them, giving them anything and everything they asked for, wanting to bury years of neglect and cruelty under mountains of care and devotion.
True to her desperate promise in the bathroom, Felda also worked tirelessly behind closed doors, using her restored ancient magic to weave protective spells and channel her life force into the king's failing body. She fought tooth and nail against the decay eating away at his wolf, pushing back death day by day, keeping him strong enough to stand on his own two feet.
But even love and magic could not entirely stop the ticking clock of fate.
The king had passed his final, unyielding judgment regarding the internal corruption of the pack. He had officially banished Celeste, casting the treacherous highborn out into the frozen wilderness with nothing to her name, a punishment that sent shockwaves through the upper echelons of the ancient bloodlines.
Unsurprisingly, the rest of the Highborn council members refused to accept his decree. They viewed his mercy toward Felda and his newfound softness as a fatal weakness, and they had begun mobilizing their forces in secret.
In three short days, war would be knocking violently at the gates of the Blood Moon pack.
As the sun dipped below the jagged mountain peaks, casting long, bloody shadows across the training grounds, King Daze felt the ancient, primal blood of a warrior surge back through his veins.
Every guard, every fierce wolf in the pack, felt the electric tension in the air. They were ready. The pack was ready to shed blood for their king, and the king was ready to burn the world to the ground to protect his queen and his family.