All Chapters of Break off Engagement after Fiancé Recovered: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

“You have one chance,” Elder Marlow said. “Retract your accusation. Apologize to Lady Fiona. The council will overlook this… outburst.”Draven stood in the council hall, soaked from the storm, clothes clinging to him like second skin. His sword hung untouched at his side.“I won’t take back the truth.”“Then you forfeit your claim to Alpha,” another elder warned. “Your title. Your seat. Everything.”Draven stepped forward, voice steady. “Then take it.”Gasps rippled through the chamber.“You would abandon your lineage for a maid?” Lady Walfson demanded, voice tight with disbelief.“No,” Draven said. “I’d abandon it for my own damn soul.”He reached up and unclasped the ceremonial wolf-cloak from his shoulders, letting it fall onto the marble.“Keep your throne,” he said to the elders. “I don’t need a chair to stand tall.”He unbuckled his breastplate, placed it carefully beside the cloak. Then the ring. His signet. His crest.Every symbol of status. Dropped without hesitatio

The rain came hard and sudden, swallowing the road in sheets of gray.Sepharine tightened her hood, shouting to be heard. “How much farther?”The caravan leader pointed. “Old coaching inn, just up the rise. Abandoned but dry!”She didn’t hesitate.By the time they reached the building, mud clung to her hem and wind clawed at her ears. The inn’s door groaned open on rusted hinges. Half the windows were shattered, but the hearth still held crumbling wood.One strike of flint later, fire bloomed.“Keep the flame low,” a rogue muttered. “Too much light draws worse than rain.”Sepharine crouched by the fire, pulling out her poultice kit. A man groaned in the corner—twisted ankle, raw palms.She moved fast, binding wounds, calming strangers. No one asked names.They were all just bodies seeking warmth.---By midnight, the storm howled louder than speech. Most had curled on cots or floorboards, snoring or whispering nightmares.Then the door burst open again.A man staggered in,

“Bring them in.”The Ironfang leader lounged on his throne of scavenged antlers, fingers tapping against a skull goblet. The room smelled of sweat, smoke, and old blood.Sepharine entered first, back straight despite the guards at her sides.Draven followed—unmasked now, cloak damp with rain, sword at his hip.Murmurs rippled through the rogues.“That’s the Walfson heir.”“Didn’t he fall?”“He’s the one looking for her.”Draven stepped forward and dropped to one knee.Gasps spread like wildfire.Sepharine blinked, stunned.He unsheathed his dagger—Moonlight ribbon tied near the hilt—and laid it on the ground between them.“I failed you,” he said, voice low but unwavering. “I let others mock you, use you, lie to your face. I stood while you bled, and when you vanished, I was too late to follow.”She said nothing.“I traded your love for comfort. For cowardice.” His hands shook. “I don’t expect forgiveness. But I need you to hear it.”The room fell deathly still.Finally,

“Are you ready?” Sepharine asked.Draven tightened the repaired Walfson cloak over his shoulders. The stitched crest glinted faintly in the sun.“No,” he said. “But I’m going anyway.”They crested the final ridge.Below lay Whiteclaw.The gates opened before they even reached them.Whispers rippled through the crowd: “He’s back.” “Is that… her?” “She lived?”Behind them, a small group of Ironfang rogues rode in silence—an honor guard, promised safe passage. No swords drawn. No threats.Just truth.---Council Hall stood colder than Draven remembered.The elders waited in full regalia, expressions hard as stone.Lady Walfson sat tall. Fiona stood beside her, pale but poised.Draven stepped forward, Sepharine at his side.“Draven Walfson,” Elder Marlow intoned. “You arrive uninvited, stripped of title, and escorted by rogues.”“I arrive by right,” Draven replied. “Not of blood, but of truth.”Another elder scoffed. “You forfeited your claim.”“I did,” Draven said. “Becau

The knock came just before dawn.Draven opened the door, already dressed in leathers.A scout stood at attention. “Urgent message. Rogue coalition spotted near the eastern border. Villagers fleeing.”Sepharine stepped up beside him, tying back her hair. “Casualties?”“Not yet. But it’s spreading fast.”Draven nodded. “Saddle two horses. Tell the elders we ride now.”The scout blinked. “You’ll go yourselves?”Draven glanced at Sepharine. “We never asked others to bleed for battles we won’t face.”---The courtyard stirred awake.Soldiers gathered. Wolves howled. Blacksmiths lit forges.Sepharine mounted first, adjusting her pack of salves and herbs. Draven swung onto his steed beside her.Lady Walfson stood by the gates. “You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly.“Yes, we do,” Sepharine replied.Draven met his mother’s gaze. “I ride for the pack I failed. She rides for the future we’re building.”Lady Walfson said nothing. But she stepped aside.---The gates opened