Wolves
"When cornered beasts turn on each other, only the hunter profits."
The cavalrymen hauled their prisoners through the gates, each captive bound with coarse rope. At the head of the miserable procession walked a face that sent murmurs rippling through the crowd.
"Grand Duke Castullo? Why is he still in Valdina?"
Shock colored every voice. Had the Queen Dowager not banished him from the palace after his attempt to slander the Princess was exposed?
"We discovered them concealed in a village behind the rebel strongholds. All were armed."
"A misunderstanding! I was merely attempting to assist in suppressing the rebellion!"
Jason's excuse tumbled out before Gilliforth had finished speaking.
He had fled with Ost, but Gilliforth's relentless pursuit had proven inescapable. Dragged back like a common criminal, Jason had learned of the King's return only as the castle gates loomed before him.
Now, surveying the courtyard, he beheld the full scope of the catastrophe.
The Regent knelt in chains. Corpses of his soldiers lay heaped like cordwood, their blood darkening the stones.
I have failed. Failed utterly.
Who could have predicted the King's return would come so swiftly? That he would evade every trap the Regent had so carefully laid?
Jason bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, fighting to keep his composure.
But Jason was not the only mind racing toward desperate calculations.
The Regent's remaining eye gleamed with sudden inspiration.
"Your Majesty—it was the Grand Duke! His machinations have been falsely attributed to me! Observe—he brought his own soldiers into Valdina! Consider what he intended—"
Without hesitation, the Regent turned on his ally and heaped every accusation upon Jason's head.
Jason stared, momentarily robbed of speech.
This craven fool. This pathetic, sniveling wretch.
The urge to wrap his hands around the Regent's throat was nearly overwhelming. To be blamed for the very disaster this incompetent had orchestrated—
"Your Majesty, these are nothing but baseless slanders. The Regent seeks only to deflect his own guilt."
Jason forced his voice into its most reasonable, most wounded register—the tone of a man unjustly accused.
"You may not be aware, but despite serving as part of the Katzen delegation, I labored to ensure Valdina received twice the promised relief supplies. I personally guaranteed the fairness of the Princess's duel. How could I possibly wish harm upon this kingdom?"
But Sissair would not permit such artful manipulation of facts.
"Grand Duke Castullo."
The Prime Minister's cheek was swollen purple where the Regent's knight had struck him. A crack ran through his monocle like a fault line. Yet his voice remained as cold and precise as ever—iron wrapped in velvet.
"Was it also your benevolent intention when you arranged for a wolf to attack Her Highness during the royal hunt? When you caused her to plunge from a cliff?"
"For precisely such treachery, the Queen Dowager expelled you from Valdina. Yet instead of returning to Katzen, you deceived us all and smuggled in an army."
Sissair's gaze was merciless.
"Did you not harbor resentment against the royal family? Did you not conspire with the rebels to exact your revenge?"
"Precisely! The Grand Duke planned to abduct Princess Medea, then stage a heroic rescue from the rebels' clutches—all to worm his way back into the palace!"
The Regent seized upon Sissair's accusations like a drowning man grasping at flotsam. That Sissair had been his mortal enemy mere moments ago was utterly forgotten.
I must survive. I must avoid execution at any cost.
Even if it meant destroying the ally who had stood beside him.
The shared loyalty of conspirators proved fleeting indeed. The instinct for immediate survival eclipsed all else.
Where now was the man who had threatened his own mother? Who had pressed a blade to his niece's throat while demanding the throne?
The assembled nobles exchanged glances of disgust.
If one aspires to the highest seat in the realm, one ought at least to display qualities befitting it. The Regent's shameless attempts to evade justice struck them as nothing short of contemptible.
No one present was foolish enough to have missed the obvious collusion between the Regent and the Grand Duke of Katzen.
"Even in your hunger for the crown, did you intend to deliver Valdina into Katzen's hands? To reduce our kingdom to a vassal state of the Empire?"
Jason exhaled slowly, rage coiling in his chest.
I should gouge out my own eyes for ever allying with such a witless, treacherous fool.
"Grand Duke Castullo—confess! You came to Valdina to claim the Princess as your bride. Because she is young and isolated, you intended to seize control of this kingdom and leverage it in your contest for the Imperial throne!"
The Regent's accusations flowed without cease. He did not hesitate to expose the secret compact between them if it meant deflecting even a fraction of his guilt.
"Your Highness the Regent!"
Jason's heart plummeted.
It was true—he had sought to use the Princess. True that he had coveted Valdina's strategic position. But somehow, impossibly, he found he could not bear for *her* to know it.
"No... No, that isn't—"
He turned toward Medea with desperate urgency.
"Princess! Surely you cannot believe such lies? My interest in you was genuine—utterly sincere. I swear before God I expected nothing in return."
He moved toward her, arms outstretched, his voice and eyes radiating wounded sincerity.
Medea stepped back.
Her face remained perfectly expressionless—a mask of polished marble. She moved with deliberate precision, ensuring that Jason's shadow on the flagstones would not touch her own.
For the briefest instant, contempt flickered through her green eyes like lightning behind clouds.
Then it was gone.
Though the siblings had been separated for years, blood recognized blood.
Peleus noted his sister's subtle recoil. The careful distance she maintained. The ice beneath her composure.
Dea... your useless brother has allowed you to suffer so much.
From their treacherous uncle to the jackals of Katzen's royal house—his little sister had been forced to navigate a den of predators alone, surrounded by schemes and snares while he fought distant battles.
His blue eyes, already cold, turned glacial at the Grand Duke's revealed designs upon Medea.
Peleus regarded Jason with the unhurried assessment of a hunter examining prey.
As long as I draw breath, this man will never set foot in Valdina again.
He had no intention of tolerating any creature's advances toward his only sister—least of all this one.
Jason felt the weight of that gaze settle upon him. The skin at the back of his neck prickled as though a blade already kissed it.
Among the Agema, hostility toward Jason blazed like wildfire.
That oily Katzen serpent dares look down upon our Princess?
After Medea's cunning and timely warning had secured their victory on the plains, the Princess had become—whether they acknowledged it or not—an object of profound respect among the King's elite guard.
Jason felt the walls closing in. No solution presented itself. No escape materialized.
"Your Majesty, I assure you—this has all been a terrible misunderstanding."
"Your Highness."
Medea's voice cut through his protests like a surgical blade.
"Can you prove that none of these accusations are true?"
The question struck Jason like a physical blow.
The forged documents the Princess had created. His presence among the rebels, captured at the scene. The evidence was damning, and he knew—*knew*—that empty denials would avail him nothing.
"Though misunderstandings and errors have become... regrettably entangled... I do not deny that Valdina has suffered. I shall make full restitution—compensation generous enough to satisfy any grievance. Enough to preserve the relationship between our nations—"
"That will not be necessary."
Peleus's voice rang out, cool and final.
Jason's eyes widened. Was the King... accepting his words?
A fragile hope kindled in his chest.
"Your Majesty, surely you cannot allow this to pass without—"
Sissair stepped forward, unable to comprehend the King's apparent leniency.
But Peleus continued, his voice unchanged.
"The settling of accounts shall conclude here and now."
Jason had no time to parse the meaning.
Peleus drew his sword.
*Slash.*
The sound was almost gentle—steel parting air with surgical precision.
"Urgh—ghk—"
The knight standing at Jason's shoulder crumpled. His helmet bore a laurel wreath—the mark of a hermit, a shadow operative.
The onlookers could not contain their shock.
"Your Highness was captured while aiding rebels against the crown. I trust you will not object to departing with your life intact—even if you cannot keep all your limbs."
*Click.*
Peleus sheathed his blade. Even that simple motion carried an air of ceremony—of finality.
"However, I shall be submitting a formal demand for reparations to the Empire. The Katzen royal family has interfered in Valdina's internal affairs and threatened my sister. This matter is far from concluded."
The manner in which the King advanced his position incrementally—implying that this was merely the opening move—bore an unmistakable resemblance to his sister's methods.
Jason stood frozen, his mind reeling.
The dead man had been Ost—his last remaining hermit. His final hidden blade.
He knew. He knew Ost's true identity. Was the ambush on the road also the King's doing?
Whether the cold fury in Peleus's eyes was directed at the one who had targeted his sister, or at Jason himself, remained unclear.
But one thing was certain beyond all doubt.
The King who had executed the hermit in the space of a heartbeat was delivering a message that required no words:
*Were it not for diplomatic considerations, it would have been your head.*
A violent shudder ran down Jason's spine.
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