CHAPTER 453: THE AFTERMATH: UNCOVERING THE TRAITORS

The tension in the air spiked instantly. Alaric was the first to stride out, cloak whispering against the stone, Odin and his sons close behind. King Heimdal and Prince Dakota followed, their knights forming a wary guard.

The sight that greeted them in the courtyard was chaos.

Two royal guards—sworn to King Heimdal himself—cowered against the far wall, clutching their right legs. Blood seeped between their fingers, dripping onto the cobblestone. Standing between them and escape were two wolves, Gray and Snow, hackles bristling, teeth bared. Their low snarls reverberated in the courtyard, feral and unrelenting.

"What is the meaning of this?" King Heimdal’s voice wavered with bewilderment.

Gray stepped forward, nuzzling one of the injured men and shoving him toward Alaric. His glowing gray eyes burned with intelligence, with accusation. It was no random attack. It was judgment.

The knight on his knees bowed his head, voice cracking with indignation. "Your Majesty, we swear we did nothing! We are just standing there on our post. These beasts turned on us without warning!"

"They are not beasts," Percival said coldly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "They are wolves—and they do not strike without cause."

Alaric’s gaze locked with Gray’s. In that moment of unspoken understanding, the truth crystallized in his mind. Gray would not bare his fangs unless someone close to them had been harmed. It was not Lara.

His voice rang out, calm yet merciless: "It was them. One of them struck Bener."

The courtyard fell into uneasy silence, broken only by the guttural growls of Gray and Snow. The royal guards bled, shifting nervously, eyes darting between the wolves and the circle of knights and soldiers.

King Heimdal gaze flickered to his son with unease, then to the two royal guards. "We cannot just accuse them without proof, son."

Alaric didn’t flinch. His gaze remained on Gray, who had not taken his eyes off the two guards. "The proof is already before you, Your Majesty," he said evenly. "The wolves recognize the scent of Bener on them."

A ripple of whispers spread among the gathered knights. Gideon and Percival exchanged grim looks; Odin’s jaw tightened, his silence heavy.

Snow suddenly lunged. The guards recoiled with startled cries, but instead of biting, the white wolf darted to one of the men’s belt. Her teeth clamped down on the leather pouch dangling there. She ripped it free and bounded back, growling low as she dropped it at Alaric’s feet.

All eyes fell on the pouch. Its drawstring had come loose in the struggle, and from within slid a dagger—its blade still faintly stained, not with dried rust, but with fresh, dark crimson.

Gasps erupted.

"That’s—" Percival stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "That’s not a weapon issued by Northem. It is a Zuran steel."

The accused soldier’s face drained of color. He stammered, "That’s not mine—I swear, someone planted—"

But Gray moved in a blur, slamming the man to the ground with his paws, his fangs snapping just inches from the guard’s throat. The soldier’s breath came in frantic gasps, sweat streaming down his face.

"Speak," Odin thundered, his voice shaking the courtyard. "Did you strike my son?"

"I—I—" The man’s words caught in his throat as Gray’s growl deepened, reverberating in his chest like thunder.

Snow pressed closer too, her teeth catching the edge of the soldier’s torn tunic. She tugged—and from beneath the fabric slid another damning detail: a strip of cloth, dark with blood, its weave unmistakably part of the Eagle Team’s cloak.

The man’s resolve crumbled like dry parchment in fire. His body shook, shoulders heaving with ragged sobs. "It wasn’t supposed to happen this way," he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of fear. "We were ordered to keep him busy... not kill him!"

Ordered.

The word struck the courtyard like a hammer on steel, ringing in every ear. Knights stiffened where they stood; whispers hissed like snakes among the ranks. Heimdal’s face blanched, his jaw tightening as if the very foundations of his throne had been shaken.

"Ordered by whom?" Alaric’s question cut the air with the finality of a drawn blade.

The soldier’s eyes darted, wild and panicked, searching desperately for some avenue of escape—there was none. "I—I can’t," he gasped. "If I speak, I’ll be killed—"

"Speak!" Odin thundered, his voice a storm. "Or the wolves will finish what they started."

Gray pressed his fangs harder into the man’s neck, until a bead of blood traced down to his collar. The soldier’s scream choked into silence. His resolve shattered completely.

"It was—" he stammered, and then his gaze snapped toward Heimdal, wide and terrified. "It was someone from the court! A high name. Someone with power!"

The words fell like a curse. The courtyard erupted in a storm of murmurs and clashing suspicions. Knights muttered under their breath; hands gripped hilts as though invisible enemies surrounded them.

Alaric’s eyes narrowed, cold and calculating. He knew this was not the answer, merely the loosening of a single thread in a web woven far wider.

Heimdal’s teeth ground together, his face carved into grim lines. He had his suspicions—suspicions he dared not voice. Even his own sworn men had been bought like common sellswords. Betrayal rotted the very marrow of his house.

"Speak," the king growled, his voice cutting through the chaos like steel across stone. "Tell me the name, and I will make certain your families live. Only you will die."

The two guards crawled forward, their armor scraping against the cobblestones until they knelt just paces from the king. Their foreheads nearly touched the ground.

"Thank you... for your mercy, Your Majesty," one whispered, his voice trembling. "It is the vice commander of the royal guards. He... he told us to distract General Bener, because he was meeting someone behind the rockery."

The second guard bowed even lower, his words muffled against the stones. "We beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty."

Heimdal’s eyes burned with disappointment, the weight of betrayal hollowing his expression. "Take them to the dungeons," he commanded. His voice rang out like a death knell.

As the guards were dragged away, a voice, cold and clear, cut through the courtyard like ice across glass.

"Duval."

All turned. Lara stood in the doorway, her gaze unwavering, her hands still stained with her brother’s blood.

"Lara," Odin stepped forward, anxious. "How is Bener?"

"He’ll live," she replied, her voice calm though her eyes betrayed the tiredness within her. "He’s under close watch, but he will make it."

The wolves, as though sensing their mistress’s burden, padded to her side and nuzzled against her legs. She bent briefly, stroking their heads. "Good girl. Good boy. You caught the truth."

Then she straightened, facing the king and the grand duke, her presence sharper than any blade.

"Bener gained consciousness while I was operating on him," she said, her voice steady though it made the air heavy with expectation. "And before slipping back into the dark, he uttered a single word."

Her eyes swept across the faces around her, lingering just long enough to make hearts pound.

"Duval."