The palace slept uneasily.
Shadows crept along stone walls, unnoticed, silent.
Rowan's advisors whispered behind closed doors.
Some spoke in fear. Some in ambition.
None dared speak openly.
Aren's spies moved like ghosts.
Letters vanished. Secrets twisted before reaching their intended ears.
That night, a single nobleman failed to heed the warning.
He plotted rebellion quietly, thinking the Wolf's eyes were elsewhere.
By midnight, the man was found dead in his chambers.
No signs of a struggle. No witnesses.
Only a dagger—silent, precise, and untraceable—planted like a warning.
Word spread quickly through the court.
Panic replaced intrigue.
Ambition became hesitation.
Every noble who had dreamed of rebellion now feared to even think of it.
Rowan realized the truth too late:
The Wolf did not need armies in the city.
A single act of controlled terror could bend the crown and its holders.
Lysa, watching from the shadows, whispered to Aren:
"The court will obey now."
Aren's gaze swept the palace.
"Yes," he said. "They will obey… or they will vanish quietly.
This is the first blood of the court.
And many more will follow before the kingdom bends entirely to the Wolf."
Outside, Greyhaven's towers stood silent beneath the moonlight.
The kingdom had learned that the Wolf's reach was limitless.
And fear had begun to rule where law and crown had failed.