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He came forward in a swift movement and neatly folded his hands behind his back. Then he descended the seven stone steps that heightened the throne from the rest of the chamber. The soldiers saw something in his eyes. Their expressions visibly tightened as if pulled taut by a string.
“You three were quite busy last night,” Rowan said slowly.
The soldiers shared a glance, then a small chortle. “I believe we all were, Your Grace.”
Rowan stepped forward again. The soldiers didn’t stir, though he saw it took great effort for them not to shift away. Their discomfort rewarded him with a perverse satisfaction. “I am no king. And you three are no longer men of mine.” They said nothing and just shared another glance with furrowed brows. “I see you are confused,” Rowan pressed on. “It’s rather simple, so let me enlighten you. I had given a specific order regarding how the Winslowe children would be handled. And that order was gently.”
Realization flashed in the soldiers’ eyes. One dared step forward: scruffy-haired, wary, his skin wrinkled like old, tanned leather. He removed his cap, then ran an unsteady hand through his thin hairline. His voice quivered once he found the pluck to speak. “We d-did. We handled him g-gently. The Lord as my witness. We were only trying to do right by you, Rowan.” His eyes shifted to Smoke.
“Do not call me Rowan.”
His cheeks flushed, and he twisted the cap between shaky fingers. He tried to smile, but the gesture fit poorly.
“Then… how shall I address you?”
“As Sir Rowan Dietrich, the Black Wolf of Norland.”
“You are the Black Wolf of Norland, now more than ever,” Edrick suddenly cut in, his voice a sharp whip. As timid as the soldier was, Edrick sounded equally rigid and coarse. He was half a foot shorter than Rowan but hewn from the same stone. His eyes were shallow pale depths that were hard to look in for too long. A thinning hairline hovered above narrow gray brows.
“But this conquest was a hero’s errand,” Edrick said. “You know this. You were right to take the city. But a clean slate is a clean one—one that surviving heirs cannot taint. You’ve won this day. You’ve won the soil and the stones in which we stand… the citizens’ hearts as well. These three men performed the dirty work, so you might keep your hands and name clean. As your friend and adviser, Rowan, as someone who’s been with you since the very start, take the credit and allow these damn soldiers to carry the blame. Let the people see you as a liberator and this lot as the murderers. A commander who kills men loyal to him won’t have followers for long. Keep them alive.”
He dares to lecture me? Especially having been there from the start?
Rowan said nothing. And said nothing. And said nothing.
Finally, he stepped forward, past Edrick, until he stood eye to eye with the scruffy-haired soldier. Smoke hunched his back, his fur bristled and eyes shining. A deep snarl came forth, rolling out of the beast’s throat like thunder. Rowan lay his hand on his longsword’s wolf pommel, then addressed Edrick. “I’ve heard your words. And I reject your counsel. Now, have your men located the princess?”
Edrick exhaled a breath, then matched Rowan’s stance and hit him with an ice-cold stare. “They have not.”
“See that they do,” Rowan finished, turning back to the soldier. Smoke padded to his feet and stood beside Rowan. His lips peeled back to reveal a toothy snarl that gave way to another low growl.
“Now. I gave you a command. One you disobeyed. There is a reason I give orders, and you follow them. Men like you are the very reason I took this city. I mean to purge it, and the purge shall begin with you three on accounts of treason and insubordination.”
The scruffy-haired soldier dropped to his knees and shoved his palms together. Smoke lunged forward and nipped at his face. He wheeled back, and Rowan reassured his wolf with a firm touch. “I beg you! I harmed no child, no woman. I-I only watched. Made sure the king’s guards wouldn’t… interrupt. I never touched the prince. Never would, never would violate one of your commands, sir. I live to serve you.”
“I appreciate your loyalty. You shall die serving me as well.”
“I know you are a reasonable and just man. I harmed no child. I harmed no one, I swear it. I only stood by and watched for Winslowe’s guards.”
Rowan considered that for a moment. He thought of another time, another place, another set of guards. How many soldiers had stood by that night, watching, guarding the door?
“I see,” he finally said, his voice sinking into a rumble that sounded like Smoke’s growl. “It’s decided, then. You shall die last after you watch their executions. Sir Edrick, bring the other forward and leave this one behind.”
Edrick did as ordered. The men struggled and cried out in overlapping pleas. Rowan unsheathed his longsword from its scabbard; the scrape of metal sounded deafening inside the throne room. The blade seemed to shriek as it came free. He lowered the sword to a point as if he was creating knights of the two men instead of headless corpses. “Kneel. I command it. Serve me loyally and kneel.”
When they refused him again, Edrick kicked them hard in the back of their legs. The two soldiers collapsed to their hands and feet. Rowan allowed them a moment to regain their dignity and sit in kneeling positions.
All the while, the watcher watched.
“Please, sir, please. Show us mercy, as you have for so many.”
A whisper of sympathy passed through Rowan, but then he thought of the prince’s mutilated body. They hadn’t just executed him with a swift blow, as Rowan intended to do now. They’d tortured him—holes and burns and cuts had riddled his lean body.
He was just a boy. Anger quivered through Rowan, though his expression gave nothing away. He stood straighter, his hazel eyes beating into the kneeling soldiers.
The wolf neither bows nor breaks before the sheep.
“Please, sir… I beg you.”
