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.
