Greyhaven's court had grown quiet.
Not out of respect. Not out of loyalty.
But out of fear.
Even the prince, Rowan, moved like a ghost in his own palace.
Every glance over his shoulder, every whispered conversation, reminded him: the Wolf was everywhere.
Aren did not need to enter the city.
He needed only to plant seeds.
Lysa and Caelis moved through the noble houses.
Invisible, precise, unnoticed.
Letters intercepted, whispers spread. Deals undone. Alliances frayed before they were even made.
Merchants and minor lords became the Wolf's web—messengers, spies, and informants, all unknowingly loyal.
Edric, now Aren's silent advisor, reported from the city's shadowed streets:
"Even Rowan's closest allies hesitate. Fear has already divided the court."
Aren nodded.
"Good. Division is stronger than steel. Suspicion, stronger than walls. We do not need battle here… only patience."
Meanwhile, Rowan tried desperately to rally support.
Letters sent, promises made.
But every plan crumbled quietly: misdelivered messages, missing soldiers, sudden defections.
The prince realized too late: the court itself had become a trap.
Aren appeared in the palace only once, briefly, as a shadowed figure in the corridors.
No one knew he had been there.
Yet after he left, the whispers began:
The Wolf moves unseen. Every word is watched. Every deed known.
Rowan's panic grew.
Every ally doubted him. Every noble hesitated.
Every corner of Greyhaven was controlled—not by law, not by crown, but by fear and the Spider in the Court.
Aren stood outside the city walls that night, eyes on the lit towers.
"The Wolf does not conquer by entering a city," he murmured.
"He conquers by turning its own halls into a web."