"Let us resume," Cassian said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. He looked down at Cedric. "You claimed the fire was an accident. A fallen candle in the archives."
"It was, my king." Cedric's voice was hoarse. He was sweating profusely, the grease shining on his forehead. "The dry parchment caught quickly. Alpha Torian and his mate were trapped inside. We tried to save them. The smoke was too thick."
Cassian didn't react. He just slowly turned his head to look at Rowan. "Is that how you remember it?" Cassian asked her.
Rowan looked down at Cedric. For ten years, this man's voice had meant starvation. His footsteps had meant pain. Seeing him on his knees, chained like a rabid dog, felt surreal. Her mind tried to pull her back into the dark cellar, tried to force her eyes to the floor. Don't speak, scrub. Don't speak.
She curled her hands into fists, feeling the rough fabric of her trousers. She anchored herself in the present, in the heavy boots on her feet.
"No," Rowan said. Her voice was quiet, but in the dead silence of the hall, it carried perfectly.
Cedric's head snapped up. "She is a lunatic. Her mind is broken from the lye and the cold. You cannot take the word of a slave—"
Cassian didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. The alpha command rolled off him in a suffocating wave. Several pack members along the walls gagged, dropping to their knees from the sheer atmospheric pressure of it. Cedric choked, snapping his jaw shut, his eyes bulging.
Cassian looked back at Rowan. "Tell me what happened."
Rowan swallowed hard. The memory was buried deep, locked away under years of survival. She forced the door open.
"My father didn't go to the archives to read," Rowan said, the words coming out flat and detached. "He went because Holden told him the ledger was missing. My mother followed him. I was supposed to be in bed, but I wanted to see the hunting hounds, so I snuck down to the lower courtyard."
She looked at Holden. The beta's face had drained of all color. He looked like a corpse.
"I saw them," Rowan continued. "I saw Holden lock the heavy iron grate from the outside. I saw Cedric pour lamp oil beneath the heavy oak door. I watched him throw the torch. They didn't scream right away. They pounded on the wood."
A collective gasp rippled through the pack members against the wall. A few of the older wolves, ones who had served her father, looked away in deep shame.
"You lie," Holden shrieked, losing his nerve entirely. He thrashed against his chains. "She lies. We weren't there. We were in the armory."
Rowan looked at Holden, her gray eyes dead and cold. "You burned your left hand when the oil splashed back. You wore a bandage for three weeks."
Holden froze. Instinctively, his chained hands twitched. Everyone in the room knew about the thick, knotted scar tissue covering the back of the beta's left hand.
Cassian sat back in his chair. The truth was laid bare, ugly, and undeniable. The warlord did not look shocked. He looked profoundly tired of the predictable treachery of men.
"You slaughtered a royal line," Cassian said to Cedric, his tone conversational, which was infinitely more terrifying than a shout. "You stole a territory that belongs to the crown, and you kept the sole surviving heir as a slave in her own home, hoping she would die of the winter cold so you wouldn't have to bloody your hands with a child's murder."
Cedric bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. "Mercy," he whispered. "I rebuilt this pack. I kept the borders secure from the rogues. I offer you my absolute loyalty."
"I don't need the loyalty of a rat," Cassian said.
The king stood up. The movement was fluid, lethal. He drew the heavy broadsword from his hip. Holden screamed. Cedric squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the execution.
"Wait."
The single word cut through the air. It wasn't Cassian. It was Rowan.
She stood up from her chair. Her legs were shaking, trembling so hard she thought she might collapse, but she locked her knees. She walked down the three steps, standing mere feet away from the men who had destroyed her life.
Cassian paused, lowering the tip of his sword slightly. He looked at her, his amber eyes unreadable. "You object, princess?"
"No," Rowan said, her voice dropping into a raspy, jagged register. She looked at Cedric. "But a quick death by a king's blade is an honor. A warrior's death."
She turned to face Cassian. The height difference was massive. He towered over her, a mountain of iron and muscle. But Rowan didn't shrink back. The starved wolf inside her was finally awake, and it was snarling.
"He took my name," Rowan said, her eyes locking onto Cassian's. "He took my clothes, my warmth, my family, and my pack. He erased me." She pointed a scarred, lye-burned finger at Cedric. "Don't give him an honorable death. Strip him. Burn his family crest. Strike his name from the ledger. Lock him in the root cellar without boots or fire, and let the winter take him."
The cruelty of the sentence hung in the air, heavy and brutal. It was not the plea of a merciful princess. It was the judgment of a survivor who knew exactly what the cold felt like.
Cassian stared at her. For a long, suspended moment, the hall held its breath. The warlord's hardened face shifted. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a dark, approving smirk.
"As the princess of Frost Peak commands," Cassian said. He sheathed his sword with a heavy metallic clang. "Guards. Strip them. Brand over their pack marks. Throw them in the dark."