The great hall smelled of roasted meat and rich sauce. The noon sun shone outside, casting soft light across the long table.

  Jorvan sat at the head, carving into a magnificent swan pie. The pastry was golden, flaky, decorated with elaborate designs. As he cut into it, dark chaudron sauce—made from the swan's own entrails—oozed across his plate. Rich. Decadent. Grotesque in its excess.

  Valgarr ate beside him with his usual serene precision, selecting choice pieces with his knife.

  Helmut sat lower at the table, crown slightly crooked on his head. Before him: pickled herrings on thick slices of buttered black bread. The sharp, vinegary smell irritated his nose.

  Peasant food. Common. Humble.

  He ate in silence. Leering at Jorvan and Valgarr’s elaborate meals.

  The door opened. Theron entered, a guard behind him dragging a nervous shopkeeper by the arm.

  "Your highness." Theron bowed. "This man has information about yesterday's incident."

  Jorvan looked up from his swan pie, sauce glistening on his chin. "Well?"

  The shopkeeper nodded rapidly, wringing his cap in his hands. "Yes, Your highness. I saw—I was in the square before the ceremony. I saw someone near the carpet. Watching. And they didn't stop it. Didn't say anything. Just... let it happen."

  "Who?" Jorvan leaned forward.

  The shopkeeper's shaking finger pointed at the servant by the wall—the one who'd been stationed at the palace doors. The same servant who'd watched Ink trot onto the ray cloth.

  The servant's face went white. A puddle formed around his feet.

  "No—Your highness, I—I didn't—"

  "You were there?" Jorvan's voice was quiet. Deadly.

  "The ceremony was starting, the doors were opening, if I'd stopped everything to clean it you would have—" The servant's voice broke. “I was trying to—I couldn't—"

  "Couldn't WHAT?" Jorvan stood, napkin falling to the table. "Couldn't prevent my humiliation? Couldn't stop FILTH from being smeared across my ceremonial carpet?"

  "It was a DOG, Your highness!" The servant's words tumbled out desperately. "A dog! It moved so fast, it was already gone before I could—what was I supposed to do? Chase it in front of everyone? Stop the ceremony? You would have—"

  "A dog?" Jorvan's face went very still. "You're telling me a DOG did this?"

  "Yes, Your highness! A large dog! It moved like—like it knew what it was doing, like it was deliberate, but I couldn't—"

  "You watched." Jorvan's voice was soft now. Dangerous. "You stood there and WATCHED an animal destroy my ceremony."

  "Your highness, please, I have a family—King Cocky would have understood."

  "King Cocky?" Jorvan's laugh was sharp, ugly. "The cockatrice is DEAD. Eaten by a hyena. And I'm not interested in understanding. I'm interested in results." He turned to the guards. "Take him to the hangman."

  The servant began to struggle as guards grabbed his arms. "No! Your highness! Please! I didn't know! I was trying to do the right thing!"

  "The right thing would have been stopping it!" Jorvan shouted. "I don't care if you had to tackle the animal yourself! You let this happen!"

  "Your highness—" The servant's voice cracked into sobs as he was dragged toward the door. "Please! My children—"

  The door slammed shut. His cries echoed down the hallway, then faded.

  Silence in the great hall.

  Helmut sat frozen, pickled herring forgotten on his plate. Staring at the closed door.

  Jorvan returned to his seat, breathing hard. Picked up his knife. Cut another piece of swan pie. The dark sauce oozed across his plate.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "A dog," he said, almost to himself. Then louder, to Theron: "Find it."

  "Your highness—"

  "Every dog in this city. I want them found. Brought to the palace courtyard." Jorvan's voice was cold now. Controlled. "We'll identify which one it was. And deal with it. And every other dog as a message."

  Valgarr spoke for the first time, voice smooth. "A comprehensive approach, Your highness."

  "The ONLY approach." Jorvan took a bite of swan. Chewed. Swallowed. "People need to understand what happens when they—or their animals—disrespect authority."

  He looked at the guards standing rigid along the wall.

  "Every dog. No exceptions. I don't care if they're old or young or somebody's beloved pet. ALL of them. Bring them to the courtyard by sunset."

  The guards stood frozen.

  Some of them owned dogs.

  One of the guards had a dog who had saved his daughter.

  A man had grabbed her and the dog acted instantly, wrapping his teeth around the man’s arm without breaking skin.

  He stared at the man and let out a low growl.

  The man let go.

  The dog did not release him until the child was already safe.

  She still woke screaming some nights. Only the dog sleeping by her feet could bring her back.

  When the order was given, the guard understood exactly what was being asked of him.

  For a single, desperate heartbeat, he tried to think of a way to save the dog.

  Hide him. Send his daughter away. Claim the dog was already dead.

  He closed his eyes.

  Escape wouldn’t save the dog or his daughter from heartache.

  Every thought ended the same way — with another body on the floor.

  He shut his eyes, because if he imagined his daughter calling for her dog in the dark, he would not be able to stand.

  None of them said a word.

  They couldn't say anything.

  "Yes, Your highness," a guard who had never owned a dog said confidently.

  "Good." Jorvan returned to his meal. "See that it's done properly. Thoroughly."

  Helmut's hands were shaking. He set down his bread, no longer hungry.

  "Jorvan," he said quietly. "That seems... excessive. For a dog."

  Jorvan looked at him. Really looked at him.

  "You wanted to be king, didn't you?" His voice was almost gentle. Almost. "You wanted the crown back? The palace? The power?"

  Helmut nodded slowly, not trusting his voice.

  "This is what ruling looks like." Jorvan gestured with his knife, dark sauce dripping. "This is what REAL power means. Not extravagant fare. Fear. Respect. Control." He leaned forward slightly. "You couldn't do this, Helmut. That's why they threw you out. You wanted to play at being king. I'm actually doing it."

  Helmut stared at him. At the pickled fish on his plate. At the swan pie he wasn't allowed to eat. He opened his mouth to speak — then closed it again. He understood, with sickening clarity, that this was being done in his name.

  "Now." Jorvan straightened. "If you're finished with your lunch, I have work to do. Documents to review. A kingdom to secure." He paused. "Properly."

  It wasn't a dismissal. Not quite.

  But Helmut stood anyway. Crown wobbling slightly on his head.

  "Of course," he managed. "I'll just—I'll be in my chambers."

  "Your chambers." Jorvan's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yes. Good. Rest. You've had a trying day."

  Helmut left quickly, Rembrandt followed behind him. The servants started clearing his uneaten lunch.

  In the hallway, he could hear someone screaming in the distance. A woman's voice. Raw with anguish. Someone who'd just learned a loved one was going to die.

  He kept walking. Faster now.

  Behind him, Jorvan cut another piece of swan pie.

  "Theron," he said casually. "Any progress on those other matters? The suspicious people you mentioned?"

  Theron bowed slightly. "I'm continuing my investigation, Your highness. Following several promising leads."

  "That's not an answer."

  "It's the only answer I have at present, Your highness. I prefer not to share unverified intelligence."

  Jorvan's jaw tightened. "I want details. I want names. I want to know who's operating in MY city."

  "And you will, Your Highness. When I have concrete evidence." Theron's voice remained level. Professional. "Sharing speculation prematurely could alert our targets. Or worse—embarrass the crown if the information proves false."

  The implication hung in the air.

  Jorvan glared at him. But said nothing.

  Valgarr's cold smile flickered. "The Inquisitor makes a wise point, Your highness. Patience in these matters often yields better results."

  "I don't want patience. I want RESULTS."

  "And you'll have them," Theron said. "Soon."

  He bowed and left before Jorvan could argue further.

  Valgarr sipped his wine. "He's found something.”

  "Then why won't he TELL me?"

  "Because," Valgarr said softly, "if he tells you and you act on incomplete information it may compromise our goals."

  Jorvan stabbed his swan pie with unnecessary force. "I don't like being kept in the dark."

  "No one does, Your highness." Valgarr's pale eyes glinted.

  Outside, in the courtyard, the sound of dogs barking began to echo through the palace.