The battle ended in minutes. Zelthar gave no mercy.
Of the six attackers, four died instantly. Two were captured alive.
Leon wheezed, blood trailing down his lip. Briella collapsed to her knees, covering her ears. The Marchioness stood, barely, held upright by sheer will alone.
The Grand Duke caught her by the shoulders.
"You're safe. That's what matters."
The two surviving attackers were dragged before the Grand Duke.
Their hands bound, faces bloodied, yet their eyes still burned with twisted satisfaction.
The Grand Duke examined the symbols on their arms.
A Silver Wolf, the Lyssar Clan. A Red Wolf , the Syrent Clan.
Two clans that had despised Zelthar for centuries.
And now… they had joined forces.
"Why did you burn this castle?" the Grand Duke asked, voice low and dangerous.
The masked man grinned.
