Chapter 8 - THE SIEGE OF THE REDMOND GATES
The towering iron gates of the Redmond Pack estate—the very gates that had slammed shut behind Gwendolyn weeks ago—now looked rusted, pathetic, and frail against the might of the royal army.
Inside the courtyard, chaos reigned.
When word reached Alpha Arthur Redmond that Lord Vane’s elite mercenaries had been utterly decimated in less than ten minutes at Whispering Pass, mass panic broke out. Common servants fled into the woods, pack warriors threw down their weapons in refusal to fight the Iron Crown, and Cecilia sat weeping hysterically in the Great Hall, clutching her swollen belly in terror.
Only Mother Maeve remained standing by the high windows, clutching her raven-topped staff, muttering frantic dark incantations under her breath.
BOOM.
The sound of a battering ram crashing against the iron gates echoed through the estate like a thunderclap.
BOOM.
The heavy iron hinges groaned, rivets popping like dry twigs. On the third strike, the gates gave way entirely, crashing inward onto the snow-covered courtyard in a cloud of twisted iron and shattered wood.
Through the ruined gateway strode King Bram, flanked by his elite guard and a pack of snarling direwolves. And walking right beside him, calm, composed, and radiating an aura of undeniable royalty, was Queen Gwendolyn.
Arthur Redmond stumbled backward out of the Great Hall, his hands empty, his clothes disheveled, and his face a mask of absolute, paralyzing terror. He fell hard to his knees right in the center of the courtyard, staring up at the woman he had tried to destroy.
Gwendolyn stopped a few paces away from him, looking down at her former husband with eyes as cold and dead as winter ice.
“A-Arthur...” the former Alpha choked out, his voice a pathetic whimper. “Gwendolyn... please. Mercy. We were husband and wife—”
“You lost the right to call me that the moment you handed me a cup of poison and locked me out in the blizzard,” Gwendolyn interrupted, her voice steady, clear, and utterly devoid of pity.
Before Arthur could speak another word, Mother Maeve burst out of the doorway of the Great Hall, her face twisted in a mask of manic fury, her wooden staff raised high.
“You think you have won, you ungrateful bitch!” Maeve shrieked, pointing her staff directly at Gwendolyn’s abdomen. “You and your royal bastard will burn—”
She never finished the sentence.
Before Maeve’s staff could channel a single spark of dark magic, a heavy black-feathered arrow whistled through the air, burying itself deep into the old woman’s chest with a sickening thud.
Maeve gasped, dropping her staff as she stumbled backward, crashing down the stone steps before lying motionless in the snow.
Commander Vance lowered his hunting bow slowly, his expression impassive.
Arthur let out a terrified wail, pressing his face into the bloody snow at Gwendolyn’s feet. “Spare me! Please, Your Majesty, spare my life!”
Bram stepped forward, his golden eyes burning with divine fury. He raised his massive sword, the steel catching the cold winter sun.
“You asked for mercy when you threw an innocent woman into the snow to die,” Bram’s voice boomed across the courtyard, chilling every soul present to the bone. “You showed none. And neither shall we.”
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With a swift, effortless sweep of his blade, the tyrant Alpha’s reign came to a permanent, definitive end.
The courtyard fell into an absolute, breathless silence. The Redmond Pack estate had fallen. House Caldwell was restored. And the true rulers of Ethalgard stood united in victory.
