Chapter 12 - Shadows in the Royal Gardens
Back in the capital, the crisp night air carried the scent of blooming night-jasmine and pine. Lyra stood on the stone balcony of her royal chambers, looking out over the twinkling lights of the city. The heavy weight of the golden crown felt lighter now, tempered by the warmth of the kingdom's recovery, yet a persistent unease nagged at the back of her mind.
A soft, familiar warmth brushed against her side. Caspian, shifted into his hybrid form—towering and majestic, with pristine white fur catching the silver moonlight—rested his massive chin gently on the balcony railing beside her.
You are thinking too deeply, little bird, Caspian's voice echoed in her mind, carrying a calm, grounding cadence that immediately eased her racing pulse. The guards report the city is peaceful. The common packs have pledged their unwavering loyalty.
"It's too quiet, Caspian," Lyra murmured, leaning her head against his soft fur. "Orson is gone, but the roots of corruption ran deep. The northern packs never attended the coronation. They stayed silent."
Caspian’s amber eyes hardened, a flicker of ancient tactical instinct flaring in his gaze. Malric.
"You know him?" Lyra asked, turning to face the wolf.
Malric is an opportunist, Caspian projected, a dark growl vibrating in his chest. A relic of the old northern border wars. He respects only raw power and bloodshed. If he has not sworn fealty by now, it means he is gathering his strength for a challenge.
Suddenly, Caspian’s ears pinned flat against his skull. His body coiled, the fur along his spine standing on end.
May you like
Intruders, he warned sharply.
Before Lyra could draw breath, the shadows of the royal garden below rippled. Three sleek, silent figures detached themselves from the darkness—assassins cloaked in chameleon-hide, moving with terrifying, inhuman speed toward the balcony stairs.
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