CIAN
I walked back into the hall carrying Aldric’s head by the hair.
Blood dripped from the severed neck. It left a trail across the floor behind me, dark spots on pale stone.
The hall had not settled. People were still moving, still whispering, still trying to process what had just happened.
They went silent when they saw me.
Every head turned.
Every eye locked on what I was carrying, then dragged lower, taking in the rest of me.
I was still naked.
Still soaked in blood that wasn’t all his. It clung to my skin, dried in places, wet in others, streaked down my chest and legs as I had walked straight out of a slaughter.
I walked to the center of the hall and stopped in front of the elder’s circle.
Then I let go.
The head hit the floor with a wet thud. It rolled once before coming to rest facing the gallery.
Aldric’s eyes were still open. Staring at nothing.
Someone in the crowd let out a choked sound. A woman near the back started crying. Then the claps of victory followed.
I looked up at Elder Callum.
He was staring at the head with an expression I could not quite read. Shock maybe. Or disgust. Or both.
"That was a bit much," he said finally.
His voice was carefully neutral, but I could hear the judgment underneath.
I met his eyes without flinching.
"He showed his true colors and attempted a coup," I said. My voice was steady and clear. "He also hurt my uncle Gabriel and came dangerously close to killing me. I had no choice."
I paused.
"Not like it was an overdose. He was going to be beheaded anyway."
A murmur rippled through the elders. One of them leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the head at my feet.
"You didn’t even use a machete," he said, low, almost uneasy. "If the head is not taken clean, the soul does not rest. It lingers. It finds its way back."
Silence pressed in around us. A few of them shifted, as if the thought alone unsettled them.
I exhaled through my nose, unimpressed.
"That’s a belief," I said. My voice stayed level, untouched by their unease. "Not a rule."
My gaze dropped briefly to Aldric’s head before returning to them.
"He’s dead. That’s what matters."
Callum’s jaw tightened but he did not argue.
I turned away from him and looked at Ronan.
My former friend stood surrounded by sentinels. His hands were still in chains. His face was pale. He was staring at his father’s severed head with an expression that looked like horror and grief twisted together.
"It is truly sad that it came to this," I said quietly. "You were my friend."
Ronan’s eyes snapped to mine.
I looked away before I could see whatever he wanted me to see there.
I turned back to Callum.
"Sentence the remaining traitor."
Callum stood slowly. He adjusted his robes and cleared his throat.
"Beta Ronan Ashworth," he said. His voice carried through the hall. "You have been found guilty of conspiracy. Of treason. Of aiding in the attempted assassination and usurping of the ruling Alpha. The sentence for these crimes is death by beheading."
The hall erupted into noise again.
Ronan’s face went white.
"No," he said. His voice cracked. "No, wait. Please."
He took a step forward, but the sentinels grabbed him and held him in place.
"Give me leniency, and I will tell you plenty of what Aldric planned," he said desperately. "Plenty more people he had in his pockets. The packs he had close ties to. Everything. I will tell you everything."
I did not look at him.
I could not.
My heart ached in a way that made it hard to breathe. But I forced myself to keep moving. I forced myself to walk toward where Fia stood with Maren and Thorne.
They were kneeling on the floor beside Gabriel’s body.
Maren was working quickly. Her hands moved with practiced precision. She had a needle and thread. She was stitching the wound on Gabriel’s throat closed.
Blood still pooled around him. Too much blood.
I stopped a few feet away.
Fia saw me first.
She stood immediately and crossed the distance between us. Her arms came around me and pulled me against her.
"You are fine," she whispered.

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