Behind Brakka’s throne, Rokkan lowered his gaze, hiding the curl at the edge of his mouth.

  You are finished, Sein’ei, he thought.

  Even if you fulfilled your clan’s vow… Velmira sees through the false witness… you still stepped into my snare.

  His paw covered his lips, masking the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

  At the center of the chamber, Raian met Velmira’s steady stare—the unspoken demand for clarity hanging between them.

  He drew a slow breath. “One week ago,” he began, voice even, “my sister, Mika, was ambushed by three tomcats in an alley on her way to the market.”

  A shift ran through the hall.

  He reached into his cloak. “And this—” A torn piece of cloth emerged from the folds of dark fabric.“—is the proof.”

  He held up the fragment of Mika’s scarf. The fabric, once light and warm in tone, was now stiffened by dried earth… and darker stains.

  All eyes turned toward the scrap of cloth.

  From the shadows beside Maeril’s throne, Veyr of the Hollow Pads spoke at last.

  “A torn piece of fabric,” he said smoothly, golden eyes narrowing, “cannot justify retaliation. Nor can it identify the perpetrators.”

  His gaze lingered on Raian a heartbeat longer than necessary.

  Go on, his silence urged. Tell them you sought information from Noctelure. Let Clawscar believe this was their design. Let suspicion turn toward the Velvet Quarter.

  Across the chamber, Madame Sava’s fan slowed. Her eyes sharpened.

  “Explain,” Velmira said, reclaiming the helm of the proceeding.

  Raian tightened his grip around Mika’s scarf.

  “You are correct,” he said evenly. “This cloth alone proves nothing.”

  A breath.

  Behind Maeril’s throne, Veyr’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

  What? The thought flickered across his mind—brief, tense. That was not the path he expected.

  Raian continued. “But my sister remembers their faces.”

  A murmur spread—quieter this time, more cautious.

  Raian did not look toward Noctelure. He did not glance at Madame Sava. He did not give Veyr what he wanted.

  “She remembers them clearly,” he went on. “Three tomcats. Orange. Scarred. One missing half an ear.”

  “Lies!” Rokkan shouted, stepping forward behind Brakka’s throne. “That is not testimony—it is grief! If a victim’s word alone becomes proof, then anyone in this kingdom could be accused!”

  A ripple moved through the chamber.

  Raian’s lips curved slightly.

  Careful, Rokkan. If you wish to trap me with false testimony… then I will dismantle your argument with your own words.

  “BUT—” Raian’s foot struck the stone floor. The impact echoed—sharp, deliberate.

  “Based on my investigation,” he continued, voice steady but carrying, “I uncovered three names.”

  A breath.

  “Krann. Muzz. And—” His jaw tightened. “Nesk.”

  A faint shift moved across the chamber.

  “Whose whereabouts,” Raian added coldly, “remain unknown.”

  Both his paws clenched at his sides. A low growl rumbled beneath his words—not wild, but restrained. The air seemed to dim.

  “My sister wept the entire night,” he said. “Her face was carved by their claws.”

  His gaze shifted. Not to Rokkan. To Maeril.

  She remained seated, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

  Raian’s voice lowered.

  “And so Krann and Muzz received repayment.”

  A pause.

  “In accordance with the vow that still runs in my blood.”

  Silence. Heavy. Not chaos. Not outrage.

  Recognition.

  Raian’s gaze shifted. To the second throne. Brakka.

  For a fleeting second, the massive tom’s fangs showed. He adjusted the dark shades that had slipped along his nose, pushing them back into place without a word.

  Raian turned sharply and pointed toward the first witness—the tom with the cast-bound arm.

  “And he,” Raian declared, voice firm, “received only the injury befitting his role.”

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  The witness stiffened.

  “I did not kill him.” A pause. “I rendered him unconscious. I prevented him from interfering with what I deemed a sacred duty.”

  The chamber absorbed the statement.

  Not apology. Not regret. Clarification.

  Raian lowered his paw.

  “I struck those who stood between me and justice. No more.”

  Across the hall, Brakka’s chewing slowed. Rokkan’s eyes burned.

  Velmira watched. Unblinking.

  Then—

  “Hoho…” A dry, amused chuckle broke the tension.

  Heads turned.

  Elder Timon leaned back slightly in his throne, fingers tugging at his long beard, a crooked grin forming beneath it.

  “Yes…” he murmured, lifting a single finger toward Raian. “That is precisely how I remember the Sein’ei vow.” A faint smile lingered at the edge of his ancient mouth.

  Across the chamber, Madame Sava’s eyes flickered—just once. Lira, standing at her side, gently nudged her shoulder, sensing the shift in current.

  Raian glanced toward the fourth throne, then briefly toward the fifth.

  Then he faced forward again.

  At the center, Countess Velmira now rested her chin lightly against her knuckles, gaze sharpened—not hostile. Evaluating.

  Raian drew a steady breath.

  “So tell me, Judge…” he said.

  His voice did not rise. It did not plead.

  “Tell me—where lies my wrongdoing?”

  Silence followed. Not empty. Weighted.

  Maeril, who had watched Raian’s entire performance without interruption, slowly closed her eyes. The index finger of her left paw tapped lightly against the armrest of her throne.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Velmira lowered her gaze.

  Behind her, Sir Mellaro Vainwhisker leaned in, whispering something low and urgent into his Countess’ ear.

  Raian saw it.

  Velmira’s lashes flickered once. Then her eyes widened—just a fraction. Then she nodded.

  DUM! DUM! DUM! The gavel struck. The chamber straightened.

  “Based on the testimonies and statements presented before this Council,” Velmira declared, voice ringing through stone and silk, “Lord Raian is confirmed to have killed two Overseers of the Maw Pits and injured multiple guards within Clawscar territory.”

  Raian’s chest tightened. A single, heavy beat of his heart echoed in his ears.

  “But—”Velmira continued. “Based on verified report, it is also confirmed that Lady Mika of the Sein’ei was assaulted prior to the incident.”

  Raian’s paw curled into a fist. His thumb moved slowly across his knuckles—a quiet anchor against the rising weight in the chamber. He did not speak. He waited.

  “OBJECTION!” Rokkan’s roar split the air.

  Every head turned.

  “You had no right to kill them!” he shouted, stepping forward from behind Brakka’s throne. “If a single wound justifies a life taken—then what is the purpose of law in this kingdom?”

  The words struck hard.

  Across the hall, the quills of Kindroot scribes stopped in unison. Regallin adjudicators exchanged quick glances, whispering beneath controlled breath. The chamber was no longer leaning toward sympathy. It was leaning toward principle.

  Rokkan’s lips curled.

  Got you. You can’t slip through this.

  His eyes slid toward Velmira—her chin resting lightly against the head of the gavel.

  Especially not with that devil Judge presiding.

  He clicked his tongue softly.

  Velmira did not move. Did not blink.

  From the second throne, Brakka tilted his head lazily. “Wow… you really wanna see this through to the end, huh…?” Crunch. Another chip disappeared between his fangs.

  Behind him, Rokkan smirked.

  Veyr’s paw tightened at his side. Let’s see how you play this, jungle cub… he thought.

  At the center of the chamber, Raian lowered his gaze.

  Slowly—His right paw moved. Toward the folds of his cloak.

  Fabric shifted. Several guards stiffened.

  Madame Sava’s fan stilled. Checkmate, she thought, a faint smile curving beneath the silk.

  Velmira’s brow lifted slightly.

  Raian withdrew his paw—And raised it high enough for the chamber to see.

  A scroll. Worn. Creased. Recognizable to one pair of eyes.

  Rokkan’s breath hitched.

  The smirk died.

  His pupils narrowed to slits as he stared at the crumpled parchment in Raian’s grasp. The fur along his spine lifted.

  Inside, panic flashed hot.

  Damn that old fool Krann…

  He kept the letter. Didn’t burn it.

  I hate elders who forget they take orders.

  He swallowed.

  Please… let it not be that one.

  At the center of the chamber, Raian’s voice carried.

  “Within this letter,” he said evenly, “is a structured order to assault my sister.”

  The words struck harder than any accusation before.

  Rokkan’s heart slammed in his chest. His claws slid free from their sheaths.

  “And at the end of the message—” Raian continued, eyes lifting toward Rokkan, “—there is the name of the conspirator who orchestrated this chaos.”

  Maeril lowered her gaze slightly, arms still folded.

  The chamber inhaled.

  And Rokkan exploded.

  “THOSE DAMN FOOLS!”

  Rokkan Greets-with-Claws, elder of House Clawscar, lunged.

  His claws flashed under torchlight, aimed straight for Raian’s throat.

  Gasps erupted.

  Sir Caelen and the Peaceguard reacted too late—steel clearing scabbards only as Rokkan closed the distance.

  Raian moved—but pain flared violently along the right side of his abdomen. His arm faltered mid-motion.

  Shit.

  Rokkan’s claws were inches from his neck.

  Then—

  Maeril’s right hand moved. Just two fingers. A precise gesture.

  From the edge of Raian’s vision, a shadow detached itself.

  Veyr. He appeared behind Rokkan like a breath slipping through silk.

  His right hand rose—Not clenched. Open.

  Palm flat. Fingers pressed tightly together, aligned like the edge of a blade.

  His elbow bent sharply, forearm folding inward until the side of his hand hovered close to his own jawline. Compact. Coiled. Then—

  In a single, fluid motion—His arm snapped outward.

  Not a swing. A slicing arc.

  The rigid edge of his hand carved through the air and struck the back of Rokkan’s neck.

  WHACK!

  The sound was not metallic. It was flesh meeting precision.

  Rokkan’s body convulsed mid-lunge. His claws faltered inches from Raian’s throat. His eyes rolled as his weight collapsed sideways, crashing hard against the stone floor.

  “Wh—why…” he choked. Darkness swallowed him whole.

  Veyr’s hand lowered slowly. Unshaken.

  Without looking at the fallen Rokkan, he turned his palm upward toward Raian.

  Open. Waiting.

  “Give it to me.”

  Only one chapter left before the trial concludes in Chapter 17, followed by Chapter 18 as the epilogue for Arc 1 of this book.