Despite the various halls and maze of corridors the castle possessed, Raziel knew his way around every nook and cranny. He had made it his mission to do so since being knighted eleven years ago, and more so when he became captain of the Prince’s lance four years after.

As he marched through the hallways of the western wing, alight with the sunlight streaming in from the many floor-to-ceiling windows, every person he passed by bowed or curtsied to him. He didn’t exchange pleasantries. He might have heard a good afternoon or two, but his steps were too quick and urgent for him to return the greetings.

His mind was set on one goal that day, and its accomplishment depended on how well he could manage his time. A familiar voice soon flitted into his head, similar to his, but with a smoother, more relaxed edge to it.

“How was the meeting?”

“Bloody long and bloody boring,” Raziel replied aloud, aware that his thoughts could be read before he spoke them. “Where are you?”

“Nearby. Sorry about Captain Cassandra.”

Raziel sighed in irritation. “For Griffin’s sake, Sage. Stop bloody spying on me.”

“I’m not spying on you. Your mind just happens to be accessible to me whenever you’re near. Not my fault you’re an open book to me.”

“Can you see me?” Raziel asked, lifting a hand.

Sage’s voice was light with amusement. “No, but I know you’re lifting up your middle finger.”

Raziel glowered at no one in particular as he moved, retreating his middle finger and hand before some innocent passerby misunderstood him.

“Enough chit-chat.” The humour in Sage’s voice dissipated as he changed the subject to a more serious issue. “Did you tell them about the incident?”

“I did,” Raziel replied. Taking the gravity of their next topic of discussion into consideration, he opted to gather his thoughts in his mind, stopping them from being spoken or heard aloud. “Everything except one detail.”

“Let me guess. That there was actually one survivor in the den massacre.”

Raziel nodded, although Sage couldn’t see. “The keeper’s letter was strange, and it had me thinking. Why would the lions devour every prisoner save for one? If he tried to escape, why not finish him off after tearing into him like they have done before? I sense treachery at play here—one that can only be discovered by speaking to the surviving prisoner. The entire Order save for my lance is under suspicion for now—captains inclusive. I have to approach the matter with caution and secrecy, lest the trail is lost.”

“I agree,” Sage’s voice said. “When will you speak to him?”

“I’m on the way to the Eastern outpost now to speak to the keeper and check the patient’s condition.”

“Now?” Sage seemed surprised. “Weren’t you supposed to see Mel?”

A slight regret built in Raziel’s chest when he thought of her. “I already sent my apologies and rescheduled. I actually wanted you to accompany me.”

“I cannot. I’m on bodyguard duty.”

Two maids in the hallway blushed and curtsied to him, but Raziel barely spared them a glance, marching forward in brisk strides and leaving them only a whiff of his scent.

“Which royal?” he asked, aloud.

Silence reigned in his head, causing Raziel to pause for a bit and muse on its meaning.

“The princess,” he provided the answer to his own question, and was proved correct by Sage, who didn’t deny it.

Instead, Sage explained, “Dame Franchesca had a family emergency, and I happened to be nearby to step in.”

Raziel couldn’t help an amused chuckle, his lips curling in a smirk. “Happened to be, eh?”

“Stop it.” Sage’s tone was irked, not fond of the teasing.

Raziel lifted his arms in surrender, even though Sage couldn’t see. “I’m not judging you, brother-mine. Please, do pursue your happiness as I pursue my enemy. If not you, who should I take along for this misadventure?”

“I think Sir Rodney would be happy to accompany you.”

That earned a scoff from Raziel. “I’m sure he’d love the arms of whichever maiden he’s got in his sheets right now.”

A chuckle sounded on Sage’s end. “If you can get to him in time, you’ll have him by your side before that happens. He’s in the western courtyard, chatting with a maid.”

Raziel increased his pace, a somewhat sadistic grin spreading on his face at the prospect of ruining the flirtatious knight’s chances of a lascivious entanglement.

“Thank you, Sage,” he said, emphasizing each word.

“You’re welcome, psychopath.”

As expected, Sir Rodney Hill was most disgruntled by Raziel’s unceremonious interruption of his too-close-to-be-friendly conversation with a maid behind a pillar of the courtyard. The   poor woman had turned red from embarrassment while Rodney had glared in absolute shock and annoyance.

Even if Raziel was his captain and direct superior, Rodney did not mask his discontent as he begrudgingly rode alongside him towards the castle gate.

“You do know we’ve got quite a long road ahead of us, right?” Rodney grumbled as he brought his horse to a halt beside Raziel’s. His hazel eyes glared at him from the side. “Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow morn, Captain?”

Of all the knights in his lance, Rodney was the only one who tended to speak more freely with him aside from Sage. Perhaps it stemmed from his self-importance, or talkative nature, or it was something that was both the cause and result of his sometimes exhausting charisma.

Rodney wasn’t as tall as him—he was about Captain Cassandra’s height—but his good looks and charm were a perfect combination that boosted his popularity. With smooth unblemished light brown skin, thick deep brown loose curls falling on his shoulders, and a smile that outshone the full moon, he could charm the drawers off any maiden.

Even as a knight, the easy-going air he carried allowed those of lower class to feel comfortable around him, and he engaged with them freely. There probably wasn’t a single person in the central region who didn’t know him, or at least heard of him.

He and Raziel were polar opposites, with the latter preferring to keep to himself and engaging with others only when absolutely necessary.

“No, it cannot wait, Sir Rodney.” Raziel flashed him a sharp gaze, a bit of malicious glee underneath it. “But your next salacious conquest surely can.”

With a kick to the sides of his horse, Raziel rode forward.

Groaning in misery, Rodney followed suit.

The duo arrived at the Eastern outpost in the dead of night—much to Rodney’s chagrin.

Little activity took place within the outpost, located at the isthmus leading to the Freesia Peninsula, with only a few flickering lights in the buildings. Raziel and Rodney walked to the keeper’s house at the edge of the small town, which was among the few still alive with light.

The keeper welcomed them in with haste.

“I did not think you would come so soon, Captain,” the keeper said, standing with them in the small parlour of his house. It was all stone save for the doors and bits of furniture, with an old grey rug beneath the small table. Aside from the oil lantern on the table, the fire in the hearth provided the light.

It was a simple house for a simple man, who, despite his fifty-six years, held deep respect for a captain younger than him by more than two decades.

He wrung his weathered hands in front of him, his shoulders slightly hunched in reverence and submission to the knights. His face was wrinkled and haggard, his woolen clothes worn out.

Raziel had always believed the keeper’s job to be more respected, and hence had tried to advocate for an increase in wages. His plight had been futile, reason being that the lions the keeper looked after were harmless to all people of Freesia kingdom except exiled prisoners who tried to escape.

“I consider this an urgent matter, keeper,” Raziel relayed to the old man. “How is the patient?”

“The physician has not left his side since we brought him in,” the keeper responded and gestured to a corridor. “This way, Captain. Sir.”

Rodney followed them curiously, unaware of the ‘patient.’ Raziel had not told him exactly what business he had in the outpost, but the assumption was that it had a connection to the assassination attempt on the Prince’s life a week ago. They had discussed the incident as a lance, with Raziel deciding to write to the keeper, in suspicion of the former knights exiled at the Peninsula. He hadn’t made any further communications to the lance since making that decision.

Inside another room was a small bed, chair and a bedside table beneath a closed window, On the table was a big wooden bowl, rolls of bandages and other medical supplies. Fire torches bracketed along the walls provided light within.

On the bed was a man lying face up. He wore no shirt, with bandages covering up most of his body, and one wrapped around his head. Beside him on the chair was the physician, beginning to change the bandages.

“This is…” Rodney stepped forward, peering closer at the man’s face, whose eyes were shut and skin glistened with sweat. “Abram Boher, former knight.”

The physician, noticing the men in the room, stood up and bowed low to them. “Griffin’s blessings, Captain. Sir.”

“Griffin’s blessings. Do continue with your treatment, Physician,” Raziel ordered.

“Yes, Captain.” The physician bowed again and sat down to continue unraveling the bandages on Abram’s arm.

Aware of Rodney’s bafflement, Raziel explained everything to him.

“Then…this man was mauled but never eaten?” Rodney asked after the account. “How could that be? Was it because the lions had their fill?”

“Even I asked myself the same question, Sir,” the keeper said, his hands still held in front of him. “When I first discovered him, the lions were still gnawing on the rest, so I presumed they would feast on him later. Then, I received your letter, Captain, asking me about the state of the prisoners. I needed to confirm all their deaths, but when I returned the next day, I found him still breathing.”

He shook his head, still in disbelief of the events that occurred. “The lions simply sat and watched, not even bothered to sniff or lick him. It was puzzling, so I retrieved him and put him under my care, then had the scribe write down everything.”

“I’m glad you made the decision to retrieve him, keeper,” Raziel said to him, his tone sincere with gratitude.

That caused the keeper to smile at the honor of gaining Raziel’s appreciation, his features relaxing. “I am too, since you afterwards asked me to keep him alive until you were to pass by. If I hadn’t acted on my gut back then, he would probably be dead by now from the severity of his wounds.”

“How severe are they?” Rodney asked the physician, coming closer to the bed to have a proper view of the patient.

“Quite,” the physician replied, shaking his head in sympathy. “Much of his muscle and tissue were torn up, going as far as the bone. He cracked his head too, so he’ll need a god amount of time to recover. I’m afraid it will be weeks before he can regain consciousness or even speak. Three or more.”

As he unravelled the bandages around his shoulder, Abram stirred but did not wake. The physician undertook the task of cleaning him, taking extra care in the deep puncture marks and open lacerations which produced a rancid waft through the air, minimized only by the scent of herbs and tonics.

“Something is strange.” Rodney’s voice called for Raziel’s attention. He furrowed his brow in question as the young knight knelt by the bedside and observed Abram’s wounded shoulder.

“These marks…” Rodney said, grimness taking over his usually chipper voice. “They’re not the marks of a lion’s jaw.”

Raziel flinched at the observation. “What?”

Rodney sighed, his face distraught with the burden of a seemingly surreal conclusion. He turned to Raziel and pronounced, “They are the marks of a wolf’s jaw.”

Raziel’s eyes widened and he stiffened, momentarily stunned by the revelation. Gingerly, to hear confirmation of the implication behind the revelation, he asked, “Are you saying a wolf did this, Sir Rodney?”

Rodney stood, flipping his mane of curls back in the process. “I am absolutely certain that a wolf did this, Captain.”

“B-but… but how?” the keeper stammered, incredulous. “There are no wolves in the Peninsula. It has always been run by lions as they are the only predators. Every other animal there is either prey or an undesirable palate. But a wolf? How could this be?”

Rodney and Raziel’s eyes met, an understanding passing between them. The same conclusions were being drawn in their minds—disastrous, ominous ones. Raziel regained his composure, maintaining it despite the storm these thoughts brewed, and turned his sharp gaze unto the frayed old man.

“Keeper,” he said, his tone leveled and authoritative. “As of now, this matter is to remain confidential. Who else knows of Abram’s survival?”

The keeper jolted, nervous of the sudden gravity Raziel expressed. “J-just me, the physician, the scribe, and two foot soldiers who assisted me to bring him here.”

“It must stay that way,” Raziel ordered, his mind working fast to administer precautions. “Physician, do whatever it takes to keep this prisoner alive. As soon as he regains consciousness, contact me immediately. If he says anything before I return to speak to him, have it written down. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” both the keeper and the physician responded with a curt submission.

That said, Raziel motioned to Rodney to follow him. The two of them retreated to the parlour.

“What do you think?” Rodney inquired, keeping his voice low. “A shifter?”

Raziel rubbed his clean-shaven jaw in contemplation. “Of all the former knights exiled to the peninsula, Abram was the only one gifted with beast transformation. There is a possibility that he attacked the others, but it would be impossible to wound himself so severely like that.”

“Without any remains, there is no way to tell and confirm that he did, in fact, attack the others and leave them to the lions. Why would he even do that?” Rodney questioned, already adamant on the conclusion he had drawn. “Someone else is responsible.”

It was a conclusion Raziel had arrived at as well, and taking note of the certainty in Rodney’s eyes, explored it further. “You think a shifter somehow got into the dens and tried to kill the former knights, leaving one barely alive?”

“It makes sense,” Rodney agreed. “The shifter wanted us to think the lions did it all, but by some miracle, one of the prisoners survived and revealed the truth.”

“Not everything is revealed, Sir Rodney,” Raziel averred, his blue eyes piercing and calculative. “There’s too many questions. How did the shifter come in? How did he escape without the lions tearing him a part as well? Most of all, what was his motive behind trying to kill the former knights?”

He sighed, perturbed by the mystery. “This is all connected to the assassination attempt, but I have no idea how. That missing link lies only with Abram Boher—the witness. We must find out what he knows at whatever cost.”

Rodney nodded, swayed by his thoughts. “Alright, but what about the lance? Shall we discuss what we’ve found out with them?”

“No.” Raziel’s answer was immediate and firm. “I trust my lance, but having more people know about this could prove risky and dangerous. Anything could happen between now and the time Abram regains consciousness. We’ll discuss with the rest after we’ve got all the information right from his mouth.”

“As you say, Captain,” Rodney conceded and ran his fingers through his long hair. “But that shifter…it could be any knight with the gift of beast transformation.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Even me.”

Raziel shot him a nasty glare.

Rodney laughed lightly, his hazel eyes twinkling in the dim light. “I’m joking. Can’t take a joke, can you, Captain?” he teased. “Of course it’s not me.”

Raziel continued to glower, his jaw clenched and expression dark.

Rodney’s bright smile slowly shrunk, his one-sided lightheartedness only causing an awkwardness to hang in the air between them. He cleared his throat and swallowed, deciding to completely change the subject. “So, where shall we sleep tonight?”