The first morning without chains or challengers was not silent.
Outside the hall, the courtyard bustled—wolves clearing debris, messengers carrying orders, children darting between legs like small streaks of sunlight.
Isabella stood at the center, Nick perched on her hip, his small hands tangled in her braid.
The carved wooden wolf was still clutched in his fist.
---
“You see them?" she asked quietly. “They're not bowing. They're working. That's better."
Nick's brow furrowed as if he were trying to decide if working was better than bowing.
---
She carried him into the hall, where a slab of dark stone had been brought in from the prison yard.
On it, the mason was carving a name: **Nancy**.
Nick traced the fresh grooves with a finger.
“Who's Nancy?"
Isabella's throat tightened. “
