Bryant looked absolutely stunned by the question, his brain short-circuited like a damp fuse. He stood there with his mouth slightly agape, the realization of what Roy was implying refusing to take root.
To Bryant, the female he had just guarded was not merely a prisoner; she was the Goddess incarnate. With just a glance at her sweet, honeyed smile and her gentle hands, any beastkin in the vicinity could see as clear as day that such a creature was incapable of deceit.
"She gave me her word, my lord," Bryant stammered, his voice thick with a naive, misplaced conviction. "She wouldn't lie to me. She couldn't. She is a healer under the Goddess herself, bound by the sacred rules of the Shrine. If for some reason Healer Frey is unable to leave the Shrine in the morning, I would be more than happy to go in and fetch her for you myself."
Roy had been conditioned by years of brutal training to master his temper. He had survived countless trials, grueling campaigns, and years of commanding raw, untrained soldiers who tested his sanity daily.
He drew upon that discipline now, forcing his breath to remain steady even though the urge to roar at the foolish vassal made his throat ache with a physical pressure. He could feel his obsidian nails lengthening into razor-sharp claws as he balled his hands into tight, white-knuckled fists at his sides.
Bryant had no clue how lucky he was to be standing in Roy's ranks. Any other commander in the Claw Kingdom would have ended his life on the spot for such monumental foolishness. The only thing currently shielding the boy was the presence of James, the Margay informant, standing in the shadows of the hall.
Roy was not the type of leader to embarrass his own in front of an outsider; he believed that respect was earned through discipline, but dignity was a lesson taught by a leader's example. He would not strip Bryant of his pride in front of a coward like James, even if he wanted to throttle him.
Hudson, Roy's veteran companion and oldest friend, cleared his throat, the sound rasping in the sudden silence of the great hall. He gave Roy a brief, sympathetic look.
The look of a man who had shared a hundred headaches before turning to face the temporary second-in-command. In a tone usually reserved for chastising headstrong cubs, Hudson began to speak slowly, as if explaining the world to a child.
"You cannot simply go inside the sacred walls of the Shrine to 'fetch' her, Bryant," Hudson said, his voice grave. "The left hand of the Goddess herself would descend upon us all if we dared to violate the most holy law of our kind. We are warriors, but we are not sacrilegious."
"The holy law?" Bryant stammered, his confusion only deepening.
Hudson held his breath for a split second, visibly fighting the urge to roll his eyes heavenward. "Once anyone enters the Shrine, they are under the absolute protection of the Goddess. All who cross those thresholds are welcomed to peace, aid, and sanctuary. Dear cub, by letting her walk into that Shrine, you haven't just lost a prisoner. You have granted her an unbreakable sanctuary."
The weight of the deed finally began to sink in. Bryant's face went from flushed to a ghostly, sickly pale. He was horrified by his own conduct, desperate to find a way to redeem himself in the eyes of the Black Panther. "But she promised-"
"Be silent."
Roy hadn't raised his voice, but the command was a jagged blade of sound. James, the Margay informant standing to the side, jumped a good foot into the air at the sheer coldness of it. He had caught a glimpse of the fury burning in the warrior's hard eyes, no longer purple, but a flinty, storm-cloud grey.
James took several frantic steps back, a puny attempt to put distance between himself and the warrior.
Pure, unadulterated anger rolled off Roy in waves, a physical heat that made the very air in the hall feel heavy. Any unfortunate soul who wandered too close might find themselves sent to the afterlife before they could utter a prayer.
As furious as he was, Roy felt a flicker of dark amusement at the informant's cowardly retreat. The little male was literally shaking like a leaf in a gale. What a pathetic, spineless creature, Roy thought, his lip curling in a silent sneer.
In an attempt to regain control of the narrative, Roy turned his massive frame toward the informant. "You've told me about the brothers, James," Roy said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, deceptive silkiness.
"Now tell me about the sisters. We were notified that one is a saintly healer and the other is the 'Sinner' princess."
Roy stopped abruptly when he saw James begin to shake his head. "There is no healer in this household, my lord," James blurted out, interrupting the already volatile warrior.
The informant added in a panicked rush when he saw the jagged scar on Roy's face turn a stark, bloodless white. "There is only the female known as Eris. The Princess."
Roy's eyebrows knitted together, his lips pressing into a line so thin it looked like a wound. "We know about Princess Eris," he snapped. "She is the one who defended this holding in place of her brothers. She is the strategist who fought back against us and every other tribe that dared to invade. I am asking about her sister. The healer, Frey."
Roy was starting to feel a murderous frustration with the little male, who had the audacity to shake his head yet again in the middle of a Royal command. Suppressing a low, guttural growl in his chest, Roy waited for the coward to speak.
James looked more puzzled than frightened now, his eyes wide with a strange, genuine confusion. "But my lord," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the vast, echoing space, "there is only one. The Princess Eris... she does not have a sister."
For that split second, the world seemed to stop. The flickering torches on the walls, the breathing of the soldiers, the rustle of the wind outside, everything in the great hall went dead silent.
The image of the "Healer" standing between his thighs, the smell of dizzy flowers masking her scent, and the way her chin had flicked up in pride flashed through Roy's mind like a lightning strike.
He had been played. The General himself, the pride of the Claw Kingdom, had been treated like a fumbling cub by a single girl with a bowl of water and a gentle smile.