The Son of the Wolf

The room was dimly lit, the soft crackle of the chimney fire punctuating the silence. Lord Wellington sat in his favorite chair, the weight of his actions replaced with a self-satisfied smirk. Rain drummed against the windows, a soothing backdrop to his thoughts.

“Father... what we did…” Henry stammered from the corner, his voice trembling. “What if the Queen finds out?”

It was his first encounter with such a brutal massacre. The screams of the people who died echoed in his mind, driving him to madness.

“The Queen won’t find out anything!” Lord Wellington snapped, his tone sharp. “Even if she does, I’m the Major General. She won’t risk losing me over a few servants. Nothing will happen.” He waved dismissively, gesturing toward the muffled cries coming from another room. “Now go quiet those brats!”

Henry hesitated, his face pale. “But Father, the queen is—”