That simple, wicked answer made every soul in the caravan shudder.
"FUN?!" the leader snarled.
The mood shifted instantly. The guards gripped their weapons tighter, rage replacing fear. The caravan members shrank behind the carts, eyes wide in panic.
A chill crept over the clearing, settling over everyone like a fog. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath.
Trevor's hands clenched around the insignia. He finally understood. These men may wear the royal crest… but there was nothing noble about them.
They were vultures, wolves in armor—and now, they were hungry.
At that time the leader's expression changed.
The mercenary leader's face twisted, eyes darting back and forth as the armored riders tightened their formation.
"This is bad," he growled. "They don't plan to let us go."
He barely finished his words when—
BANG! BANG!
Two loud gunshots tore through the tense air, echoing through the forest like thunder.
