Kershov gradually felt his fury cool into a solid pit of dread inside of him, a lump of dead coal that weighed on his stomach. Grey Wind - whom the Ice King had always thought of as steadfast and serious - sided with Athene, denouncing the wounds Ker inflicted upon himself as punishment. The iron-hued vipera man did not condone the act his Alpha insisted he’d committed . . . and he did not speak against the act, either, instead calling for a less brutal punishment. “This pack was not built on torturing each other, and it shouldn’t be how we base our future.” Wise, noble words. Something Kershov might have scoffed at during his gangleader days, when torture stood as the more efficient way to gain information or teach a hard lesson. Should not his punishment fit his crime? Was it so wrong to instill a fear of torment to wrongdoers in the future of Uyaraut? The ivory warrior never wanted such a trial to take place every again - never wanted another sickening cur in the midst of his faction - yet he could not help but gaze back at Grey Wind with a mixture of frustration and respect, unable to argue against the more merciful statement. Perhaps the pain of knowing what he’d done would suffice for punishment, if his army refused to participate in the tundra-esque retribution Kershov preferred. “You would extend a branch of peace for me as well, Grey Wind? Well . . . if that is truly how you feel the pack should react going forward . . .”

The appearance of Nimueh and their litter sneaking along the edges of the amphitheatre threw the massive dragga for a loop. His discovery of her - and their children - had occurred during the initial blurry stages of his violent fugue; the precise details of how he’d tracked her to Crith Thalmhainn and pulled her back to Uyaraut evaded his conscious mind at the present. He remembered, vaguely, that he’d first traversed the crimson foothills based on rumors of a new monstrous presence scouring the mountains . . . morbid curiosity bade him to learn more about what might be a future threat to his own kingdom. But then he’d caught that damned woman’s scent clinging to the rocks and something possessed him to seek Nimueh out and “rescue” her before the demon actually invaded their land. Her and the pups they’d created together, seasons ago, while Kershov had been under the influence of the witch woman’s evil herbal concoction. It was because of Nimueh that the nascent relationship he wanted to build with Athene experienced its first rocky jostle. Still, Kershov could not exactly hate a creature who manipulated him so cleverly, so flawlessly. Queens had done the same years the in past, using Kavik and Kirastasia as pawns to further her own gain. It wasn’t until the white-eyed lady opened her mouth to unleash a stream of flippant sarcasm that true bitterness coated his tongue. “As much as I relish the honor you bring us by showing your face, this is meant to be a serious trial, Nimueh,” the glacial Czar growled, jerking his chin toward his shredded leg to emphasize his point.

He might have bit something else out, if not for Frekari finally piping up. The tall female towered above nearly everyone in the pack on her slender stilts, and her ginger pelt stood out like a patch of flame amid the dry prairie grasses. Coffee-colored eyes speared aggressively toward Athene - it would not be a pack of Kershov’s if at least two females did not hate each other - and spat with anger at everyone gathered there. Ker thought he should have been satisfied that at least one varg supported the spirit of his hearing . . . but still that dense lump of morose foreboding pressed against his insides. Acutely, Kershov sensed the harsh rage that fueled him earlier had finally, completely burned itself out . . . leaving hopelessness in his wake. What did it matter? Most of his pack did not take him seriously, or otherwise refused to participate. Only one wolf agreed with him - and only on the basis that he was Alpha, not because Frekari necessarily believed he’d committed his crime. Before Kari and Athene could tear each other apart, the winter Emperor let out a short bark. “Enough. All of you act as my jury, and it’s clear you’ve reached your majority verdict. Your Alpha is a fool, and the only physical punishment I shall receive is that which I’ve already impinged upon myself. It is done.”

To her credit, Athene held her annoyance in check, merely huffing at Frekari before pushing Gwyneira and Sergei forward. Ker’s ears perked in surprise when she revealed her immediate plans. The war-striped wolfess had mentioned the Trials before - an event separate and wholly unlike the hearing Kershov was attempting to hold. Black eyes swept over the others gathered in the clearing, wondering if they too knew what Athene truly meant. If they knew that these two youngsters, barely out of their soft puppy coats, were to battle each other to the death. A last ember of his ire flickered, wanting to challenge Athene on her timing . . . however, that spark eventually sputtered to death. Ker closed his bottomless onyx pools, head tilting toward the earth in silent defeat. It would be madness to continue to rail and rave against the decision of his packmates. If anyone else needed to say their piece, the Ice King would listen - otherwise he turned leaden paws toward Athene and his one litter he had honestly meant to produce, sick at heart to know that one of his pups would not be returning home today. “Very well, Madame Athene. My trial is over. Let your Trials begin.”