Jacquez Trouillefou was no stranger to death. He had killed before, in the passion of the fight - felt the sickening crunch as his opponent's skull shattered beneath his knuckles, watched the dark blood bubble from each orifice as the corpse crumpled at his feet. It did not faze him. He was a violent man when the situation called for it; it had been a harsh life in the south, and one needed physical prowess and ruthless cunning to rule anything for long. Things were more civilized here in the north, boundaries were rarely crossed, respect was grudgingly offered even before it was earned. Sometimes he missed the simplicity of solving a conflict with his fist, even missed the copper scent of blood.
This was not one of those times.
The king heard the strained howl from his knight, had reluctantly trudged his way through the snow, cursing the bitter cold and the emergency that drew him all the way out to the stables. And then the overwhelming scent of blood assaulted his senses, drowning out everything else around him. He was still snowblind, his dark eyes struggling to focus in the dim light of the barn, but he could make out Haven, huddled with the forms of two others. It dawned on him then that the blood was Firefly's.
A sickening wave of nausea rippled through him, realizing exactly what was unfolding before him. His children were killing Firefly. He had refused to be present when Susquehanna or Finn had brought his offspring into the world, and he had already told the proud Sadira woman that she was on her own with this litter. But... he knew she could handle it. The woman had pined for the sons she left behind in Dahlia de Mai, had adopted Jontae and that damn cat to have something to coddle, it was obvious she wanted to be a mother again. This... this was not what he expected. Not what he wanted. He never expected her litter to... die. For her to die...
Standing rigidly in the open doorway of the barn, Jacquez's hand was grasping the timber doorframe, claws sinking deeper and deeper into the splintering wood. Alaine was her medic; Haven was her support. Jacquez was not needed at all. There was a strange coldness seeping into his chest, one that the drafty weather had nothing to do with. Was this... regret? Fear? Helplessness? Guilt? "What's... going to happen?" he asked gruffly, flat black gaze watching the horrific scene unfold. And why did this happen at all?