Chapter 92 Ahnna
Ahnna
The crowd parted as William rode into the square, a wrapped bundle in his arms. A hush fell over the onlookers—nobles pressed forward in the viewing gallery, murmurs breaking out among their jeweled ranks, while the civilians craned for a better view, voices rising in confusion and anticipation.
Soldiers tightened the perimeter, the clink of armor and weapons audible as they moved to contain the growing tension.
Dropping the reins, William pulled back the fabric to reveal a newborn baby. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
He held the child aloft and shouted, “Behold, my son!”
A wail burst from the infant’s lips, thin and sharp, cutting through the stunned silence. The baby’s cry echoed off the stone buildings, and a wave of murmured reaction followed—some awed, others bewildered.
In the gallery above, Alexandra surged to her feet, one hand clutching the rail as if ready to leap over it, her lips parted in horror. Her knuckles blanched as white as the handkerchief clutched in her hand.
“Today, we celebrate the continuation of the Ashford line,” William declared, mercifully lowering the child back to the crook of one arm.
The king’s face was flushed, one cheek unusually red.
“My family has shepherded Harendell for generations. Beneath our rule, the kingdom has been strong and prosperous and, until recently, a place of peace. That peace has been sorely tested by the actions of one woman, who attacked not only my family but our entire nation.”
A chorus of disapproving mutters rolled through the square, but it wasn’t unanimous.
A few voices cried out—“Warmonger!” and “Look to the dowager queen”—before being swiftly silenced by soldiers with barked warnings and drawn weapons.
Children clutched their mothers. Old men whispered behind gnarled hands.
The nobles, faces like masks, observed with sharp, calculating eyes.
Though this had been her plan, Ahnna’s stomach still twisted. This was how the people would remember her. One moment. One lie. A lifetime undone.
William rubbed at his red cheek with one hand as he continued, “Ahnna Kertell’s violence set us on a spiraling course toward war that allowed other villains to take actions most nefarious.
But today, with the birth of my son, I will put a stop to that spiral.
We will have justice, and in that justice, we will have peace restored to the north. ”
More cheering. More clapping. Some sounded genuine; others felt mocking. Soldiers flanking the square cast hard glares that discouraged any shouts.
William turned his head and met Ahnna’s gaze. In his green eyes, she saw the truth: He meant what he said. For the child in his arms, he would cease his quest to claim the bridge and work toward peace.
Her death would not be in vain.
Ahnna’s fear faded. She cleared her throat, ready to confess to a crime she hadn’t committed. But before she could speak, a shrill voice shattered the illusion of order.
“William!”
Lestara—hair tangled, nightgown stained—stumbled from the press of onlookers, Hazel and a handful of soldiers trailing in her wake. Civilians gasped and shrank back, some crying out at the sight of her. Nobles leaned forward, some scandalized, others enraptured by the drama unfolding.
She doubled over beside William’s horse, her body trembling from the lingering pains of long labor. “Give him to me!” she demanded. “You should not have taken him!”
William gave a chuckle. “You see your queen’s protective spirit? She will instill this into our son, and he will be a king like no other.”
Applause followed, though scattered and uneven. Lestara’s expression twisted as she reached up, arms shaking, to take her baby.
William passed the infant down, but his body swayed in the saddle. He caught the horse’s mane, steadying himself with a frown and a shake of his head. Then he gestured toward Ahnna.
“Do you have any final words?”
This was the moment when she needed to confess to uphold her part of the bargain, but the words vanished from her tongue as she focused on his cheek—no longer just red. Blisters, angry and swollen, now mottled the flesh.
Poison.
William coughed, the sound wet and hacking, and he pressed a hand to his chest in pain. “Confess to those you have wronged, and go to death with a clear—”
The rest drowned in a gruesome tide of blood. He gagged and vomited, spraying crimson across the horse’s white neck. The beast reared, screaming, and panic cascaded through the crowd.
Ahnna heard screams from the gallery. Soldiers surged forward, struggling to keep order. Civilians shouted in confusion, mothers scooping children into their arms, but rather than fleeing, they pressed closer for a better view.
Lestara screamed, cradling the baby to her chest as she stumbled back from the terrified horse. “William!”
Another wave of blood spilled from his lips, and then William collapsed, hitting the cobblestones with a sickening thud.
Ahnna’s knees gave, only the noose around her neck keeping her upright. She needed William. Needed him to make good on his promise. Without him, there would be no leash on Alexandra’s fury.
And Alexandra was screaming. Skirts gathered in her fists, she raced from the gallery, barreling past stunned nobles and shoving through soldiers. “Get the physician! Get the physician! Hurry!”
But it wouldn’t matter. The blisters were bursting now, William’s limbs jerking in grotesque spasms. Blood gushed from his nose, ears, mouth. The crowd recoiled as one, horrified. Several people vomited. A noblewoman fainted in the gallery. A soldier crossed himself.
There was no medicine for this. No cure.
William gave one final gurgle, then went still. The silence that followed was total, as though the kingdom itself held its breath.
Alexandra let out a howl not meant for human throats and fell to her knees beside his body, rocking him like a child. Blood stained her hands, smeared across his lifeless face, his eyes open and glassy.
The baby began to cry again, a desperate wail that echoed across the square.
And Ahnna knew, with bone-deep certainty, that whatever future had been promised, it had died with William.
Lestara screamed and screamed, the baby’s wails cutting through the rising cacophony like a blade. The square stank of sweat and horses, blood and fear—a nauseating blend pressing down like a wet shroud.
Clutching the baby, Lestara pointed a shaking finger at Ahnna. “You did this! This was all a scheme, a trick to get close enough to William. You murdered him!”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some noblewomen covered their mouths, eyes wide in horror. Others leaned forward, hungry for blood.
Lestara’s face was a twisted ruin of grief, cheeks streaked with tears and sweat, but her amber eyes—those were clear. Cold. Calculating. “In the name of my son, William’s heir, I order you to kill her!”
The executioner, pale and slick with sweat, hesitated only a moment before moving. The crowd held its breath as he reached for the lever, and Ahnna’s body tensed. Her heart was a drumbeat in her ears, loud enough to drown out the crowd, the baby, the cries of confusion.
This was it. This was it.
“Stop!”
The voice rang out like a thunderclap, silencing the square. Heads turned. Ahnna’s gaze snapped from Lestara to the far side of the crowd.
James.
He sat bareback astride Dippy, the gelding’s flanks heaving from the run. Dust coated his shoulders. His clothing was torn and his face marred with dark bruises. But he was alive.
He was alive.
Gasps swelled into shouts, the crowd shifting like a tide. Nobles leaned over the gallery rail, craning for a better look. Civilians surged against the soldiers holding the perimeter. One called James’s name. Then another. And another.
Lestara turned on him, fury making her skeletal, monstrous. “Seize him!” she screamed. “He is a traitor! A slave to the snake charmer’s wiles!”
She lunged toward the executioner, her nightgown torn and filthy, her legs streaked with blood. “Kill her!”
Still, neither soldiers nor the executioner moved.
James was their prince. The man they’d fought beside, bled beside. Lestara…she was their queen by marriage marred by a dark reputation, her authority weak.
“They murdered your king!” Lestara shrieked. Spittle flew from her lips as she spun toward the nearest guards. “James and Ahnna conspired together because they want the crown! Kill them!”
The crowd had gone volatile now—hot with uncertainty, pressed shoulder to shoulder. Someone shouted that it was Ithicana’s doing. More still that it was the work of Amarid. Chaos swirled like a rising tempest.
James spurred Dippy forward, the crowd parting in gasps and cries. Hands reached out, trying to touch him. He ignored them all, gaze locked on Ahnna.
“Alexandra, do something!” Lestara hissed. “Stop them!”
There was a long, sickening pause.
Then the dowager queen slowly lifted her head.
Ahnna’s breath caught.
Alexandra had clawed her own face in grief—blood striped her cheeks in jagged crescents, mixing with smeared cosmetics and tears. Her mouth trembled, but her eyes…her eyes were pure, undiluted fury as she rose to her feet.
“Execute the prisoner.” Her voice was hoarse, inhuman. “And arrest that traitor!”
Gasps. Screams. Shouts of protest from the crowd.
But the executioner obeyed.
He nodded once and pulled the lever.
The world vanished beneath Ahnna’s feet.
She screamed as the platform dropped, her stomach rising into her throat as she waited for the rope to snap taut.
She kept falling.
Falling—
Pain jolted up her legs as her slippered feet slammed into the cobblestones. Her knees buckled. The noose was still around her neck, but it dangled loose, cleanly severed.
Above her, an arrow quivered in the wooden backdrop of the gallows.
An Ithicanian arrow.
The roar came next, shattering the stunned silence.
“For Ithicana!”