Chapter 25 #2
They yanked the next man up. Face red and sheened with sweat, he thrashed against their hold, stripped of all pride. Once they reached the center, they kicked the back of his leg, bringing him to his knees to meet our judgment.
“It’s your fault!” he wailed, spittle flying past his lips. “You left us no choice! Following that wretched–”
“May your death nourish the earth,” I cut in, silencing him. The guards wasted no time forcing his head onto the block. One fist tangled in his dark, shaggy hair, gripping tight, holding him in place as the ax fell.
His shrieks ended mid-cry.
The force of the blow, combined with the guard’s grip, sent the severed head arcing outward, spraying bystanders with a scarlet mist. Gasps and shrieks rippled through the crowd as people stumbled back. The traitor, limp and lifeless, was dragged aside and dumped into the wagon.
Body after body followed. Blood spilled from the stage, thickening into syrup as it pooled. Crimson seeped from the wagon’s corners, soaking into the dirt, staining the ground with death.
It was supposed to hurt. I should have mourned their loss, but grief had long hardened my heart. Now it was nothing more than a callous, their screams bouncing off it without mercy.
They had their chance for repentance, and they squandered it.
A young man squirmed, whimpering, as the guards carried him to the stage, slick with gore. Thin legs struggled to kneel, blond hair falling into his face. “Mercy! Mercy, my king!”
Something wormed through the crack in my armor. He couldn’t be much older than Nienna; gangly limbs still clinging to youth.
“Mercy?” My eyes narrowed. “You rebelled against your nation, denied your gods, resisted your sovereign. If mercy is to be found, it’s not within me to give it.”
“Pardon me, Queen Nienna—please! I beg you!”
Her hand twitched as he sobbed. He had a right to plead, and she could grant it. But I would not fault her for ordering his death.
“Speak your crimes,” she said, fingers stiff beneath mine, voice clear—the authority of a queen, not some uncertain girl. “Release him.”
The guards dropped his arms, and he crashed to the bloody planks, forehead striking them like stone.
“I killed a man, Your Majesty,” he choked, mouth pressed to the blood of his comrades. “A soldier entering the palace. I knew it was wrong! But I—I wasn’t thinking!”
Her face tightened, jaw set. “You killed for the usurper.”
“I did! But—please! I never meant to. It happened so fast!”
She glanced at me, conflict swirling in her eyes. He was the only one to ask for mercy, to acknowledge wrongdoing. She was my equal now. I had little say in whom she could pardon. I would not leash or restrain her. This was her choice. She needed to be the Queen of Radaan with all its burdens.
I studied her face, offering no guidance. She was asking permission that I didn’t need to give. It was already hers.
A small, frustrated sigh escaped her as she faced the man. “Elohios honors justice—and justice calls for your death.”
The man’s shoulders went slack; a small, whimpered sob passed his trembling lips.
“However,” she continued, “he also favors truth. You have admitted your sin before King and Queen. We respect your responsibility and grant pardon.”
Her hand grew clammy in mine, a sign of nerves.
“You may keep your head. As penance, you shall be sentenced to twenty years’ hard labor. May your life serve Radaan better than your death.”
Pride swelled in my chest.
The young man collapsed, blubbering through incoherent sobs, expressing his undying gratitude. The guards helped him down the stairs.
But the people?
Radaanians stared at Nienna—the vengeful queen who ordered her dragons to kill hundreds, who destroyed a fleet—an entire generation of warriors. Their stares, young and old, weighed her judgment in silence.
Then someone clapped.
An old crone, pale face tucked deep in her shawl. Her withered hands slapped together with a crack that startled the multitude. Her sagging cheeks lifted with a pleased smile, and she clapped again.
Then another joined in. And another. I allowed myself a smile, thumb tracing light circles on Nienna’s hand as a shiver ran through her.
Mercy and justice. Two sides of the same coin, two lovers entwined.
She lifted her chin, confident enough to continue without seeking my approval. “Next.”
Perhaps she wasn’t the queen Radaan expected, but she was the queen they needed.
The queen I needed.
“Three days. I’ll not have the execution of the traitors marring the eve of my wedding day.”
Thoughts raced, Fallione’s presence like an outlet. I could let them all out, and he would put everything in place. A loyal friend. Dependable. One I couldn’t replace.
“It will be done. Many of the mayors are due to arrive tomorrow, giving them time to settle with their heirs before the ceremony.”
“Good. I want as many people there as possible. You’ve built the bridge further north?” I passed Claus and Lynx with a nod, striding into my rooms.
“The craftsmen finish tonight. Countless will witness the handfasting and mingling.”
“And our men are stationed along the river?”
Greaves and Fallione followed as I sorted through overcoats, searching for one proper for dinner after a day of death.
“Downstream for three miles, and Rider Nakos has agreed to pace the stretch, monitoring it.”
I scoffed, seizing a brown jacket embroidered with leaves the color of burnished brass. “Blood diluted in twenty paces of still water. That’s a bit much.”
A formal element of any Radaanian wedding—the blood mingling—when the king and queen let their life flow into the river Hesoth, feeding the southern farmlands. A symbol of our bond with the land and our shared duty to nurture its growth.
Nienna knew the ceremony; she’d prepared to complete it with Tallon.
Sick satisfaction slithered through me, and I frowned at the matching vest. She was my queen. I saw her value, her strength. I loved her. At my side, she was blooming into one of the greatest queens Radaan would ever know.
Tallon could’ve had this. I could have remained cold and distant if he had only appreciated her, valued her. But he tossed her away, mocking her worth.
“I would rather err on the side of caution.” Fallione stepped aside as Greaves pushed past to the vanity, checking his blades were neat and in order.
“I’m not opposed.” I shook my head as I set out my clothes, then unfastened my mantle. “There are plenty of Velli still at large. It would be the perfect time for them to strike.”
The door opened. Nienna’s voice reached me first, then she bustled into the room, Freya close behind.
“Oh!” Her eyes went wide, and her lips pressed tight as she patted her hair.
I froze, tilting my head with a grin, hand caught on a clasp. Paint streaked her golden strands. A smear of purple crossed her forehead, a bit of green speckled her nose, and a black smudge marred her ear.
“I was painting and lost track of time.” She laughed while Freya fussed over her garments.
“Do I need to fear the painting?” I asked, then offered Fallione a quick nod, dismissing him.
Her lips parted and a look of panic crossed her expression. “What?”
“It looks like you’ve battled with it.” I chuckled, checking her mantle for drips.
“It’s proving more difficult than I imagined.”
“I recall you retiring to the drawing room to relax.” I shook my head—no pigment stained the gilded scales. She was more careful than she realized.
“It was relaxing.” She giggled, then cupped my cheeks with colorful hands before pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. “I need to wash up, or I’ll be late!”
“My dear, you are the queen. You cannot be late.” My words followed her as she darted to the bathing chambers, Freya at her heels.
Greaves grunted. When I faced him, he stared at me with brows raised high, then wiped his thumb along his cheek.
I returned to the mirror and let out a breathless chuckle at the bit of color smeared across my face. Not nearly as covered as Nienna. Part of me wanted to join her, trace the remnants of art on her skin.
She had darted down the halls, exposed to prying eyes, a queen streaked with paint. Some might mock her or judge her carelessness—but I found it endearing. She sought art to calm her mind, to make peace when none seemed possible. I only hoped she wasn’t sketching Tallon engulfed in dragonfire.
But if she was—I was sure she’d capture every delicious line of agony on his face.
I dressed for dinner, taking my time. I wouldn’t pressure her. She should be able to slip away when the world became too much. Guilt had no place here.
Sloshing water lured me to the bathing chamber. Nienna stepped out of her new claw-foot tub, creamy skin scrubbed clean, glistening. I leaned against the frame as her maid dried her hair. My gaze drifted to the smooth swell below her navel.
Water trickled in rivulets down her pale skin. Was it larger? She’d always been soft there, her feminine form protecting her womb.
I wouldn’t—couldn’t—hope there was a child hidden inside her, safe and content and warm.
It was impossible. Foolish. Immature.
And still, a spark of a dream bloomed in my chest.