24. Vaughn
Vaughn
I wasn’t a good man. A king—yes—a man… no.
Had I been a good man, I would have gone against the system immediately and massacred those guards in front of The Judic.
If I was a good man, I would have curled up next to Penelope and kissed her a million times, begging her forgiveness for what I’d caused.
If I were a good man, I’d have her in bed instead of forcing her to watch The Judic’s ceremony concerning her rapists.
I had to know their fate. I had to see them bleed and scream in agonizing pain. If I didn’t, I’d bring hell down upon them the moment this was over.
The six veiled figures circled the guards in the Court.
The room was only half as big as my throne room.
Their faces were completely concealed, and even I didn’t know their identity.
They evoked law and monitored ceremonies.
Training lasted over a decade, and only the most seasoned Masters could apply for the role.
They were just. Unbiased. And utterly unbending in their enforcement of the law.
“The Judic, their crowns are upside-down, too. Vaughn.” Penelope pointed to the exit in the distance, whispering. “It’s everywhere. Over every door. What does it mean?”
“I’ll tell you the story when we get home.”
Her head nodded, and she shifted in her chair, again. She was hurting. If I were a good man…
I leaned back towards her, keeping my voice low.
“I’m sorry… for what happened.”
Tears filled her eyes, and she gave a quick shake to her head.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She paused, clasping her hands in her lap. “It was for nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Waiting.” The tears fell, and she quickly wiped them from her face. “I wanted it to be special. I thought—and we almost—and if we would have—”
Reaching over, I pulled Penelope into my lap. My teeth ground together as she broke in my arms. The Judic and guards turned in our direction at her cries but continued reading from the rules of The Order.
“You have one minute to make a statement before judgement is passed.”
The Judic held still, standing stiff as The Magister at the head of the circle held the large rule book open. The guards turned in our direction, the blond lifting his hands in a pleading position at his chest.
“Sire, Unavowed, please. We would have never touched her had we known. I feel horrible. I swear we didn’t know. We thought she was a regular slave who was trying to escape.”
Penelope’s fingers dug into my chest under my suit’s jacket. I didn’t answer. If I so much as moved, it was all over with. I’d kill them and then face punishment by my own law.
“If that is all.” The Magister, the head Judic, lifted the book higher. “Per Section Thirteen of the first edict, harm of a queen, Intended, or future queen—ignorance no excuse—demands death by quartering.”
“What? Wait! We didn’t know. It was a mistake. Unavowed, please.”
The guard’s voice cracked. I sat up straighter. Blood. Death.
“Section Thirteen of the first edict. The body of a Queen, an Intended, or future queen is sacred to the throne. To harm it is treason against the Crown itself. In the founding of The Order, the law is written in blood so that it will never be forgotten.”
The second Judic lifted his right hand, holding it to face the seating area where we were sitting. “Quartering is not punishment, it is correction. Judgement is rendered. The bodies shall be drawn and quartered. Let all who serve remember: The Order’s justice is eternal.”
“Eternal,” the other Judics parroted.
“Wait! Mercy! Unavowed!”
The Magister slowly closed the book. Yells echoed around us as two executioners joined The Reeve, seizing the guards.
The Reeve looked at me, giving a nod. A curtain was pulled back displaying a platform.
Thick metal shackles were at each corner, and a cart was rolled in with a mass of different weapons for butchering.
“Penelope—”
“I have to watch, don’t I?”
I glanced down, doing my best to keep the emotion from my face. “You do. I shouldn’t be holding you right now. I… can’t… like this. Here.”
Each word was pained. Each one tore into who I was versus who I needed to be.
“I understand.” Penelope sat up, and a shuddering breath left her. A small cry followed as she eased from my lap and stood. She went to sit, stopping as she took in the men being forced to lay down on the platform. At the sight, her body began trembling. When I reached for her hand, she jumped.
“I shouldn’t want them to live. I… I should be enjoying this.
” Her fingers pressed into her lips and she lowered, crying out as she sat back in the chair.
“How is one supposed to enjoy death?” She turned, searching my face.
“Does it get easier? Will I… Will I be able to stomach this someday? …Should I?”
“Please!”
The screams grew louder. Penelope’s head turned to watch, and I was glad she’d been distracted.
I didn’t want to tell her, yes, in time it would get easier.
A large part of me didn’t want her immune.
But it would happen. Especially after the rapes.
Penelope wasn’t innocent anymore. The Order had taken that from her.
My guards had stolen something so precious, and now they were paying for it.
“Can I hold your hand? Am I allowed to do that?”
Penelope’s pitch was higher through her anxiety as she continued to watch.
Even though she asked, she was already searching for my hand.
I slid my fingers through hers, letting her squeeze as both executioners took position next to the guards.
Both had large knives in their hands, and I could see that Penelope was confused by it.
“This won’t be quick. There are stages.”
“Stages?” She glanced over at me. “They’re not going to just cut them apart?”
My head shook. “They have my blood inside of them. Do you see that trench around the platform?”
Penelope’s neck craned and she nodded.
“First, they’re going to make incisions to bleed them out. While they’re bleeding—”
Both executioners lowered beginning to make the incisions along the inside of the arms and along the inner sides of their thighs, all the way down to their ankles.
Harder, Penelope held to me. Her free hand was at her mouth, and she was pale as she stayed glued ahead.
The men were convulsing, thrashing as the knifes drew back from their legs.
The volume in the room was deafening as they went wild in the cuffs.
I leaned in. “Next, they will be disemboweled.”
Wide blue eyes jerked to me.
“Vaughn—Don’t let me get sick. I can’t get sick.”
“You’re going to be queen. You can handle it.”
My nose nuzzled along her ear, and I breathed her scent into me.
Calmness settled, and I lifted, soaking in the flames that flared to life in the large pit not feet away.
The executioners drew back their blades, thrusting deep in the stomach, closer to the hip.
While each cut towards the other hip, I couldn’t stop myself from bringing Penelope’s hand up to my mouth.
To kiss her was to ground her. The distraction as she watched was enough to slow her breathing, but for me…
I grazed my teeth along her finger, kissing the slip in my lust away.
For me… to kiss her was to love her. And I wanted her to know that.
To feel it. Each hour was getting harder.
All the weight of my world was bound to add up.
But if she could remember this—me—amid the worst, perhaps there was a chance.
I prayed there was, because to believe she wouldn’t run again was unwise. I knew she would.
“Penelope?”
Her head turned, and I hated the glazed look in her eyes. Her pupils were bigger now, and she was as pale as a ghost. Shock was setting in.
“Do you remember our conversation about the past?”
“Of course.” I nodded, watching as both executioners began pulling and scooping organs and intestines from the men’s bodies. “We talked about your family losing its title.”
“Yes.” She scanned my face, turning to take in the executioners, only for her wide stare to come back to me in a panic. “The king—Evans.” She stopped, tilting her head as she blinked through thoughts. “King…”
“You were right about the name. The Duke of Ironhold, David Evans, is who betrayed and killed Vaughn Edward Ambrose Masterson the first. He was the real king, and he was framed to appear as though he committed treason. He did not. Our line became The Black Line, and ever since, we’ve been searching for the proof to set things straight. I’m so close to having that proof.”
“To be king? The real king?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Gurgling sounded. Fire crackled and hissed as they began shoveling the contents into the roaring blaze.
It drew Penelope’s attention, and she squeezed my hand.
Seconds passed, and she turned back to me.
Her gaze searched my face. When it went to the upside-down crown and then back to me, I waited.
Nothing came. Nothing but more looks, more confusion, and more squeezing to my hand as she put her focus on them hollowing out the cavities of the guards.
When they grabbed the axes to begin the quartering, Penelope sat taller. She didn’t balk. There almost seemed to be a numbness sinking in for her. That, or her mind was so consumed, she truly wasn’t seeing anything before her at all. I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t like that.
“King…” The word was so low, as if she was still weighing it. “May I?”
“…What?”
Penelope turned to me, her face hard—distant.
“They’re about to quarter. May I participate?”
My mouth opened, only to shut.
“You want to help quarter the guards?”
“Before you walked in here, you said this was part of training. That I—”
“Watching is training enough. Dismembering is not easy work.”
The loud thunk of the axe connecting with wood had her gripping to her nightgown. The executioner picked up Gordon’s arm, tossing it in the fire.
“I wish to participate. I’ll toss the body parts in for them.”
This wasn’t right. Even as pride swelled, my instincts were going crazy with red flags.
I stood, holding out my hand. Penelope took it. When we headed closer to the platform, The Judic and Reeve turned to face us.
“My future queen wishes to participate.” I gestured towards the executioners who paused and waited for her to stand between them.
I didn’t miss how her skin was losing its color again. Penelope may have appeared strong, but the moment she took the other arm of the blond, no amount of masking could hide her true thoughts from me.
Penelope wanted me—she didn’t want this.
I had had such hope, but her true nature wasn’t blood and body parts.
It was masquerades and costume balls. Tea and tennis.
My Penelope was meant to live the best of lives—she’d been groomed for it.
Her place was in the light. She hadn’t been conditioned for the dark.
After seeing her face my world, I wasn’t sure she’d ever be.