Neala rubbed her eyes, trying to gather herself together. After Ansel had accepted the task of ending her life, the False King had called the guards to take her away. Only while they were dragging her away had Ansel finally looked at her. He'd mouthed something to her, only a word or two that she could not make out fully, but she understood. She was fairly sure that he'd been telling her that he was sorry. Well, so was she. After all, Ansel and the False King would not last much longer than she did. She knew that Cailean and the rebel army would be on the way. That thought comforted her, even though she knew it would be far, far too late for her own life to be spared.
"A small price tae pay tae end all of this," she reminded herself out loud. She believed it. But she was still afraid.
Less than an hour later, the guards arrived to lead her to her death. One of them was a young red-headed man with a limp who seemed vaguely familiar, and the other she did not recognize at all. The young one held out a hand and helped her up gently. His expression seemed so mournful that Neala almost laughed despite the horror of it all.
"Cheer yer face up, Ruadh," the other man snapped. "Ye look like a wounded puppy. Yer precious prince will survive the loss of his whore, dinnae fear."
Ruadh opened his mouth as if to protest, then sighed and looked down at the floor. The other man took out rope and gestured for Neala to hold out her arms.
"There's nay need for that," Ruadh said. "She's on her way tae die. She's unarmed. There's naewhere she can flee."
The other guard shook his head. "She escaped twice already. Thrice, if ye count her disappearin' as a bairn. We're takin' nae risks." With those words, he grabbed Neala's wrists and tightly bound them. She winced as the rope dug into her skin, but she did not speak.
Ruadh pressed a hand gently to her back and propelled her forward. The three of them trudged along the corridor, the two men on either side of her. Neala could not see into the other cells as she passed them, but she heard the prisoners whispering or groaning. She only prayed that her brother and his army arrived here soon so that they, at least, could be free.
Her confidence held until they reached the execution yard. Men from the few clans still openly loyal to the Ashkirk crown were gathered, as were many others who Neala did not recognize and did not care to know. She kept her head held high as the guards led her to the center of the crowd, where a block was waiting. Edric and Ansel stood behind it, Ansel holding a large, gleaming sword. It sparkled with deadliness, and Neala's knees grew weak beneath her.
Ruadh caught her elbow. "Dinnae let them see ye fall," he whispered in her ear, his voice covered by the murmuring of the crowd.
They led her to the block, and she knelt in front of it without giving them the satisfaction of forcing her. Her stomach tightened, and blood rushed through her head, distorting the sound around her and making her feel dizzy. She could feel her pulsing heartbeat in her throat, and tears burned the corners ofher eyes, but she would not let them fall. She would go to her death with dignity.
But when Ansel stepped forward and she saw the neutral look on his face, it was almost too much to bear. To die was one thing, but to die at his hands? She wanted to screw her eyes shut, but she forced herself to look. She couldn't show weakness now.
"Watch, friends, as me son destroys the spawn of me greatest enemy!" Edric announced with maniacal zeal. "The last woman of that accursed line falls today—and her demon brother will be next!"
Several of the Ashkirk men cheered, but even in her terrified state, Neala could see that others were watching silently, the young guard who had tried to help her most prominent amongst them. There was a strange mix of emotion in the air, but she could not wrap her head around what any of it might mean.
Ansel stepped forward. "Have ye last words?" he asked in a voice as quiet as the wind. "It's customary tae ask."
Neala's stomach lurched and nausea flooded her. It took her a few tries and a few deep breaths before she was able to speak. "Only this. We'll win," she said simply. "Ye ken we will."
He stared at her for a long, long time. For many moments, the word seemed to disappear around them entirely. There were only Ansel, Neala, and that sword shining between them. Their gazes met, and Neala's heart thrummed like a bird as she gazed into those strange, beautiful green eyes for the last time.
"I ken," he whispered. He turned away from her and gestured. "Father. I willnae do this. I willnae lay a finger on this lass."
Murmuring broke out over the crowd, but Edric stepped forward, his expression making it clear that he had half-expected this. He laughed a dark, cruel laugh. "Is that so?" Edric asked. "Tell me, lad, was the power of her body so strong that it has turned ye weak?"
"Weak or not, I willnae lay a finger on the lass, nae matter how ye insist," Ansel replied steadily. He held out the sword. "But ye're right in one thing. This has all gone on long enough. It's time for it tae end once and for all. Take it."
Rolling his eyes, Edric snatched the weapon from his son's grasp. "I'll deal with ye later," he hissed. He turned to Neala and raised the weapon. "Now, I'll show ye how a true king behaves."
He swung down, and despite herself, Neala closed her eyes as death came hurtling toward her.
The clang of the swords connecting rang out like a bell.
Neala opened her eyes and saw Ansel, now holding his own sword, had blocked the blow. A collective gasp rose around them, and furious disbelief pulsed from Edric as he stumbled back from the force of the parry.
"Traitor!" Edric howled. "Men! Take him!Killhim! Kill them both!"
The Ashkirk soldiers surged forward and Neala tried to get to her feet, stumbling off balance as the ropes tied around her wrists made it difficult. Ansel darted to her side, his sword expertly slicing through the bonds without hurting her. They stood beside each other, facing the coming wave of soldiers.
Neala's heart sang. She was unarmed and, despite Ansel's skill, there was no way they could win. But at least she'd die with him at her side, fighting against the False King.
Before their attackers could strike, though, there was a chorus of other clangs around them. The redheaded guard from earlier, Ruadh, now stood between Ansel and one of the attacking soldiers, his sword out. Several other soldiers were surrounding Neala and Ansel, raising their weapons in defense of their prince. Neala gasped as she realized that close to half of the king's men had taken Ansel's side and were now facing down men who had only moments ago been their brothers.
The fight that followed was as swift as it was brutal. Neala grabbed a dagger from someone's belt, glad to have some sort of weapon. She'd always preferred a short blade to a sword anyway, though she wasn't sure how much use it would be in this chaos. Nevertheless, she gripped it tight, ready to defend herself. The soldiers defending her, though, never gave her a chance to use it, acting as a bloody barricade to keep the attackers away. She turned to say something to Ansel, but cried out in alarm when she saw he was no longer by her side.
"Ansel!" she shouted, ducking instinctively as someone swung at Ruadh who fought in front of her. He ducked too and parried the attack, fighting back with an impressive amount of skill. "Ansel, where are ye?"
