Nicolas stood beside me, rigid as stone, watching his vengeance unfold. How could he be the same man from earlier, who had traced circles in my skin and whispered sweet things into my ear? That sweet illusion was gone, digested with the wine.
“Go,” I said quietly, not trusting myself to look at him. “I need to think of what I might say to Winnie.”
I felt his hesitation…but then he departed without incident, the door closing with an echoing finality. Below, the courtyard emptied, leaving only disturbed snow.
Chapter 27
The clouds hunglow and heavy, a suffocating blanket of gray that pressed down upon the gathered crowd. No snow fell, and none had accumulated in the grass, but the air carried a dampness that cut through wool and fur alike. An execution platform was hastily erected in the main courtyard, planks of fresh-cut timber pale against the castle’s backdrop of weathered stone.
Nobles clustered in uneasy groups, breathing clouds that scattered in the still air. There wasn’t much noise beyond the occasional chattering of teeth and grumbling about the weather. Servants huddled for warmth, their whispers building into a low hum that reminded me of trapped flies.
I stood with the court ladies, all positioned to the platform’s left as protocol demanded. Winnie hardly left my side the previous day, and she remained glued to me now, her expression set with miserable acceptance. Her parents were going to die today, and she would watch.
The wind picked up, rattling the bare branches of the courtyard’s trees. I tried to keep my friend warm, offering a space beneath my cloak, but Winnie’s gaze was frozen on the blade of the guillotine.
“Lady Balden,” came a gentle voice. I turned first, then tapped her on the shoulder as the Duke of Greene approached, his nervous disposition steadier than usual. He held out a small flask, eyes sunken with grim understanding. “For the cold.”
Winnie’s fingers trembled as she took his gift and promptly dropped it to the ground. She bent over to pick up the flask, then fumbled with the lid. “Your Grace is kind,” she managed, finally popping it open and taking a small sip. She offered it back to him, swallowing thickly.
Duke Minnick tucked the flask back into his cloak but remained nearby, a subtle positioning that offered her something to lean on should her legs fail. He didn’t speak again, knowing there were no words that would help. Still, his presence was a small pocket of stability in the restless crowd. From overhead, the bells tolled, and we held a collective breath.
I couldn’t see where the condemned emerged from, not from so deep within the crowd. Accompanied by a handful of armed guards, they appeared on the stage in simple clothes. Their bare feet shuffled over freezing mud, stone, and wood, a sickly blue from the chill.
The duke came first. His graying hair hung loose and unkempt about his shoulders. Behind him followed the Baldens, wrists bound in iron. One would never know their past station from looking at them now, but from the slight catch of Winnie’s breath, I knew she was seeing ghosts of rich brocades and velvet.
A few in the crowd turned away. Others were grimly satisfied. As the queen and prince took to the scaffold, their features might have been cut from marble.
“When I married King Elias of Hadria,” Queen Adelaide began, “our two nations were bound as one. My son is a symbol of our unification, the blood of two countries that have allied and warred throughout the centuries. I have gone to great lengths to promote harmony across Antier, and I have seen the successes of these campaigns. We are stronger as a united front…but there are those who seek to benefit from the secession of our nation and a return to a world many of them are too young to properly recall. They do not remember how Gallae withered for years in the darkness cast by ashfall. They do not remember how Hadria fought a war on three fronts, how their women and children were seized and sold as property to neighboring nations. What they recall of home is a falsehood, a mistaken sense of nostalgia for things we have not lost.”
She paused, staring at the condemned. Her lips thinned into a red line.
“Augustine was a friend. He also participated in conversations that would have given rise to a coup, if successful.” Her gaze shifted subtly. “Shaun and Elisa Baldin were friends for many years. Theyadmitted to treason long ago, and I gave them mercy, for a great ruler must know how to balance an axe and an olive branch in each hand. Now my hand is forced, as they, too, were complicit in the conspiracy.” Queen Adelaide faced the crowd. “These people were close friends to my family, but no one is immune to consequence. May the Lord and Lady offer them mercy where I cannot.”
The duke was led first to the guillotine. The guardsman kicked at the back of his leg when he would not kneel, laying him down on the flat wooden table. A rounded piece came down, securing his head in a pillory of heavy wood. He looked down into a woven basket, a cradle for his dismembered head, and released a frightened sound.
The executioner, hooded in black cloth that kept his exact identity a mystery, stepped forward and spoke loudly across the courtyard:
“Augustine of Demagret, you have been found guilty of high treason against the Crown of Antier. By order of Her Royal Majesty Queen Adelaide, you are sentenced to death. May the Lord and Lady have mercy upon your soul.”
The duke’s lips moved in silent speech. The executioner placed a hand on the release lever, pausing for a single breath. Tradition ordinarily dictated he might ask the condemned for forgiveness, but he would not perform the courtesy for traitors.
He pulled the lever.
The blade fell with a hiss, and then a wet, final sound rang out before it collided with the base of the pillory. Duke Augustine’s head rolled forward, the basket shifting on impact.
Winnie’s fingers found the Duke of Greene’s arm, gripping tight enough to wrinkle the fabric of his cloak. I shuffled closer to her for reassurance, silently marveling at the efficiency of the process while the blade went back to the top.
Her father was led to the pillory. He went down strong, no need for force, and put his head into the bloody lower ring. It clamped around him.
“Shaun Balden, you have been found guilty…” the executioner repeated, not a word varied beyond the name. It gave the accused a chance to prepare themselves, to know exactly how long it would take for the process to occur.
“Don’t watch, my lady,” Duke Minnick whispered, his voice carrying in the silence. “You mustn’t.”
Winnie didn’t turn her head. The blade came down and her father’s head severed from his body. His torso flinched on impact, flopping once before falling still…and she did not so much as twitch. Her face paled to a sickly hue.
“I will not look away,” she replied at last to the duke. “They gave me my life. I will not dishonor them out of cowardice. Let it haunt me.”
Elisa cried when she went to the guillotine. Her eyes searched the crowd for her daughter; the duke’s height acted as a beacon, and she found her quickly.
