When All is Lost

1.

The thud of an axe stops the scream of the traitor, marking the final death of the day. The sound notches another mark on the belt of self-hatred I like to wear. Someone should do something.

I hate that it can't be me.

I hate that no matter how hard I try nothing helps.

I hate everything, including myself, and especially the royal family who let this happen.

I glance up at the new moon just starting to glow in the clear blue of evening. It beats staring at gallows rock as it shines with blood. Mostly Fae, let's be honest, but at least Fae blood has a pretty shimmer to it. So the slab of obsidian that acts as the final place of justice for Albion now sparkles like oil on water in the thin sunlight.

I can't stop fidgeting, the movement making my skirts brush against the soldiers' trousers and boots hidden beneath. I'm uneasy, like I've been fighting my flight instinct too long, my legs need to move. Watching a traitor's death is not pretty and it certainly isn't short. This one, a Warlock with beautiful curling horns that they'd hacked off between the trial and today, lasted right until the end. I prefer it when they're unconscious after the hanging.

Honestly, I'm amazed I held down my breakfast.

The smell of burning skin, hair and intestines still floats on the wind, while the noose that he'd been partly hanged from swings wildly above us.

The futile anger raging through me is making my jaw ache, something that isn't helped by the cold wind battering the court as they stand in their finery.

"What's wrong with you, Charlotte?" Tommy asks. If he's using my full name I must be really annoying him. We're standing at the foot of the steps, neither of us high enough in the rankings to make it onto the viewing platform. Thank all of the Gods.

"Cold," I answer, wrapping my arms around my torso. Tommy nods. He looks paler than he did half an hour ago which makes his strawberry blond hair look more ginger than usual. I'd stand to wager he doesn't like these shows of power and control either. A sentiment made worse by the fact that his entire family are in the justice business. Judges and Ministers the lot of them.

He moves closer and I tuck myself into his shoulder. Aside from the death throes of a dozen criminals, it's always miserable up here. We're surrounded by mist so I can't even distract myself with the view of the Outer Isles. I'd be happy to stare at Dead Man's Rock - which is literally just a rock in the ocean - if it meant not focusing on the horror that's just unfolded.

The King steps forward but the Queen grabs his arm, gripping it tightly her eyes fixed on the twitching body as it's dragged from the rock. Her slim fingers dig into his velvet coat and he looks at her with faint frustration, she's enjoying it too much. Releasing him, she fixes her hair, smiling demurely at her ladies. Nate, the crown prince who is surprisingly sober today, is sitting beside his father and stepmother, staring at her with obvious distaste.

I roll my eyes, safe in the collar of Tommy's coat. The King strides forward, followed by a servant who is desperately trying to protect his silk slippers from the shimmering blood soaking the grass. He steps forward to speak, he looks pale; I can see why it's rumoured he's sick. He has definitely lost weight over the three months we've been away. I ignore the speech and scan the row of nobles, checking in on Nate, again.

He's moved a little further away from his stepmother - Queen Elissa - who is smiling. Her thick fox fur keeps her warm, and a sedan chair waiting to rush her back to the palace as soon as this is over. She never misses an execution but heaven forbid she spends time around her people. At least the King and Nate look solemn, she's practically glowing, even the wind is leaving her alone.