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Have you ever watched a man die?

I was looking at one right now.

There isn't much to it. I would be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy these executions. It was cathartic to watch someone who betrayed you beg for their life, almost like snuffing out a candle on a cold night.

They say that a thief should have his hands cut off and be thrown in the wild for the wolves. A fitting and cruel punishment.

What about a two-faced traitor?

The man in front of me was on his knees, begging at the knight who had the broadsword aimed at his neck. Fear was evident in his eyes and I felt no pity for the poor soul.

This man was a traitor and a murderer. Honestly, he didn't deserve to live. It was unfortunate that this bastard was going to have a quick death. I'd like to see him suffer just a bit longer.

I sat on the dais with my men. My legs crossed over the other with my hand on the hilt of my sword. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the small courtyard and I let the stares roll off my skin like dewdrops on a leaf.

At least I had the pleasure of watching his executioner sharpen the blade of the axe.

Lucky him.

"Moris Freys," the guard in front of me yelled out, reading from the declaration in his hand. "You are hereby charged with the following counts: Thievery, murder, attempted murder, several accounts of battery, and the most heinous of all, treason."

"Finally," the man next to me said, "I thought he'd never finish."

"We're in the middle of an execution, Your Grace," I said, staring forward. "Please remember that."

"You're no fun."

"Our people are watching us, Your Grace." I reminded him. "I'm not here for fun. I'm here to perform my duty."

He glanced at me from the side. "At least admit it isn't a little entertaining."

"I'll do no such thing."

He huffed and got up from his seat. His white fox fur-lined cloak shielded him from the cold as he overlooked the crowd.

"I'm supposed to show clemency at the behests of my heir." Duke Charles asked in a booming voice that echoed across the square and silenced the murmurs of the villagers. "So, Mr Freys...how do you plead?"

The man kneeling in front of us looked at me and then bowed down, his bruised head touching the wet cobblestone.

"Mercy, my lord!" He begged. "Mercy for a man who has nothing."

Charles scoffed at his words. "And yet we found a bag of silver coins in your room. A poor man wouldn't be able to feed himself much less own a single coin. You dare lie to your lord?!"

"M-My Lord, I've been—"

"—Set up?" I intoned. I regarded the man coolly. "A likely story but perhaps if you had made a better plan we wouldn't be having this conversation."

The fear in his eyes turned to anger. If it wasn't for the executioner clamping his hand down on his shoulder, he would've run across the square and tried to lop my head clean off.

I'd like to see him try to do that in such a feeble state. I was almost tempted to let that happen so that I would have the honour of chopping off his head.

"You are a fraud!" He hissed, baring his yellowed teeth at me. "You are nothing more than a placeholder for the true heir."

It went deathly quiet in the square.

"True heir?" I raised my eyebrow. "I see nobody else but me."

Duke Charles looked perturbed by his words. The cool amusement had disappeared leaving hide his thinly veiled rage. I watched as his hand went to the hilt of his blade strapped to his side.

He turned back to look at me and I nodded my head.

Within a second he raised his arm and dropped it, signalling the man's fate.

There was nothing more to say. The message was quite clear.

I resisted the urge to look away as the axe came down in a perfect arc. I could hear it slicing through the air and the man's neck. I watched as the blood sprayed.

The people around me cheered.

He went down like a sack of potatoes, his head smacking the pavement so hard that it nearly split his skull open. The gory crack of his skull made some of our men flinch. I could hear the woman screaming in the crowds.

The blood started to pool quickly, spreading outwards till it touched the edge of my boot. I didn't take a step back like the others. I just stood there, staring at the man who gave the order.

Charles smiles at my subtle defiance. The look in my eyes must be amusing to him.

I'm not sure why he likes to antagonize me, maybe it's because he's dying to see my reaction or maybe he just likes to show off. He reminded me of a cat bringing its master a dead rat to impress them.

He was two heads taller than me, built with a sturdy frame that amounted to years on the battlefield and a head of dark hair with silver painted along his temples.

Steady blue eyes, a broad nose and a thick moustache above his lip. He's grown out a silver and black beard to hide a scar on his chin from an assassination attempt from the previous winder.

He was not youthful, as he was three decades my senior but he walked as if the bones in his joints didn't ache. 

I've known him for five years. This man is Charles Sable, the head of the Sable family and Duke of Florentia.

He was also the man to who I owed my life.

"Miranda," he said, putting his gloves back on. "Why did you let him insult you?"

"Dogs can only bark in the street. They have no teeth to bite."

"That's an insult towards dogs. They're loyal creatures."

I glanced at where the man stood. Now there was a crumpled corpse. "You forget humans are creatures too."

"What do you think?"

I sighed. The man's head was right there. His eyes were looking at me with silent accusation. "You were a bit rash, Your Grace."

"What's the point of keeping him alive if he doesn't provide information?"

"I didn't say we had to. We could've used him for something else." I glanced down at my boots. The blood stood out like drops of ruby. "Perhaps a spy. He's useful for only a short amount of time. And then...when it's over, we'll give him the death he deserves."

"Always such an optimist," he said, grinning. "But I'll tell you something, young Miranda. If a man is willing to betray his master for you then he's better off dead. What's the point of a dog who can't hide its teeth from its master?"

I had to keep myself from rolling my eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, Your Grace."

"Miranda," he said, beckoning time to walk aside him. "How long have you been here?"

"In Florentia?" I glanced back at our men who fell in line behind us. "Five years."

"What have you learned?"

I turned my head towards him slightly. "I've learned many things."

"Is it enough?"

"You know that it is never enough," I said. "But if there's more to learn then I am more than willing to listen."

He smiled. "You would've made a good soldier. It's a pity."

"I've seen enough of the battlefield, Your Grace."

"Do you remember the first time you killed a man?" he asked.

"I do," I said. "You told me to not be ashamed about it."

"I'm glad you remembered the first thing I told you when I came here."

"If you're asking me that, then there's something troubling you." I stopped in the middle of the road. The manor was looming in the distance with its iron fence.

Florentia Hall was a tall manor, flanked by two large wings. Its pillars were almost 200 hundred years old withstanding war, fire, and countless masters.

It was built with black stone that came from the mountainside, providing an intimidating facade. The fact that it rested on top of the tallest hill in the village of Fauna overlooked the sea. It did nothing to make it less intimidating.

The early morning fog rolled over the grass, obscuring the thick forests.

We walked past the tall iron gates where the two sentry guards saluted Charles. The soldiers stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to the main doors.

Charles nodded stiffly and stepped inside. I followed on his heels, dodging the maids that bowed to him as questions raced through my mind. Only one made it to the tip of my tongue.

"What happened, Your Grace?"

He stopped in the foyer, facing the large portrait of his family. Charles looked troubled.

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out an ornate envelope. It was sealed with gold wax, the coat of arms of the Royal family—a pegasus with a spear.

I could feel the chill creeping into my bone. I shivered and drew my coat tighter around me.

It wasn't a summons, thank the gods. But it didn't mean that we were out of danger. If the emperor saw it fit to send an official letter to Charles, then it was worth my consideration as his heir.

I took the envelope carefully, my hands trembling slightly.

"The emperor?" I hiss out, scanning over the contents.

"The emperor," he confirmed, a bitter smile on his face. "Pity isn't it? All these years and he suddenly remembers Florentia."

I grimaced. "I'd rather we be forgotten."

"No such luck, Young Miranda."

I fold the pages carefully. "It's time isn't it?"

"My son will be coming back."

"Then we'll have to properly welcome him."

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, gazing up at the portrait that hung on the wall.

A family of four smiled politely down at us. All except for one. A young boy with dark hair and striking blue eyes, his pale little face staring from behind his mother's skirt.

The first son looked similar to his mother, with blonde hair and green eyes. If he was alive, he'd be my age.

Who knows? Maybe we'd be friends and Florentia wouldn't be in such a dire situation.

Charles reached up and stroked the elder boy's face. Although he inherited the late Duchess's features, he looked remarkably like Charles.

"Do you know who that is?" He asked me.

I tore my eyes away from the sight. "I know."

"My son will not be kind, Young Miranda. My neglect and the loss of our family have turned him into a cruel person. He is beyond my reach."

I gritted my teeth. "Why are you telling me this?"

"The emperor forced my son into a war because of me. My family died because of me. What little chance of reconciliation we had died with my eldest son." He glanced at the picture of the younger boy with his eyes. "For five years you have helped me stabilize my realm. I must ask you a favour once again."

"That depends on the favour."

"Do not tread lightly. My son will try to kill you."

My hand tightens over the hilt of my blade automatically. "I have no intention of spilling the blood of your kin."

"I wish I could say the same for my kin."

Charles sighs, knowing that my words are as weak as his conviction. Choosing two heirs and having them compete against each other is madness but that was the game he had to play.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "You'll have an heir either way. Florentia will be protected."

He smiled weakly. "I'd rather it be you."

"Because you can control me?" I asked.

"Because, Young Miranda, I can trust you."

"What a poor choice of words, old man."

He walks away but I do not follow.

"Stay strong, young Miranda." He said from the top of the staircase. "You've made it this far."

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