The Exiled Gem

'He is dead, Your Majesty.' A Medic in white announced in the court. Alexandra, subdued and trying her best to form elaborate pleas, stood like a criminal in front of the her father, who looked as if he had aged twenty years in twenty minutes. 

'Very well. You may go.' He said, waving the Medic away. With a grim yet rigid expression, he continued, 'the punishment will be put to vote for the jury.'

In Doveland, when there was an especially important case, or decision, it was put to vote. The voters were distinguished personalities who knew every word of the law. They saw to the punishments or what could be done in the cases. Here, of course, if the King decided anything, the population would suspect foul play. They'd suggest that the King had done something in favor of his own daughter. Street-side gossips were a grave matter: often, they had led to anarchy and civil disobedience. No, her Father certainly didn't want any more trouble. And above all, he had to pacify Ethoris. From near-alliance, the kingdoms had almost shifted back to precarious enmity. Nobody knew what would happen next. 

But Alexandra hadn't expected such a plain procedure to judgement. Would they not hear her side of it? Ask for witnesses, make a fair trial? 'But - Father!' She cried, 'two slaps can't kill a boy!' Alexandra protested, her dress wet with tears. But she not crying consciously: Alexandra was more dumbstruck than afraid or upset. How could Nicholas die?! She'd hit plenty of boys and girls. She'd wrestled with her own sisters at times. Agreed, the boy was sick, but just one slap, and a punch, killing him? That was as unbelievable as an ugly Olivia. People often exchanged bone-chilling stories of people who had suffered big injuries, been declared dead and buried. Only to later wake up inside a coffin and die of suffocation and starvation. They called it a death-trance - where the breath and pulse slowed down unthinkably and the person could hear them - see them, but not respond in anyway. They attributed it to the God of Death and such things - but, Alexandra was very sure that could be a possibility. She was desperate enough for any possibility. 'At least give me a fair trial!' She howled, 'ask the medic if one slap and one punch on the face ca-' but the rant died down as King Adelard raised his hand, in a stern gesture, refusing to hear Alexandra out. He then nodded to a black-robed minister.

'According to the law, there are three possible punishments for murder. Life imprisonment, of thirty seven years. Execution. Or banishment: exile.' Began the nonchalant minister, 'Jury will now vote.' He added.

There was no chance that the jury would favor her in any way. There were all sorts of citizens in it. One qualified and good man from each sphere of society, every occupation (who, of course, knew the law). Alexandra now prayed for Execution. Quick, final solution. Thirty seven years in prison? What become of her in those year? And exile ... for all she knew, that was the worst option. She could die one day into it. Worse, become a pauper. Get forced into some other organization of crime or ... something even worse, like getting picked up by barbarians. All prospects were black, so much so that Alexandra almost could not wrap her mind around her miserable condition. Resignedly, she turned to the jury and watched the vilest play of her destiny. Watched, as her unsteady house of cards finally came crashing down.

'Those in favor of Life Imprisonment!' The minster called out, squinting at the crowd. Just a single person raised his hand - and he looked around at his unmoving comrades, faltering and putting it down hastily.

One down... Alexandra thought, she wasn't going to Prison for thirty seven years.

'Those in favor of Execution!'

Several people raised their hands. They gave Alexandra dirty looks, like she was a delinquent. Alexandra hoped execution was her fate. She didn't count how many there were, but it looked like a lot. Even the minister shook his head slightly, as he noted the covert number.