The Royals of Silvercrest

13

King Shane's POV:

Emberfall Castle:

The prisoner's words still ring in my ears.

After my time spent with Freydis, I went down to the dungeon to get the confession from the man who'd attempted to poison me and killed my friend. Three days he's been questioned by the dungeon keepers. Their jobs were to get answers, no matter the tactic, not that I wanted to know.

Such harsh treatment required my approval beforehand.

He confessed he hadn't been alone in the plot.

He had gathered his information on the best time, type of position and so on from another source. The name he spoke broke me a bit.

Melisandre.

My ex mistress.

She conspired to end my life.

I'd sent the knights to arrest her.

Then gathered a few members of castle staff and townspeople and each confirmed the story.

She is guilty of treason.

I stand outside up on the outer castle walls, watching as Melisandre is brought out, two knights at either side of her. She looks disheveled, her sand colored hair a mess, blue eyes filled with tears as she's led up to the scaffold. She turns, without a word, handing a small pouch of gold coins to her executioner, a man who stands in a black hood, off to the side with his axe in hand and at his side, awaiting his orders.

"Melisandre, you have been found guilty of treason against the Crown. It is the duty of us here today to carry out your sentence. Have you any last words?" The dungeon keeper asks

Melisandre stands upon the small wooden platform, staring down at the block she would soon place her neck upon, awaiting the axe's swing.

She wears a long black dress, covered in lace.

She looks elegant.

"Have you any last words?" The dungeon keeper repeats

I stand expressionless as the crowd hurls insults.

I can't forgive treason.

The world knew of her as my mistress.

I cannot be seen as weak.

In this moment, Melisandre looks up, her eyes meeting mine.

Even from such a distance, I can see the emotion on her face.

Anger, fear, sadness.

I signal to the executioner.

Melisandre kneels down to the block with a dramatic flourish.

Her eyes don't leave mine until she lies her head fully on the block.

Her fingers grip the wooden edges, trembling.

She hadn't spoken a word.

The executioner lifts his blade which glints in the sun.

Raising it, he brings it down hard at the case of her neck, slicing through and disconnecting her head from her body. Her head rolls, body falls gushing blood onto the platform.