The Red King [Book II]

II

Like the rest of them, Lord Lagarde was sentenced to death.

ㅤAlex found himself in the city's square that afternoon, the clang of the bell tower shaking the air that rippled with the heat. At its summon, a crowd of people had circled the erected platform.

ㅤA few weeks prior, the entire square would've been enveloped, and Alex would've been squeezed shoulder to shoulder. Citizens had previously flocked there to watch in horror as their overseers, one by one, perished. But people, including women and children, were disgustingly adaptable and, over just a few weeks, they'd grown increasingly uninterested.

ㅤAlex was on the edge of the small crowd, having found himself here coincidentally after wandering around jobless. These days, rather than citizens, the spectators were mostly dressed in heavy red uniforms, suffocating under their own emblems. These soldiers, despite not being on duty, despite the discomfort, wore them here to make a point. It was their once-superior, Lord Lagarde, that was ushered onto the platform.

ㅤOn the platform, an Ankaid trainee, no older than seventeen, was passed parchment by one of many mercenaries overseeing the event. His voice trembled, struggling to speak with volume.

ㅤ'L- Lord Clément Lagarde... under the scrutiny of the Ankaid Crown Court, and with the authority of His Majesty, King Julian, you have been found of high treason relating to c-conspiracy to murder a royal. For this crime, you... shall be put to death.'

ㅤUnlike the sobbing protesting mess of a man Alex had dragged that morning, Lord Lagarde was calm in front of his former men. They were, too. This crowd had once been whipped up with outrage but the soldiers were also human, and the curse of adaptability had gradually demoralised them too.

ㅤHanded an axe, the trainee's gaze shifted from his colleagues in the crowd to Lord Lagarde himself.

ㅤTo Alex's understanding, the Ankaid Royal House had never employed executioners. The honour of beheading an enemy of the Crown was shared randomly amongst its soldiers.

ㅤJames' cold-blooded calculation was impressively cruel. A mere personality flaw, taken to a place of authority, had intensified. He'd known the soldiers were already resentful and there was no fixing it. And by making them kill their own, and regularly, it beat them down into lethargy.

ㅤ'This way, please, Executioner.' One mercenary politely guided the teenager to where his former superior knelt.

ㅤEven if the kid had no choice in the matter, and his colleagues promised to treat him no differently, bonds would fray at the edges. The soldiers would divide, struggle to rally as a whole. This was, no doubt, by design.

ㅤThe trainee, shaking, despite his will to stay firm, couldn't hide his sudden relief. His angel ascended to the platform, in the form of a demon.

ㅤJames took the axe from the young man, relieving him of the imposed honour like a saviour, regardless that it was his deliberate perpetuation of old customs that'd inflicted the trainee in the first place. At that moment, at least, the trainee didn't see it that way. He'd been saved.