With the Age of Dragons long dead, only the four runes promise absolution.
Days after Cateline wakes from a years-long magical sleep, she is faced with the daunting task of marrying off so her home can be rid of the curse burned into her neck. Mere...
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{Cateline}
"What is the root of all evil, Princess?"
Not even a soulless reaper, undeserving of the dullest scythe, stared back at me. There was no explanation for the putrid fate that clawed for my trembling body—nothing to warrant it.
It was cruel and unusual. Cold and merciless. Vicious—yet tempting. Crimson blood stained the soaked wood, creaking beneath my father's weight. He kneeled, his hand firmly grasped around the butt of an ax. Blood dripped off the blade's edge, catching my attention. I remained kneeling—silent, submissive, scared.
Petrified. Every bone in my body shook as the crisp winter breeze ghosted a kiss across the tip of my raw nose. "Father..." I rasped, but he did not hear me. My gaze widened, my attention drawn to the gore under his boot. "Father, please—"
"Must I remind you what happens when a king repeats himself, Princess Cateline?" he said, toying with the title like it was a mockery. "Careful not, and you will end up on the executioner's stage."
I let my head fall forward, the idle murmurs of his private audience filling absolute silence. The frigid shores crashed against hard sand to the east, and winds whistled through the mountain crests to the west. There was no escaping this—this was my punishment. A trial.
The ax collided on its side as he let go of it, heavy limbs thumping against the creaky stage as my father grunted. I slowly tilted my head up, watching as he dragged two heavy, headless bodies until they were halfway hanging off the ledge. My mouth turned dry, the tremors ceasing along with my heart. My ears rang, and the haunting, phantom tang of blood coated the back of my throat as I fought a gag. I savored the sight of death like it should poison me, my heart squeezing within the confines of my chest and weeping alongside my numb mind.
I exhaled.
"Death," I wheezed. "No such crueler thing exists, father."
I inhaled. Silence stole every attempt at letting the air go. My father's judgment killed every shaken nerve in my body. I finally met his gaze, our resemblance scarce. His burned chestnut glare harshened into slits, and when he leaned over me, I saw the splattered essence of dried blood coloring his blond hairline.
His words were a spitty, gruesome growl. "Love will be your bitter end. Love, Princess, is the reason kingdoms fall. Do you think these guards would have committed high treason without the promise of a better life—a better chance at caring for their families? Land, food, wealth...yes. But their hearts swelled at the idea of what?"
I shook my head, my lip trembling as I stammered for the words to fight him. To beg him to show me mercy and to send those corpses off to be buried, but as he stepped off the stage and grabbed my chin, I knew this was not a fortune I'd be granted. His fingers were wet with the blood of fallen lives, for which I sobbed.
