The rejected crown

The Past and the future collide

~Ezra

Ezra sat in the cold, cramped cell, muscles aching, mind spinning. A week had crawled by since the witch trial—the one where he'd watched them actually burn a woman alive. He thought he'd seen enough horrors in his own time to be numb by now, but this medieval kingdom had a brutal sense of justice that felt different. The cruelty of his world was hidden behind screens and procedures, cold and impersonal. But here... here, it was raw, visceral, like a wound that refused to close.

What haunted him most was Giovanna's intervention. She had stood up, fierce and unwavering, to defend the second woman on trial—a young witch. He remembered the sound of her voice cutting through the crowd's violent chants, clear and commanding. For a moment, she'd silenced them all, daring them to go against her. And against all odds, she'd saved that woman. But it had come at a cost. Now, she was the one locked up somewhere in this fortress, awaiting her trial's verdict. The court's paranoia had turned on her, and he knew where that path led.

He could still hear the crowd's frenzied chant from that day—"Witch! Witch!"—echoing in his mind. He'd felt rooted to the spot, as if his own body rebelled against the impulse to look away. And the look in Giovanna's eyes when they turned on her... it had been a strange mix of defiance and resignation, like she'd known all along this would be her fate.

"Why do I even care?" he muttered, forcing the memories away. "She threw me into that arena like I was some kind of circus act."

He paced the length of his cell, working out the stiffness in his shoulder, the throbbing ache in his arms from the last fight. Battle, he could handle. But this? Watching innocent people burn? It was different. And for all her arrogance and unyielding pride, Giovanna had shown something he hadn't expected: a trace of compassion, or maybe integrity. Whatever it was, it reminded him of the few leaders back in his own world who had actually tried to do some good, refusing to surrender to a broken system no matter the cost.

He paused, running a hand over the rough stone wall, every inch of it worn down by who knew how many people before him. "Damn it, Giovanna," he muttered under his breath. "Of all people, why'd you have to go and do the right thing?"

Giovanna's name was familiar to him, but not as a person. She was a figure from the history books, a tragic legend in a world that his own time barely remembered. He'd read about her in hushed tones from forbidden archives back home, where records of the past were concealed, distorted, and dismissed. And every version of her tale ended the same way—her fall from power, her sacrifice, and her death.

He'd watched her at that witch trial, standing boldly before the raging crowd, shielding a terrified woman while the court clamored for more blood. Her conviction had stunned him, even though he knew it would come to nothing in the end. Giovanna, who he had once thought of as little more than a name on a page, had been more alive and determined in that single moment than most people he'd known in his own time.

And now, because of her defiance, she was locked up, facing her own trial.

"What are you doing, Giovanna?" he muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't know her, not really. She was as distant as the myths he'd once read about, and her tragic ending was already written. Yet somehow, knowing that end only made it worse to watch her fight for a future he knew would be stolen from her.

Before he could lose himself in his thoughts, the door to his cell creaked open, and he looked up to see Lord Roderick entering, his dark cloak trailing behind him. The advisor's silver hair gleamed in the torchlight, and his eyes were as hard and calculating as ever.

"Ezra," Roderick began, his tone smooth and unreadable, "I hear you've been asking about the princess's situation."

Ezra gave a half-hearted shrug, masking his unease. "Just wondering what happens to someone who stands up against your court. Pretty sure the crowd would love to see her burn like the last one."

Roderick's lips twisted into a faint, humorless smile. "You've already seen the consequences, haven't you? Giovanna's noble little act made her enemies, and now she'll have to face them. But her trial is none of your concern."

Ezra's gaze hardened as he studied Roderick, who lingered in the cell doorway with a look of faint disdain, as though standing too long in a gladiator's prison might dirty his fine cloak. Ezra had met men like him before—the power behind the throne, who rarely got their hands dirty but somehow always controlled the game. Back in his own world, men like Roderick thrived behind bureaucratic desks and flawless reputations. Here, they lurked in shadows, guiding kings and queens to the fate they'd already decided for them.

But that didn't matter right now. Giovanna's fate was at stake, and Ezra knew that, for her, every game Roderick played could mean life or death.

"So, you came all the way down here to tell me it's none of my business?" Ezra said, keeping his tone lazy, as if the advisor's threat rolled right off him. "That's a lot of effort for a lowly gladiator who's just here to swing a sword and amuse the court."

Roderick's eyes narrowed. "You're more than just an amusement, Ezra. Don't mistake curiosity for power. People are... interested in you, no doubt because of your ridiculous claim to be from the future. The court loves a fool to mock. But I suggest you keep those stories to yourself. This kingdom has no tolerance for madness—or lies."

Ezra scoffed, leaning back against the cold stone wall, feigning nonchalance. "Oh, believe me, I've got plenty more lies where those came from. People eat it up, don't they?"

Roderick's lips tightened, but he didn't deny it. The stories Ezra had told—about machines that could fly, a world in ruins, leaders no one trusted—had drawn in listeners from across the palace. To them, he was just a madman, a laughable figure with impossible stories. But every time he spun a tale, he noticed the flicker of unease in the advisor's eyes, as though some part of it rang true.

"Giovanna's fate is set," Roderick continued, his voice steady and steely. "She's an idealist in a world that doesn't allow for idealism. She believed she could stand up to the court, to the people's hunger for blood, and now she'll pay the price. You would do well to forget about her."

Ezra tilted his head, feigning ignorance. "Funny how that works. She's the future queen, yet you all seem real quick to cut her down for stepping out of line. You want power, but not anyone who might actually use it."

Roderick's expression soured, but he forced a calm smile. "You wouldn't understand. Loyalty, responsibility—those things demand restraint. Giovanna's pride and her foolish ideas about 'justice' will cost her, just as your arrogance will cost you if you're not careful."

The advisor's gaze grew colder as he turned to leave. "Remember, you're nothing more than entertainment here. A fool with wild stories. And if you know what's good for you, you'll keep playing that part."

As Roderick swept out, Ezra watched him go, fists clenched. The door shut with a sharp clang, and he let out a frustrated breath, his mind racing. His stories might mean nothing here, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Roderick feared what he knew. Giovanna's life was on the line, and from what he'd read back home, this was the beginning of her end. She'd be given the illusion of a fair trial, then a tragic, brutal fall from power.

But she didn't know any of that. To her, this was just a fight she could win.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself, pacing the cell again. "You were just supposed to be a name in the history books. A lesson in what happens when you try to change things."

But the woman he'd read about was real now, right in front of him, standing alone in a world that wanted her silenced. He couldn't just watch her march to her own death, especially now that he'd seen her courage, her conviction. Even if she thought he was a madman, he had to find a way to warn her, to make her see that Roderick and the court were already sealing her fate.

He'd once thought he was a spectator here, just another gladiator playing his part. But if he had any power at all—even the ramblings of a "madman"—he'd use it. Because history might be written already, but that didn't mean he'd let it happen without a fight.