The rejected crown (book 1)

Vengeance

Jane

The morning sun rose, casting a fiery glow across the stone walls of the castle. The scent of smoke already hung faintly in the air, though the pyre had yet to be lit. Crowds gathered in the courtyard, eager to see the culmination of years of whispered rumors and quiet fear. They came to witness the death of the witch—a spectacle promised to purge their unease and reinforce the iron rule of Richard's reign.

Jane stood at the center of it all, her head held high despite the iron cuffs that had weighed her down for years. Two guards flanked her, their faces grim, their hands gripping her arms as they led her forward. The pyre loomed ahead, a crude construct of wood and rope, standing stark against the pale sky.

The magistrate read aloud her sentence, his voice steady but devoid of the fervor the crowd had hoped for. Even he seemed unsettled by Jane's unyielding defiance the day before. The cheers of the crowd were half-hearted, tainted by the seeds of doubt she had sown.

As Jane reached the base of the pyre, the guards forced her to her knees. One stepped forward, unlocking the iron cuffs that had bound her wrists for so long.

The iron cuffs clattered to the ground, and with them, the last chain that had held Jane's power at bay. For a moment, the world seemed to pause. The crowd leaned forward, eager to see her tied to the pyre, to see the flames consume her.

But then it happened.

A wave of raw magic burst from her like a thunderclap, radiating outward with devastating force. The guards nearest to her were thrown like ragdolls, their screams silenced as they hit the ground, lifeless. A hush fell over the crowd, but it lasted only a heartbeat before chaos erupted.

The air around Jane seemed alive, crackling with an unseen energy that twisted and surged with every breath she took. Flames licked at the edges of the pyre, though no torch had touched it. The ground beneath her feet blackened as if scorched by an invisible fire.

She turned her gaze on the crowd—those who had come to watch her burn, who had cheered for her death. Their faces twisted in terror as her magic lashed out in wild, uncontrollable arcs. Screams filled the air as dozens fell where they stood, struck down by streaks of lightning and blasts of flame. The stench of burning flesh and the sound of crumpling bodies filled the courtyard.

Richard, seated on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, stood frozen in horror. For the first time in years, the unshakable king felt the icy grip of fear. His mouth moved, shouting orders to the remaining soldiers, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos below.

Jane's gaze lifted to meet his. Even from this distance, her eyes burned into him like twin suns. With a flick of her wrist, a wave of energy surged toward the balcony, shattering the stone and sending Richard staggering back. He barely managed to avoid the worst of the blast, but the look of terror on his face was all Jane needed.

The guards, those who weren't already dead, abandoned their posts in a frenzy, scrambling to protect Richard. They formed a shield around him as they dragged him from the balcony where he had watched so smugly only moments before. He disappeared into the castle, his face pale with fear as his men hurried him to safety.

Jane didn't follow. She didn't need to. The carnage she left behind spoke for itself. Her power rippled outward, striking indiscriminately, felling hundreds of villagers and soldiers alike. Those who had come to gawk at her execution now lay lifeless on the ground.

Her magic raged beyond her control, feeding on years of anger, pain, and betrayal. She hadn't wielded it in so long that it had become something wild and unrefined, a beast unleashed from its cage. Flames consumed the courtyard, spreading to the castle walls and towers. Smoke filled the air, the screams of soldiers and civilians alike blending into a cacophony of chaos.

In the midst of it all, Jane stood as the eye of the storm. Her body trembled under the weight of the power pouring through her, but she didn't falter. This was no longer a trial or an execution. This was a reckoning.

"Let them see," she whispered, her voice carried on the wind. "Let them know what fear truly is."

As the inferno spread, consuming everything in its path, Jane's focus sharpened on the one thing that mattered: Richard. Her feet lifted from the ground, the force of her magic propelling her upward until she hovered above the pyre. Her arms stretched outward, and the storm intensified, drawing the remaining energy from the air around her.

The crowd had scattered, fleeing through the gates, but there would be no escaping the destruction. The castle walls buckled, flames licking higher and higher. Jane, the witch they had condemned, had become something more—a force of nature, an embodiment of vengeance.

And as she looked down at the ruins of the place that had stolen her life, her voice rang out, clear and terrible.

"You wanted a witch," she said, her words echoing through the inferno. "Now you have one."

And then, as suddenly as it began, the storm quieted. Jane stood in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by the bodies of those who had once condemned her. Smoke curled from her fingertips, the last remnants of her magic fading into the air.

She looked up toward the castle, now eerily silent. She knew Richard was hiding behind his guards, cowering in fear. For a moment, she considered going after him—burning her way through his fortress until nothing was left. But she didn't. Not yet.

Instead, she turned and walked away, stepping over the bodies that littered the courtyard. No one dared to stop her. Those who had survived stayed frozen, too terrified to move.

As Jane passed through the castle gates, her voice echoed back to the terrified few who remained.

"This isn't over."

And then she was gone, leaving behind only death and the promise of something far worse to come.