Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown

Part 5

     The air outside is dry and the smell of moist lifeless flesh swarms my nose. A crowd gathers in the castle's town square near the blacksmith's working house. On a long and wide wooden block stands 3 guards and the accused murderer. He is held by the hair and neck so that breathing is a difficult task. He has dark curly hair that hangs above his light brown eyes. He is a big robust man who hovers above the three guards that surround him. His arm is the size of his choker's leg and his legs are the width of his hair puller's abdomen.

     I sit on the throne that is placed on the castle's balcony with my mother and Isabelle by my sides.

     "What is your name?" I yell to the man in the distance. I watch as his light amber eyes turn rapidly to me, soon his head and body follow with the help of the guards. They push his enormous body down so that the giant is on his knees, yet now, he is the height of the guards. He continues to stare at me and doesn't respond, sealing his mouth shut, pressing his full lips tight together. I swear I can see smoke swimming out of his flaring nostrils. His eyebrows are a furrowed mess above his eyes and the tips of his ears are bright apple red that point sharply to the sky. One of the guards smack his head hard, but his head barely moves, only a pale red hand print is left on his face.

     "Answer his question," one of the guards yell.

     "Abel," the kneeling man says.

     "Abel, confess to your sins," I respond.

     He looks to his right to a young woman in a red cape. Audrey. His eyes read sadness, they read sorrow. "I killed King Isaac. I pretended to be a guard and entered his room, using a pillow I suffocated him. I sucked the life out of your father because that is exactly what he did to the little boys and girls of the late King Peter. I killed your father because since the crown was placed on his head he has slowly killed England. Your father was a king who never deserved to be king, who stole the throne from the rightful owners. You are following in his footsteps very well."

     "Due to your disobedience and betrayal to the laws of this land, to England, and to God, I hereby sentence you to death by beheading," I say, my voice bellows over the crowd of townspeople who wear faces of empathy.

     I hear a scream coming from my left, Audrey runs onto the wooden block and kneels by the traitor's side. "No! Samuel, please don't do this. He is all I have left, he is the only family I have left. Please! Please don't kill him. He is sorry and he will take any other punishment, just not death. Please!"

     I stare at the weeping girl who cradles her brother in her arms. Even with the man's height and weight, he looks little in the embrace of his sister, like a child in the hands of his mother.

     "You will call him King Samuel! He is not your mate! And for this disruption you should be condemned to a punishment as well. Your brother killed my husband, the King! There is no other punishment other than death!" my mother yells. The veins on her neck bulge and they trickle down to her boney collarbones. Her eyes surge out of her socket and her fingers are entwined in a solid fist. She turns to me, cuing me to make an affirmative decision.

     "Your brother killed my father, there is no forgiving that. His sentence is death. That is final. Unless, you want the name of your family to be completely abolished, I would suggest that you get off of the block and step aside," I say. I watch as she wipes the tears that leak from her eyes and kisses her brother goodbye. She wipes his cheek with the tip of her thumb and rises from her knees. Before leaving the block she stares deep into my eyes. Even with distance between her and me, I still feel the pressure of her eyes on my chest. A choking pressure on my throat.

     The guard that has no hold of the traitor picks up the large, sharp sword that sits on the ground. With one swift motion he lifts the sword and slices the air before hitting the base of the traitor's neck. Like millions of roses blooming, the droplets of blood fall to the block and creates a sprouting path. Blood spurts from the severed arteries and veins of his neck. The blood doesn't jet in a constant flow. At first it comes thick, strong, a deep red color, flowing through his neck. After some time the blood is still leaving his quickly paling flesh, but the blood is subtle, slower, frail.

     I look at Audrey who has tears gushing from her eyes, she has blood splattered on her face. She looks up at me rapidly and soon I feel my own hands drenched in blood, in deep red rubies.

     "It's time to head back inside," my mother says before leaving the balcony.

     Isabelle still sits in her chair with shock and disgust, she looks at me and when she sees me already looking at her she turn her eyes quickly back to the wooden block and headless man.

     "This is what ruling England is about. You mustn't be afraid to get a little blood on your hands," I say to her as I turn to leave, heading to my room.