October 23, 1345.
Stormhold Castle,
The walled city of Rothwell,
Capital of Myknos.
Prince Nicolas Alexander Tutton
Numbness, that's all he felt as he was dragged into the courtyard with chains binding his hands and feet. The executioner stood proud with his axe stained a dark red with the dried blood of hundreds of men before him.
They had murdered his father and mother and although he would like to tell himself his father's murder hadn't affected him, his stupid heart said otherwise. At least Alyn had escaped somehow, he didn't think he woukd have been able to live with her death.
As they dragged him up the steps to the platform where the chopping block had been stationed, he turned to see Khasi sitting on the throne like she was already queen, smiling down at him with a victorious smirk. She spared him a few moments before deciding she had seen enough of him and with a flick of her hand, the guards dragged him forward.
Blood danced in his vision and his head spun as they pushed him harshly to the ground. Khasi had been merciless in punishing him for trying to escape. He wondered what she had done to Khalid. The man had sacrificed a lot to try and get him out of the castle.
Knowing Khasi, she might have killed him already or broken him into submission. Everyone had sacrificed something to try and save Myknos but he had just been sitting quietly in a cell lamenting his fate. Shame hit him harder as he looked over the crowd, head and heart heavy with regret.
He could have done better. Should have done better. If only he hadn't been so stupid.
He had ignored Odeya's letter and went ahead moping around instead of preparing for war like she had advised and now he was paying the price for his immaturity. Death was more than he deserved for putting his people in danger.
His people.
The word sounded weird in his head as a few years ago all he dreamed about was working side by side with his older brother and rightful heir to the throne, Henrik. Fate was a cruel thing.
He had resented Henrik. For having things come so easy to him, for everyone loving him and for always getting their Father's approval.
Everyone loved Henrik and even if he did, a huge part of him resented his position as the second son. The spare as some would put it.
Henrik was the best swordsman and he had been more than capable of becoming king one day.
He on the other hand was the bad egg in the family. Nothing ever came easily to him. He had to work hard to get as good as Henrik had been as a swordsman to earn the respect of his people, had to work hard to show his Father that he could be a good replacement for Henrik after he died.
He looked skywards and smiled as he saw no clouds ruining the brightness of the day. When he had been but a lad, he had spent clear days like this in the forest or by the lakes just writing.
That had been his true passion. It wasn't one that one would accord a prince but it was his only desire then. Becoming a poet was all he had in mind. But it was funny how life had changed everything.
He looked over his people and saw faces that bore defeat, hunger and pity?
He could guess he looked pretty pitiful at that point. The once proud Crown Prince reduced to nothing but a broken image of what he could have been.
He saw the arrow as it came but he couldn't believe anyone would dare rescue him. He expected pain of decapitation but nothing came and he turned in time to see the executioner fall with the arrow protruding from his head. He looked across the crowded courtyard and gasped.
YOU ARE READING
A Kings Surrender
Historical Fiction"Oh really. I'd say you really enjoyed my visit." He said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He walked closer to her until she had to use her hand to stop him from crushing her against the wall. He bent his head and nipped a small line from her n...
