A Tale of Crowns and Stars

Whips & Laurels

 Still erect in the courtyard, the whipping post stared the gathered crowd down like an angry emperor. Cyra looked at the structure with disdain, noting the way the cuffs for the cupbearer's wrists clicked in the soft wind.

By all accounts, it was a lovely day — but now it was marred by the only thing worse than a public beheading: a public whipping. The sun didn't seem to care, however, and the birds still sang their endless songs in the trees surrounding the large estate. But in the silence, Cyra swore she could hear the wind speak of the sorrow at hand.

Armantha stood far off in the crowd, face blank and unmoved by the curious people who looked to her for answers. Cyra realized her blank stare was a product of what she had seen before returning to the courtyard, and Armantha resigned herself to witnessing the miscarriage of justice, just as she had been privy to the murder of her former fiance and faded into the mist without a word. There was very little she could do, and while Cyra knew it bothered the Lady to her core, Cyra also knew that Armantha wasn't above self-preservation to maintain the higher plot at work.

Halewijn was not present. Wyndemere hadn't heard from him since breakfast, and Alorha's eyes shifted about when Cyra inquired about his absence, which meant he knew something he couldn't tell. It was no matter, Cyra thought; she wouldn't want him to be here for this anyway. Not if he didn't have to be, at least.

The sound of gravel crunching underfoot drew everyone's attention to the back of the courtyard. Leonel was held up between two guards, barely picking up his bare feet to place them on the sharp rocks. He, too, had resigned himself to his misfortune, as evidenced by the lack of weeping or struggle. Cyra quickly whispered words of courage his way, hoping the wind might carry them to the frail boy, but Leonel did not perk up to listen; his brown eyes were empty and devoid of life.

As they led him up the creaking stairs of the hastily made platform, Leonel's black hair swayed with his movements, creating a long curtain across his face and muscular back. The crowd caught a glimpse of his tattooed lower back as he turned to face the left side, and it curved and curlicued into an unrecognizable mass of lines, the dark blue ink coagulating on his lower spine. Some people gasped, and Wyndemere grunted at the sight of the artistry but said nothing further. The tattoos only meant one thing: Leonel was a full-blooded Skaruskan.

The guards positioned him so that he faced the shadows of the gate, ensuring that the audience would not be able to see his entire face as the lashing occurred. This was one small mercy, Cyra noted. She wouldn't be able to endure the whole punishment if she had to watch the youth's features contort in pain while he sat chained and helpless.

In the quiet chaos that was moving Leonel onto the raised platform and chaining him to the post, no one heard the final two members of the crowd approaching. Omar, stepping lightly on the dais, held a whip behind his back, and his attire was minimalist: a short-sleeved black shirt and black pants. Halewijn followed behind him but was dressed differently, but they both wore the crowns of the High Court, the identical laurel leaves encircling their brown heads. The High Prince also wore the same color of pants his father wore, but instead of a short-sleeved black shirt, he wore a black, robe-like item that remained untied, showing his bare chest to the crowd. The secret Alorha held back was now apparent: Halewijn would be taking part in this punishment somehow.

Cyra felt her cheeks warm up. No one had seen Halewijn like this except her, but this exposure made her head spin with confusion. She couldn't hear the soft snickering of the women at his toned muscles, nor the hum of approval he got from Armantha as Cyra's blood raced in her ears. Halewijn didn't bother to scan the crowd, though, and it was that choice that frightened her a little. She was so used to him looking for her gaze... Now she considered whether she should turn away.