Sinner

Alistair Aurum de Villiers. The Forgotten Prince. The Late King's bastard.

A spectre risen from the grave.

The forsaken casualty of a succession crisis. Doomed from the start.

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Sunlight had already begun to dip below the horizon, draping the Aurumian Kingdom in gold, crimson and violet hues. The warmth of a humid summer nearing its end dissipated, leaving the oncoming evening in a cooling breeze that washed over what used to be the Lockhart Earldom. The air within the town square was laden with anticipation, the stillness of the evening broken only by the gathering crowd's restless murmurs and the distant creak of the gallows' wooden frame.

"Look at her, she is ghastly..."

"Not an inch of remorse on her face after two years."

"Her birth must have been a blight on the Lockhart name. There can be no other explanation."

Blue eyes stared upwards in a daze, transfixed on the passing clouds and the blend of watercolour painted across the sky. The murmurs fell on deaf ears as she breathed deeply through chapped lips. A chilled autumn breeze caressed her gaunt brown cheeks, tousling her choppily cut brown curls and the threadbare prison-issued black gown adorning her frame. Dull iron shackles braced her sore wrists, marked with worn, glowing script — binding runes, etched by a House-trained Scribe, to prevent escape or sabotage. The enchantments pulsed faintly.

A sudden yank at her scalp elicited a hiss of pain through tightly gritted teeth. The soldier forced her vision forward, over towards the eager crowd.

"For an offence that reeks to heaven: The crime of premeditated murder and the attempted destruction of our beloved Royal House- The sinner, Arabella Lockhart, stands before us on her day of judgment!" The onlookers waited with bated breath as the executioner's voice reverberated through the town square. "It is for this, the murder of His Royal Highness Alistair Aurum de Villiers, that the sinner will be sentenced to death by hanging!"

Arabella closed her eyes as the crowd jeered with vindication. A slow, steadying exhale slipped through her chapped lips. Perhaps two years ago, she would have desperately shrieked her innocence, kicked and thrashed against the soldiers flanking her on each side, scratched at the noose until her neck bled. Even if she did have any energy left, it would be useless.

"Halt the execution."

Arabella's jaw clenched at the deceptively calm voice, eyes sharpening towards the source as he approached. The crowd erupted into a sea of astonished whispers, and the guards hurriedly bowed their heads in reverence. "Your Majesty...!" The executioner cleared his throat before continuing. "It is an honour to stand before His Majesty, King Cecil Aurum de Villiers."

There it was.

The familiar sensation. So powerful that it overcame any sense of exhaustion, misery, or anything else buried deep within. Arabella's teeth gritted so hard that she thought they might crack, her blue eyes sharpening like daggers as she met his composed violet gaze. The setting sun crowned his blonde hair like a halo.

Cecil stared back unflinchingly, almost looking through her. Arabella's hands trembled against her shackles, jagged nails biting crescent cuts into her palms. His lips curved into a benign smile as the setting sun crowned his blonde hair like a halo, "...Permit me but a moment to speak with my brother's killer." He stepped closer, a hand raised dismissively to the royal guards who had flinched forward. "Just a moment." He assured them, pious and serene. "That I might say a prayer for her soul."

'His Majesty is too merciful...'

That particular murmur from the crowd elicited a disgusted rasp from Arabella. A short, ugly noise that tore through the tension as Cecil stepped closer. A pale, ice-cold hand settled on her shoulder. Cecil closed his eyes as his lips ghosted her ear, and finally, he spoke in a hushed whisper.

"...You were truly an experience like no other."

His expression, from the soft crease in his brow to the gentle yet stern frown on his lips, was the perfect mimicry of a holy king. Yet, the faintest trace of indulgence came through. Amusement. Almost... Fondness.

"You were correct." A breath of warmth brushed against her skin. "You were useful to me until the very end. I could not be more grateful. And believe me, dear Arabella... you shall be missed."

It wasn't the first time she'd heard those words, but it would be the last time they haunted her at night.

Two years spent languishing in that rat-infested prison cell. Two years spent apart from her only remaining family. Two years as a plaything, a discarded piece. What more could be done? What more could be said that would bring her lower than she was now?

"Arabella Lockhart," Cecil stepped back, voice raised authoritatively, his touch lingering coldly on her skin. "Speak now, confess your sins, and beg for repentance before you are faced with eternal damnation. Spare the Lockhart name from any more shame."

The audacity to order her to confess to his sins was almost laughable. Shameless.

Arabella opened her mouth, and the onlookers awaited the words that would leave the cursed villainess' mouth.

She spat at Cecil's feet. The vile spittle landed on his polished boot.

The violent tug at her scalp came quickly as the guards rushed forward and the crowd erupted into an uproar of shrill outcries.

'Shameless Villain!'

Their insults faded to white noise as she struggled against the restraint, ignoring the sharp pain of hair being ripped from her head, to maintain her immutable, wide-eyed glare. Arabella's throat burned from the lack of moisture, yet she spat out the words with painful determination through chapped, bleeding lips and gritted teeth.

"If eternal damnation awaits me...I shall claw you down there with me."

If the crowd had reacted, Arabella would not have known. Her only focus was that subtly shifting expression, the minuscule twitch of the lip. A morbid satisfaction arose from within her. Had he been expecting her to beg? She almost laughed. Their eye contact remained unwavering, a silent exchange of hatred on her part. It was only for the briefest moment, but incrementally that serene smile had slipped as Cecil stared back, his violet eyes darkening. That expression, Arabella knew well. That was the Cecil she knew.

Cold. Detached. Inhuman.

Murderer.

Cecil raised his hand.

"With the lowering of my hand, hang the sinner. May she seek salvation."

The crowd's jeers had elevated into a roar in Arabella's ears. She had nothing to repent. She had no shame to bear. She wouldn't waste a single breath on these people.

Her blue eyes remained wide open. Even as the rope began to tighten. Arabella met Cecil's glare a final time, steadfast. Even as his hand lowered and the platform dropped.

The snap of her neck was swift.