PROLOGUE

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Executions were not a common thing in Aguki. Perhaps that was why so many had gathered to watch the events of the day unfold. The crimes of the criminals had not been revealed to the public, but most suspected that they had something to do with the recent rebel activity that had been causing trouble for some time now.

A large stage had been erected in the center of the city and atop that stage stood Queen Valda Ingram. Though the people had never thought their sovereign young, they had also not thought her old. But there was a weariness now present on her face that aged her. Her spine curled in on itself as if a heavy weight now resided upon her shoulders. Lines marked her face in wrinkles and her cheeks were hollowed. And if her sunken eyes were any indignation, she was missing out on much needed sleep and her dress portrayed far too many sharp edges to equate healthiness.

At her sides were the other rulers of Cinthra Empire.

Looking just as old and weathered as Valda was the King of Titria, Saburou Iseya. There was a sadness to his posture that had been shrinking into the background, making him appear small and fragile. In comparison, Eleonore Ridcully, the Queen of Lukipia, looked like a young, fierce, burning flame; her dark red hair pulled tightly away from her face, sharpening her eyes and cheekbones into even greater definition.

The King of Tanah, though, commanded the most attention. Cirillo Anadrade stood on the opposite side of the platform, away from the others, his hands folded behind his back and his expression partially concealed by an elaborate golden mask. It shimmered like gold and curved its way around his head like a crown woven from vines. It complimented the raven blackness of his hair and the fair tone of his skin, but aside from his lips and jaw, no other facial features were discernible. Not even his eyes could be seen through the mask’s material.

The presence of the Hajat unnerved the crowd. They often forgot that the quartette monarchy their empire operated under was not wholly human. That one crown sat upon the head of a creature with bizarre eyes and dangerous power. But, that creature and the territory he governed, were what protected them from the other Races that occupied this world.

Before the afternoon could stretch on much longer, the prisoners were escorted out onto the stage, soldiers shoving them forward as they worked their way through the crowd. The loud jangle of chains rattled in the silence of the square, as did the scrapping of bare feet against cobblestones.

In total, there were four criminals set to be executed today; three men and one woman.

The first to ascend the steps was a man with greying hair, broad shoulders, and a hatred so venomous in his eyes that Valda physically flinched away from it. The action was noted by Cirillo, his lips dipping slightly at the corners, but any other emotion was impossible to read on his masked face.

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The next to rise onto the stage was a man in his forties with shining blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He was handsome, tall, but took the heaviest steps across the wooden platform, his head never raising to look at the crowd.

The woman behind him was the exact opposite. She made sure to lock eyes with every single person that stood around the stage. It was as if she was burning their faces into her memory, marking them. She sneered in disgust before looking towards the monarchs that awaited.

The last and final individual could barely be considered a man. He looked to only be eighteen or nineteen years old. His entire body shook as he walked and tears ran down his face silently, and he made no noise as he cried. His gaze was dead. His face darkened with fear.

Each prisoner took their place slowly; lined up in front of the Aguki people while kneeling with their bound hands in their laps and their heads forced into a bow. Cirillo, Saburou, and Eleonore remained silently at the back of the stage, but Valda stepped forward. These were people from her territory. Their crimes had been committed in her portion of the Empire. Therefore, the punishment was to be delivered by her hand.

“Michael Wynn,” she said addressing the first man. Her voice quivered and for a brief moment she looked like she was going to break. Her eyes glistened with tears, but the prisoner Michael shook his head in warning, wordlessly reprimanding her for her sign of weakness. It was a small gesture, the motion barely noticeable to anyone else but her. But it seemed to remind Valda where she was, who she stood in front of. The sun took that moment to creep out from behind the clouds, and the air around the queen seemed to shimmer. Valda inhaled sharply at the sight, but she forced her eyes to remain towards the criminals.

She cleared her voice before restarting.

“Michael Wynn, Ridler Wynn, Helena Gemma, and Frederick Thornhill, you have been brought her before the people of Aguki and the rules of Cinthra in consequence to your crimes committed against the people of this Empire.” She did not dare elaborate as to the details of their crimes. “As punishment for your actions, you are to be executed today. Do you have any final words to say?”

None of them spoke.

But as the light refracted off of the small particles of gold dancing in the air, Valda noted the tightness of Michael’s mouth, the despair heavy on Ridler’s shoulders, the redness of Helena’s neck, and the fear in Frederick’s eyes. Their backs were to the people, and it dawned on Valda that the placement was probably intentional, so that the people couldn’t seem the fighting to cry out.

“Very well,” she said after a long, stretched silence.

Valda took a step away from the prisoners and retrieved her sword from her Captain of the Guard. She moved to stand before Michael, her grip shaky and her knuckles white. The two made eye contact briefly and there was a kindness that she had not expected to see there: an understanding. Again, she found herself wanting to cry. But then her arms, against her will, began to rise, and horror laced up her spine as her body betrayed her. Michael noted the shift and his attention immediately shot towards Cirillo. But nothing could be done as Valda’s arms dropped, swinging the blade across Michael’s throat.