Reginald's fate was sealed by cruel irony—he would never glimpse her face again. She wasn't there, not even on the royal platform where the king and queen belonged. The throne beside the king sat vacant, mocking him.
Even her hatred would have been a gift. One look of disgust from her eyes would have been worth everything if it meant seeing her one final time.
But she couldn't even spare him her repulsion.
What torment this brought Reginald was impossible to measure.
He stood in the execution line, watching his loyal warriors meet their gruesome end, one after another.
Their bodies convulsed, making one last desperate fight against the thin rope choking their lives away, until they surrendered. Death was the only escape.
The crowd surrounding the gallows gasped in shock but kept watching. Some cheered each time a traitor's soul departed their worthless body.
Others hurled curses at the condemned men for their treacherous choices.
