The Crimson Crown

The world around me felt distant, as though I were moving through a fog so thick I could hardly breathe. The dining hall’s chatter blurred into an unintelligible hum, the scrape of bowls and the clink of utensils barely registering. My hands rested on the table, trembling faintly, my fingers tracing invisible patterns on the worn wood. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything except the cold, crushing weight of the news.

They were going to die. My parents—my new parents—executed in front of everyone. The Queen’s calm, steady presence, the King’s quiet strength... gone.

Clara’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and insistent. “Liliana,” she hissed, her hand gripping my arm tightly. “Snap out of it. Now.”

I blinked, my vision swimming as I turned to look at her. Clara’s face was pale, her eyes wide with urgency. Her grip on my arm was firm, almost bruising, as she leaned in closer.

“You can’t do this here,” she whispered harshly. “Not now. Not where they can see.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. My lips parted, but no words came out. The weight in my chest was unbearable, the world pressing down on me from all sides. How could I just sit here? How could I pretend to be a servant, to be no one, while the King and Queen faced death?

“Liliana,” Clara said again, her tone softer now but no less firm. Her eyes bore into mine, grounding me. “Listen to me. I know it hurts. I know. But you have to keep it together. If you break now, they’ll see you, and it’ll all be over.”

Her words hit me like a splash of cold water, jolting me back to the present. I realized then how tight my chest was and how shallow my breaths had become. I forced myself to take a deep breath, though it felt like dragging air through a straw.

Clara’s grip loosened slightly, her hand moving to my shoulder. “You’re stronger than this,” she said quietly. “Stronger than them. Don’t let them see you crumble.”

I nodded faintly, though my head felt heavy, my thoughts still sluggish. I focused on Clara’s face, on the determination in her eyes, and let it anchor me. She wasn’t just speaking to me—she was pleading with me, pulling me out of the suffocating fog that had wrapped itself around me.

“They need you,” Clara said, her voice barely above a whisper. “The King. The Queen. They need you to stay strong. For them.”

Something shifted in my chest, a flicker of warmth breaking through the cold. Clara’s words carried weight, grounding me in a way nothing else could. She was right. If I fell apart now, I’d be doing exactly what they wanted. I couldn’t let them win, not like this.

I straightened slightly, my trembling hands clenching into fists as I forced myself to breathe deeply. Clara’s hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment longer before she pulled back, her gaze still searching mine.

“Good,” she said quietly. “Now eat something. You’ll need your strength.”

I nodded again, the motion more certain this time, and picked up my spoon. My appetite was still gone, the food in front of me tasteless and cold, but I forced myself to take a bite. One bite, then another, each one grounding me further in the moment.

I wasn’t okay—far from it. But Clara was right. I couldn’t fall apart. Not yet.

Clara and I ate in silence, each bite feeling heavier than the last. My appetite hadn’t returned, but I forced the food down anyway, knowing Clara was right—I would need my strength for whatever was to come. The weight of the news still sat heavily in my chest, but I focused on the mechanical motion of eating, grounding myself in the rhythm. Spoon, bite, swallow. Repeat.

Across the room, the usual clatter and hum of the dining hall began to settle, whispers rippling through the servants as heads turned toward the entrance. I glanced up, my stomach sinking as Mistress strode into the room, her posture rigid and commanding as always. The very sight of her set my nerves on edge, but there was something in her expression today—something sharper, colder—that sent a chill down my spine.

“Attention,” she barked, her voice cutting through the murmur of conversation like a blade. Instantly, the room fell silent, every servant straightening in their seats, their gazes snapping toward her.

Mistress’s dark eyes swept over the hall, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she drank in the obedient silence. “His Majesty, King Thryne,” she began, her voice ringing with a mix of feigned reverence and calculated authority, “has decreed that all servants are to assemble in the courtyard immediately. You are to bear witness to the execution of the former King and Queen.”

The words struck me like a physical blow, my spoon clattering against the bowl as my hands fell limp in my lap. My heart pounded in my chest, the air suddenly thick and suffocating. I felt Clara’s sharp gaze on me, her hand brushing against mine beneath the table, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Mistress continued, her tone devoid of any emotion beyond cold efficiency. “You will form orderly lines and proceed to the courtyard without delay. Any attempt to evade this duty will result in punishment.”

Her gaze swept the room once more, pausing briefly on each face as though daring someone to defy her. When her eyes landed on me, I quickly lowered my gaze, my pulse roaring in my ears. She lingered for a moment longer before moving on, her sharp voice breaking the silence once more.

“You have five minutes to finish your meal and prepare yourselves,” she snapped. “Do not keep His Majesty waiting.”

With that, Mistress turned on her heel and swept from the room, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. The door closed behind her with a resounding thud, and for a moment, the dining hall remained deathly silent, the weight of her words settling over us like a suffocating blanket.

Clara was the first to move, her hand tightening around mine briefly before pulling back. “We need to go,” she said quietly, her voice firm but edged with tension. “Now.”

I nodded faintly, my body moving on autopilot as I pushed my chair back and stood. My hands trembled as I adjusted my dress, my heart pounding so hard I was certain everyone in the room could hear it. Clara moved beside me, her movements brisk and efficient, her face set in a determined mask.

The room began to stir, servants shuffling into lines and murmuring as they prepared to follow Mistress’s orders. My legs felt heavy, my steps clumsy as I fell into line with Clara, the reality of what we were about to witness settling over me like a crushing weight.

I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms as I fought to steady my breathing. The words echoed in my mind, cruel and unrelenting: You are to bear witness.

The King and Queen. My new parents. My family. And I would have to watch them die.

The line of servants shuffled forward in near silence; the only sound was the soft rustle of fabric and the faint scuff of shoes against stone. My heart pounded in my chest; each beat loud and unsteady as we wound through the passageways of the castle, the heavy air pressing down on me with every step. The line swelled as more servants joined, filing in from other halls, all of us moving toward the courtyard like water flowing into a single, inevitable basin.

Clara stayed close, her face set in a mask of determination that did little to hide the tension in her shoulders. I clung to her presence like a lifeline, my steps shaky but steady enough to keep me moving forward. The crowd thickened as we reached the courtyard, the passageways giving way to the open air, and the sheer scale of it all hit me like a wave.

People filled the space, their murmurs blending into a low, indistinct hum that vibrated through the ground beneath my feet. Servants mingled with commoners, guards patrolled the edges, and at the center of it all stood the platform—a stark, wooden stage that loomed above the sea of faces. The banners of Caltheris hung from its edges, their yellow and black colors vibrant and imposing against the pale sky.

And there they were.

The King and Queen of the Four Winds stood at the platform’s center, their wrists bound in chains that gleamed in the harsh daylight. The King’s face was grim, his jaw set and his shoulders squared despite the weight of his shackles. Queen Elenora stood beside him, her posture as regal as ever, her chin held high and her gaze steady.

My breath hitched as her eyes swept over the crowd, searching until they landed on me.

The world seemed to tilt for a moment, the noise around me fading into a distant hum as our gazes locked. Queen Elenora’s expression didn’t falter, but there was a softness in her eyes, a depth that pierced straight through me. It wasn’t sorrow or fear but something quieter, something resolute. A message only I could understand.

You are seen. You are strong.

My chest tightened, a lump rising in my throat as I fought to keep my composure. The air between us felt alive, charged with the faintest stirrings of the Winds, and for a fleeting moment, I felt her strength flowing into me, bolstering me in a way words never could.

She knew. She had seen me, even in this servant’s disguise. And somehow, impossibly, she knew I would carry this kingdom forward, no matter what happened next.

Clara nudged me gently, her hand brushing against mine in a gesture that pulled me back to the present. I swallowed hard, tearing my gaze away from the Queen as I adjusted my position at the edge of the courtyard, my view of the platform unobstructed but safely distant. The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, the tension in the air thick and suffocating as we waited for the execution to begin.

The Queen had seen me. She had shared that moment with me. And now, I had to watch her die.

King Thryne stepped onto the platform with deliberate purpose, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the courtyard. The murmurs of the crowd fell into a tense silence as he raised his arms, commanding their attention with nothing more than his presence. His golden cloak, emblazoned with the sigil of Caltheris, fluttered faintly in the breeze, a cruel contrast to the somber stillness of the people before him.

"My people of Caltheris," he began, his voice ringing out over the courtyard with the practiced cadence of a conqueror. "And you, citizens of the fallen Kingdom of the Four Winds. Today marks the end of an era. For too long, this land has stood as a symbol of excess and selfishness, its rulers hoarding the blessings of the Winds while others starved, suffered, and died."

His words cut through the air, each syllable sharp and deliberate. I felt my fists clench at my sides, the weight of his lies pressing down on me like a heavy stone. Around me, the crowd remained eerily still, their faces pale and stricken as they hung on his every word.

"Their reign has ended," Thryne continued, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "And with it, the illusion of their divinity. The Four Winds have abandoned them as they have abandoned you. Today, I bring justice. Today, the last remnants of their so-called royalty will pay for their crimes."

He turned slightly, gesturing toward the King and Queen with a sweeping motion. The crowd’s collective gasp was almost deafening as the guards stepped forward, rough hands forcing the captives toward the twin nooses that hung ominously from the wooden beams.

I couldn’t move. My feet felt rooted to the ground, my body frozen as I watched the ropes being worked over their heads, the thick cords scratching against their necks as they were tightened into place. The King held his head high, his jaw tight, and his gaze steady, even as the noose settled around his throat. The Queen’s composure was equally unbroken, her regal bearing undiminished despite the horror unfolding around her.

The crowd seemed to hold its collective breath, the air thick with dread and disbelief. No one dared to speak, to shout, to cry out. Even the faint rustle of fabric and the creak of wood seemed impossibly loud in the oppressive silence.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the Queen. Her gaze didn’t waver, even as the guards stepped back, leaving her and the King standing alone beneath the twin nooses. Her eyes swept over the crowd one final time, and for a moment, they met mine again. The strength in her expression sent a shiver down my spine, her silent resolve cutting through the suffocating fear in my chest.

But it wasn’t enough to stop the tears that burned in my eyes, spilling over as I bit down hard on my lip, struggling to keep silent. I wanted to scream, to rush forward, to do something. But I couldn’t. I could only stand there, watching helplessly as the moment stretched into eternity, the entire courtyard paralyzed with horror.

King Thryne raised his hand, his fingers curling into a tight fist as he prepared to give the signal.

The end was coming. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

The world around me slowed, every sound muffled as if I were trapped underwater. My breaths came shallow and uneven, the weight of what was happening pressing down on me with unbearable force. The platform loomed before me, every detail sharp and unforgiving—the rough grain of the wood, the frayed edges of the nooses, the stark contrast of the Caltheris banners fluttering against the pale sky.

The Queen’s blessing... her final glance. It struck me now with unrelenting clarity, her silent acknowledgment of what would come next. When the kingdom was reclaimed—if it were reclaimed—I would be raised to the throne. I would become what she had been: the Queen of the Four Winds.

My heart felt as though it had been torn from my chest. How could I? How could I possibly bear that weight when I couldn’t even move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t stop what was about to happen? My hands clenched at my sides, trembling as I struggled to keep my tears silent. This wasn’t just the loss of the King and Queen; it was the shattering of my entire world.

I felt Clara’s hand brush mine, a fleeting touch meant to ground me, but I couldn’t respond. My focus was locked on the platform, on the cruel smirk curling King Thryne’s lips as he raised his fist higher, preparing to give the final signal.

The air seemed to hold its breath. Even the faint breeze that had carried whispers of the Winds through the courtyard stilled as though the elements themselves mourned what was to come. My vision blurred, tears streaking my cheeks as my chest tightened painfully.

And then... it happened.

My view was momentarily blocked by a shifting figure in the crowd, just long enough that I couldn’t see. But I heard it. The sickening snap of rope tightening, the sharp gasp from the crowd, and then... silence. Deafening, suffocating silence.

The Winds didn’t howl or rage. They didn’t whip through the courtyard in fury or rebellion. They simply... stilled. For the first time since I could remember, the Winds were silent, their presence gone as though they, too, had succumbed to the grief that hung heavy in the air.

My knees buckled, and Clara’s hand caught me just before I fell. My vision swam, the edges darkening as the reality of it settled over me like a crushing weight.

The King and Queen were gone.

The Kingdom of the Four Winds had fallen.

And Dorian and I... were all that was left.