Chapter 53 - Punishment Part 2

The great hall slowly filled with tension as rows of servants lined the marble floor, eyes darting between one another. Some whispered, their voices hushed but anxious, recalling the strange commotion from the night before involving Emily, Madeline, and Sarah. There were rumors of them getting caught while trying to escape but nothing was confirmed.

Others stood in silence, having heard nothing, yet feeling the weight of something heavy and grim descending upon them. And then, the heavy wooden doors creaked once more. Guards marched in with deliberate steps, their armor clanking in a synchronized rhythm that made every heart skip. Between them walked Theresa—head held high, though her hands were bound in iron chains. Her face was pale; her lips pressed into a tight line. She looked neither left nor right as one of the guards shoved her forward, forcing her to the center of the room, directly beneath the looming gaze of the King.

In the dungeons below, a similar procession began. Emily and Sarah were pulled roughly from their cold stone cells, their wrists shackled, though not as tightly as Theresa's. The guard said nothing as he led them up the torch-lit stairs and into the blinding light of the hall. Left behind was Madeline, curled in a corner of her cell, her gray servant dress stained like a forgotten doll. Her eyes were red and swollen from endless crying, her voice hoarse from whispering prayers and names that never answered. She hadn't touched the bowl of porridge at her feet nor the cup of water beside it. Her arms hugged her knees tightly to her chest as she trembled—not from the cold, but from the echo of guilt and helplessness that rang louder with every passing hour. She was alone now, with nothing but silence and the muffled sounds of footsteps fading away.

Back in the hall, Sarah and Emily were escorted in, their chains clinking softly with every step. As they entered, their eyes immediately found Theresa standing at the center. Theresa's expression shifted to one of surprise upon seeing them. Sarah lowered her head in quiet resignation, unable to meet her gaze. Theresa's lips moved soundlessly, mouthing the question, "Where's Madeline?" Emily gave a subtle shake of her head in response, her eyes filled with sorrow. From his throne, King Alexander observed the exchange with a sharp gaze. Leaning slightly toward the guard beside him, he murmured, "Bring the child here as well."

Moments later, the heavy doors opened once more, and Madeline was brought into the hall, her steps slow, her small frame trembling. When Theresa laid eyes on her daughter, her composure nearly cracked, tears threatening to rise—but she held herself firm. "I can't let her be dragged into this. They can kill me if they must—but not my child," she thought. Madeline's face lit up upon seeing her mother; she tried to run to her, only for the guard beside her to tighten his grip, halting her movement. Theresa quickly shook her head, warning her silently, trying to keep the child calm amidst the tension. The reunion, though brief and distant, was enough to stir emotion in the onlookers, yet no one dared to intervene.

A regent stepped forward, his scroll unfurling with a soft crackle that seemed louder than thunder. "After thorough investigation and testimonies," he began, his voice calm yet carrying an air of finality, "we have determined that Theresa is guilty of witchcraft and deceit." A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by stunned silence. "Her unnatural talents and the evidence brought forth by her peers cannot be ignored," he continued.

Theresa stood still, her face unreadable save for the slight flicker in her eyes. "She shall face execution by hanging at Gallow Square." The words rang in the air like a death bell. Servants covered their mouths, Sarah's face turned pale, and the King gave no sign of protest. Theresa lowered her gaze—not in defeat, but in silent defiance. The fate she'd feared was now sealed, and Madeline, who didn't understand what is happening only stood in silence.

The regent stepped forward once more, his voice echoing through the hall with grave finality. "The maid Sarah and the girl Madeline shall face execution alongside Theresa. As for the other maid - Emily, she will remain in the palace but spend three months in the dungeon for reflection. Upon her release, she will be stripped of her title as low-level servant and demoted to the rank of a slave."

Gasps rippled across the hall as the crowd struggled to process the severity of the judgment. Emily's eyes widened in disbelief, her lips parting in a whisper. "What… is happening?" she mumbled, barely able to form the words. She turned to look at her friends just as the guards began to pull Sarah, Theresa, and Madeline away.

A low murmur spread through the hall as some of the servants began to whisper among themselves, their voices laced with confusion and unrest. "Why isn't Emily being hanged like the others?" someone hissed under their breath, barely loud enough to be heard over the low murmur of the gathered crowd. "I heard they tried to escape," another whispered, eyes flicking nervously from face to face, wary of who might be listening. "All three of them—Emily, Sarah, and that young one… Madeline."

A third voice joined in, colder, sharper. "But the law is clear. Attempted escape is treason. She should be executed too." There was a pause—a heavy silence laced with unease. "And Madeline," someone said quietly, voice almost breaking, "she was just a child." "They didn't spare even a child," another muttered bitterly, shaking their head. Then, a servant from the back spoke up, voice low and full of suspicion. "We don't know the whole truth. The regents questioned them for hours. Maybe the child was a witch too... a little devil in disguise. They say witches can make themselves look innocent—hide their true nature behind a smile."

A hush fell over the group, the weight of their words sinking in. Fear and doubt coiled tightly around them, twisting sympathy into suspicion. In the palace, truth was often buried under fear—and sometimes, it was easier to believe a child could be a monster than to admit that justice had gone terribly wrong.

A broken cry pierced the stillness. Madeline tore free from her guard's hold and rushed forward, throwing herself into her mother's arms. Her sobs were raw and desperate, echoing through the hall like the howl of a wounded animal. Theresa looks at her, her body trembling as silent tears spilled down her cheeks. The verdict felt unreal—too cruel, too sudden. Emily stood frozen, her gaze fixed on Theresa's tear-streaked face, her heart pounding with dread and helplessness. But the decision had been made. There would be no mercy. The guards stepped forward again, their hands closing firmly around Theresa and Sarah as they began to drag them away.

"No Please!" Theresa cried out, her voice breaking as she dropped to her knees. "She's only a child!" Her body shook with the weight of her grief, and she might have collapsed entirely had a guard not knelt beside her, steadying her with trembling hands. "She doesn't understand any of this," Sarah begged, looking up at the cold eyes of the regents. Emily stepped forward, voice hoarse from sleepless nights and endless tears. "Take me instead," she pleaded, her voice rising with urgency. "If someone must die, let it be me. Spare the girl. Please—I'm the one who convinced them to escape. It was my doing!"

Lord Aldric's face remained unmoved, carved from stone, and Lord Morgan regarded them with a cold, unreadable gaze. Theresa looked up, her hands clasped tightly, shaking in prayer or desperation—perhaps both. "She still sleeps with a music box clutched to her chest. She sings to the birds. She can't be what you say. She can't..." Her voice cracked, and her legs gave way. She fell to the floor, sobbing.

Gasps echoed through the hall, some in pity, others in unease. But the regents said nothing. For a moment, it was only the sound of Theresa's sobs and Emily's broken voice echoing against the stone walls. "Let her live," Emily whispered again, almost too softly to be heard. "Please... let her live."

From the shadows above, concealed behind the heavy velvet drapes of the gallery, Duke William observed the scene in silence, his expression unreadable. A guard approached the throne and leaned in, whispering something into King Alexander's ear. The King let out a weary sigh and waved his hand dismissively. "Return the girl to the dungeon," he commanded flatly.

The regents turned to him in confusion, exchanging uncertain glances. "Why are you standing there?" the King snapped, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Proceed with the execution—of the two!" At his words, a ripple of confusion spread through the gathered crowd. Murmurs erupted among the servants, their eyes darting between the condemned and the throne, trying to make sense of what they'd just heard.

Theresa, catching the King's choice of words—"two"—let out a broken sob. She bowed her head, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her chest. The faintest flicker of relief passed over her, but it was buried beneath the crushing grief of what was to come. Theresa bent down to Madeline and whispered, her voice barely audible through the emotion, "It's okay, sweetheart. Everything will be alright."

She looked past her daughter to Emily, meeting her eyes with quiet urgency. With a slight nod, she signaled for her to come forward. Emily hesitated only a moment before rushing to them. As she reached Madeline, Theresa leaned in and whispered again, her voice trembling, "Please, take care of Madeline. I've hidden a small box beneath our bed—give it to her, when the time is right." Her hands lingered on her daughter's back, holding on for just a moment longer.

Then, the guards pulled her away. Madeline's cries grew louder as she reached out, her small hands grasping at the air. Emily wrapped her arms around the girl tightly, her own eyes filling with tears. The crowd watched in stunned silence as Theresa and Sarah were led away, their fates sealed. The hall, once filled with whispers and questions, now felt like a tomb—cold and heavy.