Chapter 14: The Execution

The small village lay beneath a sky heavy with the threat of rain, the streets eerily quiet except for the murmurs of the crowd that had gathered. Trevor's sharp eyes scanned the scene as he and Beatrice approached, the tension in the air palpable.

"They can't be serious," Beatrice muttered, her face tight with concern as they walked toward the village square.

Trevor said nothing. His gaze flickered to the center of the square, where a young man, shackled and kneeling, was surrounded by guards. His head was bowed, and his clothes were ragged, stained with the dirt of a long journey or imprisonment.

At the front of the crowd stood a priestess in ornate robes, her staff raised, ready to deliver judgment. Her face was serene, as if she had no hesitation about the life she was about to take.

"This is barbaric," Beatrice whispered, more to herself than to Trevor.

He turned to her, his voice low but heavy with authority. "You're the princess. You can stop this."

Beatrice clenched her fists, her jaw set. "I'm not the one with the power here. But I will try."

They reached the center of the crowd just as the priestess raised her staff, preparing to speak the words that would seal the young man's fate.

"Stop!" Beatrice's voice rang out, clear and commanding. She pushed her way forward, Trevor close behind her.

The priestess faltered, her eyes narrowing. "Princess Beatrice, what is this interruption?"

Beatrice stopped in front of the young man, blocking the priestess's view. "This man has not been judged. You cannot execute him without due process, not in my kingdom."

The crowd murmured, some in agreement, others growing restless.

"This is not a matter for the princess," the priestess insisted, her tone unyielding. "He is a traitor. He has consorted with demons."

Trevor's eyes flicked to the young man, sensing something familiar in the way he hunched over, his shoulders tense with fear but also with some measure of defiance. He stepped forward, his presence causing the crowd to quiet slightly.

"Traitor?" Trevor asked, his voice low but carrying weight. "Do you even know what he's being accused of?"

The priestess's eyes shifted to Trevor, clearly seeing him as an outsider. "He is accused of summoning demonic energy, which is a threat to the sanctity of our kingdom."

Beatrice's gaze flicked between Trevor and the priestess, her worry growing. "Summoning demonic energy?"

Trevor didn't miss the way her eyes hardened at the accusation, her mind clearly working through the implications. His hand twitched at his side, where his sword rested.

"He's guilty until proven innocent, Princess," the priestess stated coldly. "And in cases like this, there is no trial, no mercy."

The young man lifted his head slightly, his eyes locking with Trevor's for the briefest moment. There was fear in those eyes, but also something more. Something that made Trevor's stomach twist.

"You're mistaken," Trevor said, stepping forward, his voice low and calm. "He's not guilty. And you won't kill him."

The priestess's face tightened. "You, stranger, have no say in the matters of our kingdom." She turned to the guards. "Take them away."

Before the guards could move, Trevor's hand was already on his sword. A sharp, subtle movement, just enough to let them know he wasn't here to play by the rules. His grip on the hilt was calm, controlled—but the air around him began to crackle with energy.

"Stand down," Beatrice said, her voice firm, though it held a trace of concern. "This is not the way, Trevor."

The guards hesitated, sensing the tension in the air, but the priestess nodded toward them. "They're not part of this. Take them both."

The crowd stirred as the guards moved in. Trevor didn't wait for them to close the distance. His eyes flashed with a cold, controlled fury as he raised his hand, just as Beatrice moved to stop him.

The ground trembled, and the air seemed to bend. Lightning crackled from Trevor's fingertips, arcing toward the ground in a controlled explosion.

"Enough," Beatrice's voice rang out sharply. "This is not how we do things."

Trevor lowered his hand, the energy fading as quickly as it had appeared. He exhaled slowly, his gaze meeting Beatrice's with a silent apology. She held his gaze for a moment longer than usual before turning to the priestess and the guards, her voice steady but unwavering.

"This is over," she said, stepping forward. "You will cease this execution at once."

The priestess hesitated, clearly not accustomed to being defied, especially not by the princess herself. But the power in Beatrice's tone left little room for argument. She raised her staff again, but this time, she did so more reluctantly.

"You are fortunate, traitor," the priestess muttered under her breath. "This will not be the last time."

She turned and walked away, the guards reluctantly following her lead. The crowd, though still tense, slowly began to disperse.

Beatrice turned to the young man, her expression softening. "You're free, for now. Go. And make sure this never happens again."

As the young man hurried away, Trevor stayed rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the ground beneath him. The whispers in his mind had grown louder, sharper, more insistent. He could feel the pull of them, tugging at his consciousness.

"Trevor?" Beatrice's voice was quiet, hesitant.

He blinked and looked at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the mask of indifference faltered. The memory of the blood-soaked walls, the faces of his family members, and the sting of betrayal rose up unbidden.

His jaw tightened. "I'm fine."

Beatrice stepped closer, but she didn't touch him. "You're not fine," she said softly. "What happened to you… back there? You were using the Swordsaints technique? How?"

Trevor's gaze flicked to her, a brief flash of something in his eyes—regret, or maybe anger. "You're asking the wrong questions, Princess."

Beatrice frowned, but she didn't push him further. She could see it in his eyes—the pain that never fully faded, the weight of what he had lost.

"I'm not going to ask again," she said quietly, her voice firm but kind. "But know this—no matter what you carry with you, you're not alone in this."

Trevor didn't respond, but his gaze softened just a fraction before he turned away. He began walking back toward the village edge, where their horses awaited.

***

Back at the palace, Beatrice sought out her father. King Luthar, though he had made his decision on Trevor, had not expected this public confrontation. The execution had shaken the court.

Beatrice entered the throne room, her presence commanding the attention of those who were present. She walked toward her father, who was sitting at his desk, his fingers steepled in thought.

"Father," Beatrice began, her voice steady. "I stopped the execution. It was unjust."

King Luthar raised an eyebrow. "And you think you have the right to interfere?"

"He wasn't guilty of what they accused him of," Beatrice replied firmly. "And we should not be executing people without trial."

Luthar studied her for a moment, then sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I understand your intentions, Beatrice. But remember, your choices affect more than just the immediate situation. You've made a dangerous precedent today."

"I made the right choice," she said, her voice unwavering. "And if you won't support me, I'll do what's necessary to ensure justice is served."

Her father's gaze sharpened, but there was no anger in it—only a calculating wisdom. "Very well, then. But know this… as long as Trevor remains in our kingdom, you will be responsible for his actions."

Beatrice nodded, her eyes fierce. "I will."

As Beatrice left the throne room, Trevor's figure lingered in her mind. She couldn't deny that something had changed in him. Something darker, but something that could be harnessed.

And soon, she would have to decide just how far she was willing to go to uncover the truth about the man who had saved her life.