Loyalty or Death

Outside the estate, the rounded-up nobles were filed in a row, their faces pale and drenched in anxiety as they stood under the watchful eyes of the Elysean soldiers. The night was eerily silent, broken only by the occasional shuffle of boots and the nervous murmurs of the accused.

Prince Bruno de Elysea emerged from the estate's grand entrance, flanked by his advisors and guards. The cold moonlight illuminated his stern expression, and his high-collared coat seemed to gleam with an almost otherworldly authority. He strode forward with purpose, stopping a few paces in front of the assembled nobles.

"Lords and ladies of Corse," Bruno began, his voice steady and devoid of warmth. "You stand accused of treason against the crown—a crime that strikes at the very heart of our kingdom's unity and prosperity."

The accused nobles exchanged panicked glances, some trembling, others stiff with defiance. None dared to interrupt.

"Treason," Bruno continued, his piercing gaze sweeping over them, "is not merely an offense against the ruler. It is an offense against every loyal subject of Elysea. It is a betrayal of the trust placed in you as stewards of your lands and titles."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before delivering the blow. "The penalty for treason in the Kingdom of Elysea is death by firing squad. Furthermore, all properties, estates, and titles of the guilty will be confiscated by the crown."

A collective gasp rippled through the line of nobles. Some stumbled backward, their faces contorted with fear and disbelief.

"No!" Lord Marcel cried, his voice trembling. "This cannot be! I have served the two kingdoms faithfully—this is a mistake!"

Baroness Elodie fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Your Highness! Have mercy! My family… my children… they depend on me!"

Others joined in the chorus of desperation, their voices rising in a cacophony of pleas.

"Your Highness, I beg you!" Lady Sabine sobbed, her hands clasped together. "Spare us, and we will dedicate our lives to your cause!"

"Silence!" Bruno's voice cut through their cries like a blade. The guards banged their musket stocks on the ground in unison, enforcing the prince's command. The pleas died away, replaced by muffled sobs and strained breathing.

Bruno's gaze hardened as he looked down the line of condemned nobles. "You had your chance to stand with the crown, to support the reforms that would strengthen Corse and Elysea alike. Instead, you chose to conspire, to scheme, to betray. And now, you face the consequences of that choice."

His tone was icy, unyielding, as he turned to the commanding officer of the soldiers. "Carry out the sentence."

The officer snapped to attention and saluted. "Yes, Your Highness."

The nobles erupted in a final, desperate chorus of protests. Lord Bertram struggled against his captors, shouting incoherently. Lady Genevieve, who had maintained a veneer of composure, finally cracked, screaming, 

"You can't do this, Your Highness! You will answer for this injustice!"

Bruno did not acknowledge her outburst. His expression remained impassive as he watched the soldiers prepare their rifles. The condemned were forced to their knees, their hands bound behind their backs.

As the soldiers formed their firing line, the officer raised his sword, signaling his men to take aim.

The nobles' pleas grew quieter, some resigning themselves to their fate, others still muttering prayers or curses under their breath.

The officer's sword dropped.

The night exploded with the deafening crack of musket fire, and the nobles fell, their voices silenced.

Inside the estate, the muffled echo of musket fire reverberated through the grand hall, halting the quiet conversations among the remaining nobles. Their faces turned pale, their expressions shifting from discomfort to outright terror. Though none had seen the executions, the sound alone carried the weight of finality, leaving no doubt about the fate of those taken outside.

A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the faint clink of a wine glass as someone's trembling hand accidentally knocked it over. The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, many averting their eyes from each other as if any show of solidarity might mark them next for judgment.

Prince Bruno re-entered the hall moments later, his boots echoing against the marble floor. The nobles instinctively turned to him, others had fearful expressions on their faces while some had a forced deference expression.

Then—seconds later—there was a shout from one of the nobles.

"Long live the Prince! Long live Elysea!" 

The shout echoed through the grand hall like a spark igniting dry tinder. The noble who cried out—a trembling man with sweat streaking his pale face—raised his glass in a shaky toast. His voice was uneven but loud enough to carry, desperate in its tone.

"Long live the Prince! Long live Elysea!"

The hall fell into a tense silence, the nobles frozen as they weighed their options. Bruno's icy gaze swept over the room, silently daring anyone to challenge the proclamation. The fear was palpable, an oppressive force pressing down on every soul present.

Then, a second voice joined in, a younger noble seated near the back. "Long live Prince Bruno!" His cry was more resolute, though it carried the same undertone of fear.

One by one, the others followed suit, their voices rising in an unsteady chorus:

"Long live the Prince!"

"Long live Elysea!"

"Glory to the crown!"

The nobles stood, raising their glasses in forced unity, their fear evident in their trembling hands and darting eyes. They chanted louder, their voices growing stronger not out of conviction but from the sheer terror of being the only one silent. To abstain was to risk drawing Bruno's attention—and potentially sharing the fate of those who had been taken outside.

Bruno stood motionless, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. He let the chant continue, the nobles' voices growing more fervent as they sought to outdo one another in displays of loyalty.

When he finally raised a gloved hand, the hall fell silent once more, the nobles' voices tapering off into a nervous hush. His gaze lingered on them, his silence drawing out the tension until it was almost unbearable.

"Your loyalty is noted," Bruno said at last. "But words alone will not ensure the prosperity of this kingdom. Loyalty must be demonstrated through action. Remember this."

He allowed his words to sink in, the nobles nodding quickly, eager to show their compliance. Their fear had transformed into a desperate scramble for self-preservation, and Bruno knew it.

Turning to his Chief of Staff, Antoine, he whispered.

"Continue the banquet, tomorrow we will reorganize the island's administrative system."

"Yes Your Highness."