The lamb for slaughter

The absence of the sun forced Ryul to merely guess at how long he’d been left beneath the castle. It could not have been more than a few weeks, but time dragged, stretched, warped into something unrecognisable in the dark and made him doubt his own judgment. He had not eaten in perhaps a few days, had not known the comfort of warmth since it had rained and the water had seeped from above to form a thin layer on the stone beneath him, and his wrists stung where the iron manacles had rubbed against skin.

Chains scraped against the floor, the links clinking as Ryul cupped his hands before his face and blew into them, hoping to revitalise them with some semblance of warmth. His foot slid in the water as he sat, sending ripples across to the bars opposite him, where the dim flickering of a dying torch lit the thin corridor. How quickly things had changed.

One moment Ryul had been laying on the soft mattress of his bed, warm beneath the blankets they’d piled over themselves, studying Eldrin’s face in the waning light of a dying candle, and the next he had been dragged from bed and escorted by guards, clad in the latest set of armour given to them by their new king, to the cell he was now condemned to. He’d been foolish to believe he was safe. He should’ve known better than to cave to the desires gnawing at his heart, should have seen the dangers of getting too close a mile off, but it was too late now, the dagger had already found its mark.

He closed his eyes, casting his mind back to the nights he and Eldrin had spent on the run together; to the tavern where they’d met an elderly woman who moved with the grace of someone far younger. She’d regaled them with tales of a land she’d dubbed “the wilds”, a gleam in her eyes as she spoke of a place filled with untamed magic, and the inhabitants who’d fled there to escape from various kings.

At the end of the evening, she’d offered them two necklaces, both with pendants of sea-green leaves hanging from them. When Ryul had questioned her as to why, and what her price was, she’d smiled and shaken her head, telling him that she simply believed they would be useful to him. Ryul had worn one of those necklaces every day until the rebellion had won, clinging to the stories of a land where he wouldn’t have to fight and die under a king who didn’t care for him.

The soft jingle of keys almost came as a relief to Ryul as guards approached, casting several shadows on the wall before his cell. There were four of them, clad in red, hiding their faces beneath silver helmets covered in carefully engraved patterns of flowers and vines, details that were echoed along the edges of their breastplates. Ryul had been a general for the previous king long enough to recognise when they were dressed for celebration.

He stood as they unlocked the door, jaw set as two stepped inside to free him from his chains simply to replace them with new ones. Neither looked at him directly, their heads always turned slightly to his left or right, determinedly avoiding him whenever he shifted just into their view. Cowards, he thought, but he didn’t blame them. It was easier for them this way; to condemn a friend to death and forget they’d ever known him.

They lead him through the narrow passageways, all four pressing close around him, shields raised as they marched forwards. He grimaced as his wet trousers suctioned to the back of his knees and left a trail of painfully obvious puddles and droplets for the guards to walk through. Their shields brushed against his back, breaths echoing off the walls around them as they headed towards the stairs to the main castle.

He was about ready to bolt up those stairs when they stopped just a few feet from the door leading upwards, and instead turned into a far more spacious room. Laid out before him, was a feast fit for a king; a large loaf of bread had been set on a plate in the centre of a table, with bowls of meats, fruits, vegetables and dips arranged around it, fresh and prepared properly by the castle’s cook.

The smell of it all made his mouth water and, having given up on retaining dignity a long time ago, he surged forwards before the guards could tell him if he was allowed to eat or not. He tore chunks of bread free, piling spreads and fruits and meat onto the same piece before stuffing it into his mouth, trying to get as much in him before anyone took it away.

When no one moved to stop him, he slowed, savouring the tastes of each food as he ate them, better organising how he should eat each. The dips and meats he paired together with the bread, washing them down with some water before he moved to pick a handful of grapes and allow the sweetness of the fruits to burst on his tongue.

Once he’d had his fill, the door behind him groaned open once more, and in shuffled a few servants. He recognised Ena, a maid with shoulder-length pin-straight but poorly maintained blonde hair, who’d tended to him before Ryul had been thrown into a cell, and tried to catch her gaze. She averted her green eyes as a different servant gestured for him to stand. What was the story the people had been told about him?

Ryul supposed he’d never know its entirety, though he assumed he was being made a scapegoat for the rebellion against the old king, after all the new king could not take responsibility himself. Had this always been the plan? To let him take the fall for the rebellion? How long had Ryul followed blindly, unaware that this new king would shepherd him to his death?

Once he was dressed suitably and had handcuffs re-locked around his wrists, Ena stepped forwards, a necklace in her hands. He bowed his head, allowing her to slip it on, and she straightened the necklace so the pendant rested perfectly central on his chest.

‘The King insisted,’ she murmured, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his.

Ryul frowned, dark brows coming together as he tried to examine the pendant through the darkness. He tore his gaze from it when the guards seized his arms and turned him back towards the door, the maids following. They would all be there to watch the events of today, receiving the message the new king wanted to send; that it was Ryul who was responsible for the crimes of the rebellion.

His limbs were heavy as he climbed the stairs, the darkness melting away, the orange glow of torches replaced by the golden light of the early morning sun peeking over the horizon and in through windows. He paused as he arrived on the final stair, eyes locked to the window facing the sea.

The ground gave way to sheer cliffs just inches from the window, the sun skimmed the surface of the deep blue water, glimpses of true gold burned into his mind as he stared, momentarily forgetting the important celebration they had to attend. The sky hadn’t quite turned blue, the last remnants of the pale orange and yellow skies beginning to fade. Early morning had always been his favourite time of the day.

He was jolted back to the present by a guard shoving him forwards into the high-ceilinged corridor, and forced himself to continue to walk, tearing himself away from the comfort of the tame sea. Ryul had never appreciated the wide corridors of the castle until now, when he’d escaped the claustrophobic tunnels of the dungeons beneath it. He breathed deeply; the air was less stale up here, and he would savour every gasp of it he could get.

Now in the light, Ryul returned to studying the necklace as he followed the guards in front of him. Hanging from the chain was a thin, sea-green leaf. A cruel taunt, a reminder of the freedom Ryul had craved, now to be ripped from him forever. He lifted his chin, determined to face his fate proudly and without fear.

They did not arrive at the usual spot for these types of occasions, rather, the guards brought Ryul to a lush stretch of land, where a makeshift stadium had been built. There was a clamour of voices emanating from the crowds gathered, vendors yelling to attract customers, and distantly, the churning of the sea as it crashed against the cliffs.

The wind swept across the cliff top, ruffled through his recently combed hair and tossed the strands of hair carelessly about just as it did to the grass he walked over. This had always been his favourite spot near the castle; he’d taken Eldrin here once to go star gazing, and they’d talked of the future, whispered love confessions, and laughed like there was nothing in the world left to worry about.

The guards paused before the entrance to the stadium, and Ryul strained to hear as an announcer called for quiet. The crowd reduced their boisterous chatter to whispers, and steady drum-beats rose to replace their voices. This was it, then; the last minutes of life he had remaining.

They marched forwards, and Ryul kept his head high, walking with steady confidence towards the platform in the centre of the stadium, acknowledging the executioner awaiting him. When the executioner refused to meet his eyes, Ryul could have screamed, could have grabbed the man by the shirt and shaken him, yelling coward just to make someone see him in his final moments.

He turned towards the platform that housed the throne, where the king and the nobles had gathered to watch. Eldrin sat atop his throne at the front of the platform, his dark curls swaying in the wind, the sun illuminating his face as he looked down upon Ryul. Eldrin did not turn away as Ryul met his gaze, instead staring back with cool determination, face cold, betraying no emotions.

The crown didn’t quite suit him; it sat at an angle on his head, the jewels studded into the gold glittering in the early-morning sun, seeking to absorb all his attention. Eldrin lifted a hand to fiddle with the necklace he wore - the counterpart to the one Ryul had on - and his eyes briefly darted to the sea-green leaf hanging around Ryul’s own neck.

‘Your Majesty,’ Ryul said, voice rough as he dipped into an exaggerated bow.

The executioner nudged him forwards, to kneel before the block, and Ryul obeyed, sinking to his knees before Eldrin, accepting his role in preserving his love’s life. His eyes closed once more, fingers curling around the leaf pendant as the axe was raised, imagining himself escaping to “the wilds”, a gentle comfort to sooth the burns of reality.

And so the axe fell.

. . .

Today was the day Ryul was to die, but the stadium was already buzzing with life. Eldrin had been sat perfectly still on the throne for the past hour while the audience had filtered in, scanning the grinning faces that surrounded him. The makeshift stadium had tall wooden beams secured into the ground at intervals with garish bunting pinned to each, the squares of colour alternating between vibrant greens and yellows that wrapped around the entire internal stadium.

Nails began to dig into his shoulder through his shirt, drawing his attention back to the stand he himself was seated on. Lady Vaynore loomed over him, her curly brown hair carefully pinned off her face, highlighting the sharpness of her features and the cruel curve of her mouth as she looked down at him.

She didn’t speak, didn’t need to, her eyes turning to the crowd gathered for the celebration today. Eldrin spotted a vendor selling selections of blue and pink flowers weaving their way through the crowd, offering bunches to anyone who would accept them. Children sat on the laps of their parents, eyes still heavy from their early rise this morning, but excited by the treats handed to them in small paper bags, oblivious to the occasion they were attending.

Perhaps in some other life they’d all be gathered to see Eldrin marry the man who’d been by his side through the entirety of the civil war he’d waged against his own father, but it was not to be in this life. Instead they sat, eager to mark the official end to the civil war with death. Ryul’s death. It was funny, in hindsight, that Eldrin had ever believed being king could free him, when now he knew he would always remain a slave to someone else. Power seemed to have a way of staying the same, no matter which face it wears.

He’d done what he could, though, and only hoped Ena had delivered the necklace with its sea-green leaf pendant as he’d asked. It was out of his hands, and the best he could manage with Lady Vaynore breathing down his neck, the fate of Ryul left in the hands of a blonde maid and that strange old women they’d met once in a tavern and whatever magic she may have possessed.

The distant crashing of waves against the nearby cliffs drew Eldrin’s gaze to the sky. Traces of the pale yellow of dawn still remained, fading into the blue of the sky above them where white, fluffy clouds floated with the wind. Dawn had always been Ryul’s favourite time of day, so it had felt only right to send him off to one final sunrise over Tinad.

Whispers arose from the nobles gathered behind him drawing Eldrin back into the present, and, after a moment, Lady Vaynore squeezed his shoulder just a little too hard, and retreated to her seat. Saelihn Lucan - the announcer for this so-called celebration - stepped forwards from her stand, voice cutting across the hubbub. Ryul was here.

The hush that followed as the drums began to sound had Eldrin shift forwards in his throne, straining for a glimpse at Ryul. He was painfully aware of the crowd doing something similar, all eyes fixated on the man that stepped forwards, surrounded by four guards.

He had clearly been recently tended to; given his fill of food, hair combed, new clothes fitted especially, but one hour of kindness didn’t erase the month he’d spent in the cells beneath the castle. His previously rich dark brown skin had been washed out from the loss of sunlight, his ceremonial armour, seemed to weigh on his limbs, his feet dragging in the dirt, and dark bags had formed under his eyes. This was not the man that Eldrin remembered so clearly in his mind.

Eldrin wished he could return to their final night together, to the moment before he made his decision and caved to Lady Vaynore’s will, wished he could sit out on the balcony under the stars with Ryul for the rest of eternity and forget the gruesome reality they lived in, but he’d made his decision. Eldrin had known the moment he’d met Ryul’s eyes as the guards dragged him from the room; there was no turning back. So, he’d spent every day and every night since convincing himself that he could endure Ryul’s hatred if only it meant survival.

Ryul stepped up onto the stage at the centre of the stadium, his dark eyes turned on the executioner, and for a moment Eldrin forgot it was Ryul stepping up to his death. The audience remained deathly silent as a man with an axe cast his eyes to the floor before a man in handcuffs, afraid to recognise the old general for who he truly was.

Had Ena managed to get the necklace to him? Yes, he thought as Ryul turned towards Eldrin and the pendant caught the sunlight. Eldrin refused to look away as Ryul stared him down, drinking in every ounce of the fury blazing in his beloved’s eyes. His fingers brushed the pendant of the necklace he wore, reminding himself that could endure being hated if it meant Ryul would live. After all, being hated was hardly the worst fate there was.

‘Your Majesty,’ Ryul said, voice hoarse, a slanted grin on his face as he dipped low into a mocking bow.

Eldrin’s eyes didn’t stray from Ryul at the outraged murmurs of the nobles behind him, too fixated on committing every inch of Ryul to memory. The executioner stepped forwards, and Ryul straightened, taking a few small steps further forwards, towards the block set up on the stage. Eldrin’s heart thudded in his chest as Ryul sank to his knees, accepting his fate as the sacrifice that had to be made.

It would have to work. One of Ryul’s hands clasped the pendant hanging from his neck as the executioner raised his axe. Eldrin touched a hand to his matching necklace, wishing for a miracle, proof that he hadn’t vainly place his hopes in an old fairytale told by an elderly woman to dupe customers.

And Ryul was gone before the axe fell.