Author’s Note: Thank you for giving this book a chance. There are a few things you need to know before starting this story.
1. This is a story set in a completely fictional world with fictional characters in a historical setting. It is not a Regency story, so don’t expect it to be historically accurate!
2. It will contain some dark themes, including PTSD, depression, gore, abuse, assassinations, blackmail, and generally terrible things done by terrible people.
3. There will be political intrigue as well as smut. If these are what you like, then stick with me, you are in for a wild ride.
***
"Bring forth the condemned." The herald’s voice boomed across Execution Square with authority, cutting through the restless murmur of those gathered beneath the grey sky.
The crowd surged against the barricades. People craned their necks to get a better view of the proceedings. Some climbed onto barrels and carts. Others pushed children onto their shoulders determined that they would see history with their eyes.
It was not every day that the kingdom watched a traitor die. Heavy iron chains rattled as Cassandra was led into the square. The sound was loud but it was drained out by the deafening pounding of her heart. Each movement of her shackled wrists echoed ominously.
She did not stumble once, walking straight ahead with her head held high as though she still had an ounce of dignity left after all she had been through. Cassandra had already lost everything else that mattered, this was just the final nail in her coffin.
The plain ill-fitting, white gown issued to people who were to be executed hung loosely over her frame. Its hem was stained with mud from the prison yard. Her carefully maintained blonde hair had come loose days ago. Now it fell untidily over her shoulders.
A cold wind swept across the scaffold. It carried the scent of timber, smoke and petrichor. Rain was coming.
How fitting. Queen Delphine had always loved the rain. The thought arrived uninvited and Cassandra almost smiled.
Two guards guided her toward the center of the scaffold. They removed the chains from her ankles but the iron around her wrists remained.
She looked around. Execution Square was overflowing. Merchants, servants, soldiers and nobles were there. Even foreign ambassadors occupied the viewing gallery erected beside the scaffold. No one wished to miss the execution of the woman accused of murdering Arden’s Queen.
A shrill voice pierced the silence. "Murderer!"
Another followed. "Traitor!"
Then another. "You deserve to burn!"
The insults spread like wildfire. Soon multiple voices were shouting at once. Rotten vegetables struck the platform. An apple burst against one of the posts. Something wet splattered against the steps. Cassandra barely noticed it.
There had been a time when public scorn would have terrified her. Now, it was like their hatred was no longer directed at her. It was solely for the woman they believed she was.
She lowered herself onto her knees when instructed. The rough wood dug painfully into her skin but she welcomed the discomfort. It reminded her she was still alive. Only for a few moments longer.
A movement in the distance drew her attention. Rows of nobles, their expressions were solemn. Some looked uncomfortable. Others watched with disgust in their eyes. Among them stood men whom she had worked with closely in her time by the queen’s side. Women she had greeted at court every day. Councilors she had associated with for years. Not one of them met her eyes.
She couldn’t blame them. The evidence against her had been overwhelming. Meticulously assembled and impossible to dispute. She had prepared the Queens red dispatch box that Tuesday morning, just as she always had. Hours later Her Majesty collapsed in her study. Three days later she was dead.
The dispatch box had never left custody. Two people were permitted to handle it. One of those people was of course herself, Cassandra Ashford.
She slowly let her gaze drift across the gathered faces. She wasn’t looking for sympathy from any of them. She had since accepted none would be found here. She was searching for someone and her heartbeat quickened as she did so.
Where are you, she wondered as her eyes swept the crowd again. Slower this time.
Draven. Where are you? He should have been here. As Duke of Norham, one of the ranking peers in Arden, his absence was impossible to ignore.
She searched again. Nothing. The realization settled heavily inside her heart. He wasn’t coming. Perhaps he believed she had done it. Perhaps everyone did. A bitter laugh nearly escaped her. How strange. The thought hurt more than her looming death.
"Kind people of Arden!" The herald’s booming voice silenced the crowd once more. "By order of the High Court of Arden, the sentence passed this day upon the convicted traitor shall now be carried out."
The words struck something in her memory and the square momentarily disappeared from view as she was transported back to revisit one of her worst nightmares.
***
The great doors of the Throne Room opened with a groan. Chains scraped across the floor as Cassandra was led forward. Several eyes followed her. Peers of the kingdom, judges, members of the Privy Council, senior clergy and military commanders were there. Every great house of Arden had sent representatives.
At the end of the hall stood the dais. For the first time in nearly three decades, the throne stood empty. Its crimson velvet seat remained untouched. The golden crown resting upon the cushion beside it seemed unbearable to look at. Queen Delphine would never sit there again.
Prince Adrian stood beside the throne. His face had changed in the week since his mother’s death. The warm smiles that had always defined him had vanished beneath grief and exhaustion. He looked as if the past few days had aged him a decade.
He never once looked toward Cassandra. Whether he couldn’t or simply wouldn’t, she could not tell.
"My Lady." The calm voice drew every eye toward the center of the chamber. Lord Chancellor Thomas Fairmont rose from his seat and quickly unfolded a parchment bearing the royal seal. Years of presiding over Arden’s courts had given him a presence that was difficult to ignore. When he spoke, the entire hall listened.
"Lady Cassandra Ashford. You have stood trial before the High Court of Arden. You have heard the evidence presented against you. You have heard the testimony of witnesses. You have been afforded every right guaranteed under the laws of this kingdom." He paused and silence settled over the chamber. "This Court finds you guilty of High Treason against the Crown. Of facilitating the murder of Her Majesty Queen Delphine Everhart. Of betraying the trust placed in your office. Of conspiring against the peace and stability of the Kingdom of Arden."
Every sentence felt strangely distant. As though they were being directed at someone else entirely. Someone she had never known. She looked toward the ministers and nobles, esteemed members of the aristocracy. Not a single person defended her. Why would they, when every piece of evidence pointed to her. Even she would have convicted herself if she hadn’t known the truth.
"Lady Cassandra Ashford..." Lord Chancellor Fairmont’s voice remained placid. "For these crimes, you shall be put to death."
***
The memories of what happened in the throne room dissolved. Cassandra blinked to bring her mind back to the present. Her impending execution.
The executioner stepped onto the scaffold, a hood concealing his face as the herald lowered the written decree.
The crowd fell silent. No one jeered anymore as they all stood still and waited to witness Cassandra’s final fall from grace. They were practically vibrating with anticipation.
And there, amid the gathered crowd of people that had condemned her to this fate, stood the very man that had sworn to love and protect her for the rest of her days. John Ravenshire.
Her husband.
Their gazes met only briefly and the amused smirk on his lips was the first thing she noticed.
Watching her die, it pleased him immensely.
She was surrounded by a sea of people who stood against her and condemned her to death and yet in her darkest hour, the one person she had foolishly believed would be in her corner, was currently nowhere to be found.
Cassandra lifted her face toward the darkening sky. She did not think of herself at that moment. She did not think of John. She thought of a woman with silver-threaded hair who had once smiled at a grief-stricken little girl and said, "You will always have a place, beside me."
"I’m sorry..." Her voice barely rose above the roar of the wind. "I’m so sorry... Your Majesty."
The executioner raised his sword. The blade caught the grey light.
Then—
Darkness.