Chapter 253: The Judgment of the Red Rose
The bronze doors of the throne room slammed shut with a mournful echo. The military expedition had returned to the kingdom, not in triumph, but as a shattered remnant of what was once the crown’s greatest pride.
In the center of the hall, upon the cold marble floor, lay General-Adjutant Valerius and the young iron-masked auditor on their knees. Both were bound at their hands and feet with cold-iron shackles, their haggard faces and dented armor bearing the price of failure.
Flanking the royal dais stood the capital’s high assembly: the royal family members, the rigid Council of Elders, the four Supreme Generals, and presiding over the guard, the Grand General with arms crossed and an unreadable gaze.
Pacing between the prisoners in the center of the hall, setting the rhythm of their agony, was a striking figure.
She was a woman clad in a tight leather outfit studded with silver spikes that accentuated her voluptuous curves. Any man in the realm would lose his breath at such beauty, were it not for the detail that struck terror into the hearts of nobles and warriors alike: in her right hand, she held a braided whip tipped with metal barbs thirsty for flesh.
She was Beatrix Le Croix.
Known as The Rose with Thorns, she held the title of the King’s Chief Executioner. Her political and military authority stood second only to the monarch himself; she possessed the right to apprehend anyone under the charge of treason, forcing any suspect into complete submission. In the capital, an unwritten proverb echoed: any sane man would choose death over spending a single night alone with her.
SNAP!
Beatrix cracked the whip against the marble floor, striking sparks and shattering the hall’s silence.
"Three thousand elite legionnaires reduced to ash... and two Royal Auditors slaughtered like cattle," purred Beatrix in a soft, melodic tone, her fingers tracing the barbs of her whip. "Tell me, my dear condemned ones... how are you going to explain such disgrace to His Majesty?"
Neither of the two accused uttered a word. They were not foolish; they knew full well that Beatrix Le Croix was not seeking an explanation, but rather the slightest excuse or hesitation to begin her spectacle.
"Come now... my dear Val," purred Beatrix with a smile, approaching until she stood before the general-adjutant. She reached out a black leather-gloved hand and stroked his chin with sweetness. "Tell His Majesty what you told me earlier... He is waiting for your answer."
Valerius kept his gaze locked on the marble tiles, clenching his jaws in silence.
SNAP-CRACK!
The whistle sliced through the air and the whip’s impact echoed across the hall, tearing through the dented armor and ripping a strip of skin and flesh clean off his back. The metal barbs of the weapon were stained red. Valerius merely ground his teeth in rage as his eyes filled with bloodshot veins, letting out a low snort through his nose.
"Ah... how I love the men of our kingdom," mused Beatrix, letting out a melodic chuckle as she licked the leather trim of her glove. "That’s how they should be: strong, brave, fierce... Pity they are far too stupid."
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
A rapid succession of whip strikes shredded the general’s flesh, tearing away layers of skin until exposed muscle glistened in a bath of blood. Valerius endured without letting out a scream, bearing the agony with resolve.
Just as Beatrix drew back her arm for another strike, a weathered hand radiating a suffocating aura rose from the royal throne.
"Enough, Beatrix," commanded the King in a deep voice that froze the air in the hall.
The executioner stopped, giving an elegant bow before taking two steps back with a smirk.
The King leaned his body forward, locking his eyes onto the bloodied commander.
"General-Adjutant Valerius... I gave you a task: bring me the weapons my son witnessed in that territory. Yet all I received was one of my elite armies completely annihilated," declared the monarch, his voice booming like distant thunder. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
Valerius raised his head. Despite the pain scorching his back and the blood dripping onto the marble floor, his voice resounded low and unwavering:
"I accept full responsibility for the defeat, Your Majesty. It was my negligence, my lack of foresight on the battlefield, and my incompetence as a commander that led to the legion’s annihilation. I deserve whatever punishment the crown deems fit to impose upon me."
He was not going to throw Prince Caelen or his royal advisor under the bus. He was not going to shout in the middle of the hall that the intelligence reports gathered by the capital were trash, riddled with errors and underestimates regarding the shaman’s true power.
Valerius knew full well how the court functioned. Prince Caelen had been granted command of such a military and merchant caravan not because of brilliant tactical skill or prowess, but simply because he was His Majesty’s favorite. Among all the royal siblings, Caelen alone held such a massive pool of resources under his command.
A few paces away, Prince Caelen clenched his hands inside his silk sleeves, exhaling a held breath. In the deepest corners of his heart, he felt gratitude toward the general’s silence.
Caelen’s standing in court was nowhere near as secure as outside nobles believed. His brothers and sisters sought their father’s favor day in and day out, lurking for any misstep to strip him of his status; the struggle for the throne was fierce and merciless. Publicly disgracing his father’s name or being exposed as the incompetent fool behind the slaughter would have eliminated him from the line of succession. By taking the full blow and standing firm, Valerius appeared before the prince in a new light: that of a true pillar of loyalty.
Beatrix let out a chuckle, running her tongue over the edges of her crimson-painted lips as she observed the battered general’s expression.
"How charming... What a loyal dog you have acquired, Caelen," purred the executioner, mockingly tilting her head toward the prince before spinning toward the silent figure beside him. "But tell us... Count Gideon, do you share the exact same opinion as the general-adjutant?"