Page 113 of Reign

Though it was dark, Red’s fiery hair burned through the shadows like a torch. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, two knights restraining him on either side. As they dragged him forward to face his comrades, a cacophony of boos and profanity erupted. Soldiers hurled insults and even rotten food—but Red appeared unfazed by the barrage. His frantic eyes pierced through the drizzle, fixed on the gallows ahead, where the noose swayed in the breeze, awaiting him.

While the other men relished in vengeance, I felt nothing. It was as if I were dead inside, leaving only the desire to take Red’s place in the noose and end my misery.

Bash and Fletcher stood far from Finn and me, keeping their distance. Bash—his white hair plastered to his face—stared at the gallows. I silently prayed he’d sense my gaze and come over and tell me I was forgiven. But it wasn’t Bash who looked my way—it was Fletcher. He glowered at me, shaking his head in disappointment.

Red became ireful as Fitzroy appeared, tipping back the hood of his cloak to meet his eye. Wrestling against the knights’ grip, Red spat at him. The spittle didn’t bother Fitzroy, who swirled wine in his goblet and grinned in amusement.

“Any last words?” Fitzroy asked, calm and composed.

Raindrops rolled down his face as he waited for an answer.

“You bastard! Son of a whore!” Red bellowed, his fury flushing his face the color of his hair. “Wizards—the lot of you! May the gods smite you all!”

Fitzroy took a leisurely sip of wine, waiting for Red’s tirade to lose its steam.

“Are you quite done?” Fitzroy asked, feigning a yawn. “I’m growing tired of this. Let’s make haste with the hanging.”

It took four knights to drag Red onto the execution platform. He fought desperately as they placed the noose around his neck. Despite his resistance, when the trapdoor was released beneath him, there was no escape. The rope cut into Red’s throat, his legs kicking wildly, driven by vain instinct. But it wasn’t long before his convulsions stilled, and he hung motionless. I knew I should feel sadness, watching a man who I’d worked so closely with perish—but knowing he’d wanted to kill Bash stripped away any sorrow, leaving only certainty that he’d deserved his grim fate.

I looked toward Fitzroy, who watched on with an unsettling sense of serenity. He sipped his wine, a slight smile appearing as though he were enjoying a theatrical performance. As I studied him, I couldn’t help but wonder if insanity ran through the Belfour bloodline.

Fitzroy let out a satisfied sigh, reluctantly tearing his gaze from the gallows to address his men. “Let this serve as a warning to all. No infighting. No using the battlefield to settle petty disputes. We’re on the same side, fighting for Lyonesse—not against one another. Today, we proved our strength when united, pushing back the enemy. I’m proud of each of you.” His voice deepened as he gestured toward Red’s lifeless body. “Don’t disappoint me by acting like that heathen hanging over there.”

The soldiers nodded solemnly, murmuring their agreement.

Fitzroy exited swiftly, leaving his knights to handle Red’s swaying body. I ducked out of Finn’s embrace and hurried after him.

“My liege,” I called, quickening my pace.

He slowed so we could walk together back to his tent.

“Thank you for saving my life,” I said, looking up into the rainfall to meet his eye.

“You saved me once before—I owed you,” he replied, giving me an affirming pat on the back. “I’ve been thinking,” he continued, holding open the tent flap as I ducked inside.

“That’s never good news,” I quipped, unable to restrain myself from making a snide comment even in my misery.

Fitzroy forced a dry laugh. “I was dismissive of your previous suggestions—about finding courage and telling the men that magic isn’t our enemy—because I had no intention of staying in Lyonesse.”

He grabbed a linen sheet, tousling his drenched hair until it was only damp.

“Pardon?” I asked, thrown by his words.

“My personal plan was to flee back to Albion the moment my father dismissed me from my duties,” he admitted, offering me the sheet. I declined, wallowing in my discomfort. “I was going to change my name, hide with an ally, or even fake my own death. I wanted to leave behind all of Lyonesse’s problems. I wasn’t fighting for a better future—I was seeking a quick victory so I could leave.”

“That’s incredibly selfish,” I uttered tonelessly, knowing that if I wasn’t too numb to summon real anger, I’d be furious.

He nodded, regret appearing in his eyes. “I know. But I no longer want that. After our conversation about my mother, I realized how disappointed she’d be if she knew I’d fled when an opportunity to emancipate wizards arose. I hope she’s watching, wherever she may be, and I want to make her proud by doing what’s right.”

“And what’s that?”

“My father will never let magic exist comfortably in Lyonesse. He’ll never permit witches and wizards to live freely—it would mean going back on his word.” Fitzroy’s gaze lowered before he gestured toward my torso. “But today, we saw how magic can be a force for good. It can save lives.”

Instantly, I rested a hand on the part of my stomach where the arrow’s fletching had been only hours ago. Without magic, I’d be dead.

“I only have hazy memories of Regina from my childhood, so I cannot recall if she’s truly hysterical,” Fitzroy continued. “But one thing I do know, my father’s a liar, especially when falsehoods make him more favorable.”

My brow furrowed in confusion, wondering why he cared about Regina’s true mental state.