One Last Time

“One Last Time”

She gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and tried to steady her hands.

“One last time,” she whispered to herself, “One. Last. Time.”

She closed her eyes, summoned up all the inner-strength she could and pushed away from the sink. She walked out of the elegant bathroom and into the expansive bedroom – sorry, ‘royal bedchamber’.

Seriously, how did she end up here?

She walked up to the ornate full-length mirror, that was a bit over that top and overly expensive for her taste, and checked herself for any undignified flaws. She pulled the long, luxurious ribbon of velvet to call Hemsworth to her aide. As usual, he was at the door almost immediately. After being given the instruction, Hemsworth entered and looked at the newly-crowned, unprepared but totally capable queen.

“I believe it is time, Hemsworth. Please prepare to announce my arrival. Thank you.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Hemsworth made a slight bow before excusing himself. Moments later, her handmaidens arrived to escort her. Isabella felt like she was walking to execution. But she knew she had no right to feel that way.

She could hear the crowds raging outside. Her people now. Her first four public appearances (not including her coronation) as their Queen and sole ruler, had made many hate her, and many more believe she would be the same tyrannical and merciless ruler that her late husband had been. Nothing could be further from the truth. So much of what her people believed of her was false. She hoped one day to rectify some of the more damning falsehoods.

As they drew nearer to the grand doorway that would lead out of the castle and into the courtyard, Isabella’s resolve tried to falter, the thought of what she had to do made her feel nauseated, like it had the other four times. But she had to do it. One last time.

They stopped behind the doorway, draped in luxurious velvet so that no-one would see her before they should.

“Announcing the arrival of her royal highness, Queen Isabella of Rosehill.” Hemsworth’s silenced the crowd. He always had such a presence.

Holding her head up and trying to emit a regal air of grace and poise, Queen Isabella exited the safety of the castle walls. Taking a deep breath, and with a heavy heart, she addressed the crowd, while trying desperately to keep her eyes off the platform at the centre of the courtyard.

“As you know, before my husband, your late King, left this world, he passed sentence on five members of this Kingdom, and decreed that they should be carried out, even in the event of his death. As his successor to the thrown, it has fallen to me to ensue the five men’s crimes do not go unpunished. Four have already paid the price, today the fifth shall complete the late King Fallon’s royal orders. Bring out the prisoner.”

At her words, six royal guards marched out of the tunnel leading to the dungeons, with a young man pinned in the middle of them. At twenty-one, Marcus was the youngest of the men sentenced by King Fallon, and the boy barely looked to be out of his teens.  Isabella knew that her first act as queen could not be to dishonour the King’s last. How she wished she could undo what that brute had set in motion.

Isabella heard a mother’s wail as Marcus was dragged onto the platform and was forced to kneel before a large stone and facing his queen.

Isabella swallowed the bile rising in her throat. One last time.

“If the prisoner has any final words, let him speak them now.” Isabella knew she had to stick to protocol one-hundred percent.

Marcus looked at the queen dead in the eye:

“The fate of King Fallon the Brute shall be the fate of any ruler who treats their people as he did.” Marcus then put his head on the stone, his neck exposed, refusing to show any fear or weakness, and waited for the sword to fall.

It was a threat, one that Isabella knew was not hollow. Five had failed to kill the brute king and many more would try if the queen followed in his ways. The threat was also not necessary. Her people believed that the five men caught making an attempt on King Fallon’s live had somehow still succeeded. It needed to stay that way, for the good of the kingdom.

Isabella gave the nod and the executioner’s sword was swung. Isabella fought back the urge to retch. It was done. Once last time.

The crowd went into an uproar.

“Now hear your queen.” Her voice rang out above the noise. So much stronger and more sure than it had been while following King Fallon’s orders.

“These men were guilty of treason in its most severe form, and were therefore sentenced to death. They were, however, given no chance to defend themselves. This will no longer be the practice of this kingdom. My people will be treated fairly. If suspected of a crime they will be given a trial and will not be sentenced until proven guilty. The sentence of death will be given only for the severest of crimes. The dungeons will hold the perpetrators of lesser crimes. This has been decreed by your Queen and ruler, so shall it be.”

The crown was silent as it sank in. The queen was merciful, she was fair. She would not rule as her husband had before her.

Isabella retreated to the castle as her people dispersed, and a broken body was wheeled towards the graveyard, flanked by his grieving mother.

None of them would ever know what their new queen had done for her kingdom and her people.