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Aras prayed. Not to any Gods, but to himself. He prayed that they wouldn't leave his rotting corpse out in the streets, so Rosabella wouldn't have to see it. He prayed she wouldn't cry. He prayed that he wouldn't either. Sense told him that his prayers would not be answered; the baying crowd around the platform were hungry. They were pushing up against the stage, yelling insults, scraping and scratching like bloodthirsty animals, salivating at the sight of him: a slab of fresh meat. It had been the same when they killed Arcelia Derise's child. A screaming, bloodied and still blue baby slain before the same pack of howling and screeching citizens. The bastard child was alive for no more than ten bare moments before Arcelia was clutching its dead body in her arms, drowning in her own tears. Aras prayed Rosabella wouldn't cry in the same way Arcelia cried. The sound was a painful wail that resonated for miles. The sound of a woman whose still throbbing heart was ripped out and fed to the beasts below.
When they had dragged him away from Rosabella in chains, she had screamed over the roars of the market crowd that she would come for him. She had promised, swearing she would die before she let her aunt have him. He knew she would, but not in the way he had originally thought. She had been wearing a white dress the last time he had seen her, a simple white gown, which felt like liquid to the touch. His fingers tingled at the thought as he could feel her in his hands once more, wide-eyed and radiant, smelling of musk and clean sheets, sprinkled with petals. At that moment, when they stood alone in the palace gardens, he believed she was an angel. She would come back for him; to take him away and lay him to rest.
“Move.” The rough voice and rougher hands of Voci pushed him forward, up the rickety steps of the platform. Aras, bound by the wrists and ankles, lost his balance and tumbled onto the stage, jaw smashing against the wood with a crack. Blood from his swollen tongue trickled from his lips; the crowd cheered, clawing at the scaffold. Aras coughed, forcing himself onto his knees and then his feet. Voci placed a cracked, dry hand on the back of his neck, his talons drawing blood. Aras was shuffled forward towards the centre of the stage. The crowds shrieked, pounding the unsteady planks of wood, making Aras' world sway. He looked out across the crowd. There were no familiar faces. Only the menacing smiles, with bare teeth and gleaming eyes, of the townspeople of Hale.
“The beast.”
Aras looked up, finding the person to which the voice belonged. Alleviated above the crowds on a marble balcony was Merelle Tullo. The Lady was leaning against the rail, claws encircling a glass of red, almost black, wine. She was alone, swirling the liquid in her glass as she smiled at him, showing her rat-like teeth. Aras watched as she scanned the crowds, making eye contact with Voci and nodding.
“What are you?” She asked, placing her glass on the rail and leaning forward. Aras looked away. “Well?” she repeated, raising her eyebrows so they almost disappeared into her blonde hairline. Aras ignored her gaze, choosing to study the sky. Give or take a few minutes, it would be the last time he saw it. It was grey and overcast, with rolling clouds creeping in slowly from the west. Aras felt Voci's hands on him again, craning his neck to face Merelle, who was now frowning.
“You are not helping yourself.” she said, shaking her head, eyes closed and head bowed for a second.
“You aren't worth my time.” Aras felt Voci's knuckles grind into the top of his spine, sending a lightening bolt of pain down his back. Merelle smiled, staring with half-closed eyes down at him. Aras returned the look despite the pain in his back. He tried to stand up straight, but Voci kicked him down.
“Good dog,” she pouted, clapping her hands together, rings and bangles clattering. “now's time for you to admit to your crimes.”
Aras chuckled, looking around the crowd. Merelle slammed a paw down on the marble, snarling, her eyes narrowed to his.
“I have done nothing wrong.”
Merelle growled. She grabbed the glass and threw it at the crowd, spraying the people with wine. They rocked the stage once more, their conversations now a roaring stampede that blocked out all other noise. Aras watched as Merelle disappeared, appearing at his side a moment later. Up close, he could see the twitching of her upper lip. She stamped up the steps and circled him, fists clenched at her side. She stalked in front of him, until Aras could hear her heavy breathing clearly over the riot below.
“You murdered my husband.”
“I've never heard of your husband!”
She slapped him, digging her nails into his cheek on impact. Aras bit his lip, his cheek throbbing as air reached the wound. Merelle smiled again, flicking her blonde mane over her shoulder.
“Kill him, his bitch will be next.”
Voci dragged Aras back, shoving him up against the back of the scaffold. A thick rope hit Aras in the face, blurring the world. Merelle stepped back and looked up in expectation, cheeks full and red as she gnawed on her bottom lip. The noose slipped around his neck, causing his heart to race, pushing the boundaries of it's flesh enclosure. Aras closed his eyes. He saw Rosabella, restrained by City soldiers, screaming and fighting against them as they dragged her away. Tears began to collect under his eyes. Voci tightened the rope.
“Make him suffer.” Merelle said.
Aras kept his eyes shut, the convulsions of the deafening crowd taking control of his body as he desperately tried to focus his mind. Rosabella's face dipped in and out of his thoughts, blurred and fractured until his stomach lurched, and he dropped.
