The empty unkept land ran away from his sight as the blood leaked from his body. All for what was so plainly abundant around him. Lunacy, madness and greed, all his, of course. And his bride said it would be his doom. At least not her’s. He would sigh in relief at that, but those parts of his body don’t work anymore.
And even as he dies, he knows there is not a single thing he would do differently.
He feels his murderer’s heel kick him over.
“It’s the King!” the piece of rabble yells.
A cheer, a goddamn cheer, rises from the surrounding soldiers as their steels clash with what remains of his defense. And he realizes he is dying. Regardless of this youth’s intent, there’s cold lifeless flesh where he once felt warmth and more. The nothing spreads like a deep icy grip wrapping itself around him slowly. And he knows nothing can be done. Yet his mind still tries. God, please don’t let me die.
“Your highness, shall you know the name of your Assassin?” his killer’s black teeth are revealed by a mud-coated face cracked with a smile. He can see blue eyes stained by war and destruction and wisps of blond hair that fall from under a youth’s cloth cap. In his hand is a dagger with a ruby-encrusted hilt. It’s a royal weapon. He knows it as the one he gave his queen.
“Please…” he tries. He really does. He tries to not make this his last word, but can’t. And even as the boy and his lads mock him for begging, his gaze shifts back to the lands that once could have been his, and thinks, Goddaman it, as he dies.
Sue Vincent #photowrite
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