My face remains stoic. My head held high. If I must die, at least I died for my Kingdom. I can hear the people of Brookside cheering for my demise. I can't blame them, I have probably slain their fathers or brothers in battle. The guard pushes me up the wooden steps to the gibbet. I take a deep breath, close my eyes. Pray. When I open my eyes it's cause I can feel the hesitation. Turning my head I look to the Kings throne and a woman seems to be pleading a case. My case. My face remains cold.
Comments
0No comments yet.