The Heir of Red and White

Chapter Thirty-Two: Greyson

I had never witnessed a crowd so thirsty for blood.

Women, men, and even children roared in the stands, their swears and shout molding together into a symphony of rage and vengeance. The nobles had demanded every worker in a thirty-mile radius attend the execution, and although it hadn't been said aloud, every vermin knew that those who dared to oppose Leanne's execution would join her on the gallows. And it was that fear that drove the vermin, even those who did not wish for Leanne's death, to taunt her as if she were truly a traitor.

Beyond the stands, in the center of the square, were the carriages, where the Elite and upper-class Moderates sat in luxury, waiting to watch as the woman they had sentenced to death was strung up several feet above them. I stood somewhere in the middle, not quite part of the stands, but not amongst the carriages, seated in a row of chairs placed a few feet behind the nobles.

Despite what I had told Leanne, I would never forgive myself if I missed her final moments, and there was no better disguise for such a situation than that of the pianist.

Every moment I sat there, my blood sizzled in my veins, charring me from the inside out, but any grimace I made, or sour expression I wore would be explained away as mere aristocratic contempt. And I needed the security the disguise gave me. Or else I'd do something I would regret.

While I sat there, my lips pressed into a narrow line, the people around me continued to chant and cheer, egging on the executioner —a woman dressed in the usual dark garments of the Royal Guard—while simultaneously demanding to see the traitor that had killed the queen.

The country was angry at the nobility, at the world, and each other, and while I knew Leanna was committed to her path, a part of me had hoped that she would find a way out. That she would not have to be the scapegoat Duchess Azure wished her to be.

That hope quickly crumpled to dust when she was hauled onto the stage.

She looked better than she had yesterday. Her hair was swept behind her, and her stark white garments were free of any soils or stains. Her face had been stitched up and the bruises had been covered, but even from a distance I could see the A they had carved into her neck, and the anger crackling in my veins turned to liquid fire. I clutched the arms of my chair and inhaled several shaky breaths in an attempt to calm the darkness stirring in its cage. I knew nothing good would come from such emotions.

Leanne had made her choice, and I had made mine.

I was here, despite my spiteful words, to be with Leanne in her last moments. But even the thought of her facing this alone, of my anger making matters worse, could not quell the brimming hatred wreaking havoc in my gut. The darkness had awakened, writhing just beneath the surface, and as I watched Leanne be dragged toward the long, wheat-colored rope hanging in the center of the stage, the normal measures I took to abate it ceased to work.

While I raged within myself, two royal guards joined the other on stage, caging Leanne in on all sides, despite the shackles that already clung to her hands and feet. The woman who stood behind her retrieved the hanging rope and wrapped it around her neck. Her hands were swift as she tied the final knot—sealing her fate.

Leanne didn't even flinch as the guards worked around her and the crowd swore and spat at her. She kept her head bowed and her arms before her, as they walked her to the edge of the platform, and even when she lifted her eyes to the crowd, there was no regret or fear. Just sheer determination.

The venom was now like acid in my gut, and despite my intention to remain invisible, I couldn't help but stand when she found me in the crowd. Thankfully, several other aristocrats had chosen to do the same. But while they had done it to mock her, all I wanted was for her to know that there was a friendly face in the hoard of monsters demanding her death.

"Leanne Smith, lead insurgent of the White Rosemen. You have been found guilty of the assassination of Queen Alicia Rosario, and the murder of Duchess Julie Marigold, and her associate Matthew Stevens. For your crimes, and to appease the families of those you have taken from this world, you have been sentenced to death," the executioner stepped forward and glanced at the crowd, "if any of you object to this punishment, speak now, or forever hold your tongue."

From the moment she spoke the words, I knew it was a trap. The executioner was trying to find whatever remnants of the White Rosemen, and if anyone dared object, they would be killed too. The crowd went silent for the first time since Leanne had been brought on stage, and even the aristocrats beside me stirred anxiously.

Although I suspected no one in the rebellion would be foolish enough to step forward, I found myself glancing around, wondering if anyone was brave enough to do what I could not. And, almost as if fate had preordained it to happen, my eyes locked onto a familiar green gaze.

Patrick stood at the edge of the stands in the same disguise he had worn when he had cornered me in the library. His dark hair was concealed by a brown cap, and his hands clutched the wooden perimeter of the stands so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Still, his expression remained impassive, and although his body was ramrod straight like he could unravel at any moment, his gaze was cold when it met mine.

A million words passed between us, but, despite my fury, at the injustice Leanne was experiencing, I at least had the comfort of the knowledge that this had been her choice. She had every opportunity to run, but she had chosen to sacrifice herself for her daughter. And there was nothing I, or anyone else, could do about it.

But Patrick disagreed.

He had reminded me several times of the power my position in court had afforded me. And he didn't have to say the words aloud for me to comprehend his intent. He couldn't stop the execution any more than I could, nor was he as close to the royals as I was. He wanted me to take my revenge for Leanne, and for just a moment, I imagined doing so. It would be easy to join the White Thorn, and considering my position and status, I could do more than just help the vermin.

I would bring them justice.

I could become a true insurgent. One who would lie, steal, and even kill to get what I wanted. But while it was an intriguing contemplation, it was one I would never fulfill.

No matter how angry I was, or how close I came to acting on my hatred, I knew that not all the Elites were as cruel as the ones before me. One had helped me find a home. Another had allowed me to play the piano before an audience. And then there was Ana, who, despite her upbringing, had risked her life to tend to those in need.

I would never use violence as a means to an end, and Patrick must've seen this in my expression. His brows dipped together in a menacing scowl, and his lips pressed into a thin line. I shook my head at him and shifted my attention back toward the stage. I felt the intensity of his gaze on the side of my face, but I ignored it. I felt sympathetic toward him because he was about to lose a mother who had actually cared for him, but I would not let our loss turn me into a monster.

After several minutes passed and no one in the crowd stepped forward to object, the executioner returned to Leanne's side and nodded to the others. Leanne's gaze found mine once again, her eyes soft as she managed a small smile.

And then, before I could do anything to stop it, she was shoved off the platform.