Wicked Love | ✓ (#featured)

¹⁷ | m e r a k i

(v) to do something with soul, creativity, or love; when you leave a piece of yourself in your work.

Raneem reminisced the warmth of Zane's body enveloping her when she woke up in the morning. His refusal to rest all those five days she had taken a toll on him. He did not wake even as she prepared with her handmaids. She had memorized every line and contour of his handsome face from the golden locks that swept across his strong features to the lush lips that had taken her captive time and again. The image of him calmed her and calm was what she needed now.

She looked at Amira from her seat at the throne. The public trial had not gone for long and already nobles and citizens alike were already passing judgment on her: a traitor's death. Such a punishment had not been pronounced for thousands of years and she was loath to be the one to break it. An ancient torturous death was not her way, and of course, she would have to begin the torture herself and watch as she suffered and died. It was in the law to do such a thing in the name of honor and courage.

Amira confession at the eve of her own coronation doomed her as the cries for traitor's death grew louder. Raneem wished she had taken Zane with her as she judged, but it was apparent that her people still saw them as man-slaughterers. Bringing him with her would only taint her and leave her enemies with openings to plot against her. Her handle on her own country was straw-thin enough as it is.

She held up a hand to silence the crowd. "Do you believe yourself a traitor, Amira Tawfiq?" Raneem asked as the crowd hushed, her own last name tasting like bile in her mouth as she applied it to the witch.

The keeper of her cell gripped the whip, ready to strike should Amira decide to recite a spell rather than answer. The horse's bridle ready on the hands of another to silence her.

"I am traitor to the vengeance of my people whom you have killed." Ice. It was the only way Raneem could describe her voice. Cold, unforgiving ice.

"Do not lay the sins of the past on her! Let her prove herself to be the queen that befits her lineage." one of the nobles cried out causing another uproar from the crowd.

Raneem held back a groan. The speech indicated an unspoken threat: we are watching and if you do not do well, we will overthrow you. Lineage, indeed! She was not her father's daughter and if anyone found out she was a bastard...

She had to do what she must. Her ancestors had designed the punishment for a traitor in their famed level-headedness. An elfin trait, no doubt. How ironic for people to hate the very blood her ancestors had. To break such a tradition would be a mark of her weakness. Her hand raised to silence the crowd once more. "Amira Tawfiq, wife and murderer of our beloved King Solon Tawfiq, traitor of Gwahan, I pronounce you a traitor's death. As soon as you are led out."

By the gods, she would make it a swift sentence, not because she was eager to be rid of her, but because she was eager to have the business done with. Her day had already been long enough in dealing with the nobles. She wished for nothing but the day to end and to curl up in Zane's arms for comfort. The gods know she would need it after staining her hands with Amira's blood. Literally and figuratively.