It felt as if time itself slowed down. Falling seemed to take forever, and once I stopped falling, I was choking. I had seen hangings in historical fiction shows before, and had always thought it seemed barbaric, but that was nothing next to how it felt. It was infinitely worse than drowning. My neck was being stretched, and my throat crushed. I clawed at the rope with fingers that still burned from pulling at stones. God, if only I had been able to escape.
My mind had forgotten the voice already, the only thing that filled my mind was the horrible pain like nothing I had ever felt before, and then my will to survive. Drowning was panic that was replaced by peace, once my body had accepted death. But this... there was no peace in being hanged. Only pain as I could see people cheering for my death. These were people filled with a bloodlust that had changed in the four hundred years until my birth. Of course it was still there and maybe in third world countries this was the kind of thing that might still happen. But not in America. In America it was different. In America it was boys being shot by the police, and girls being molested by men they thought were friends. Maybe it wasn't so different after all.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I fell. I fell to my knees on the wooden platform and breathed. Sweet air; or at least it seemed like it. I knew from memory that the air tasted like body odor and urine, and it was stale, but it was air, and I wasn't dying anymore. My throat was infinitely sore, and my hands ached, but I was alive. But who could have saved me?
"Corrine. You're alright," a voice whispered in my ear. I could barely hear them over the boos from the crowd. No matter the outcome, they believed I was guilty. Or maybe it didn't really matter to them one way or the other; they wanted someone to die for the crime. Well I wouldn't die, at least not yet, if I had any choice. I needed to keep breathing for a while yet. I still had a mission, and, more importantly, I needed to find out the source of the voice, so familiar, and the one who saved my life.
The sound of my name from that voice sent me back to memories I had kept close in the dark. The voice was like honey, smooth, and tangy like and orange. One I had thought I'd lost forever. And there it was again. Maybe I had died. Maybe I was hearing his voice from the afterlife. I had thought he was dead, after all. Claudius had killed him, and Fortinbras had ordered my death, and we were both dead. But if that was true, we would be together, and I could finally rest. I thought to myself that maybe that really was preferable. I could see my dad again too, finally.
But no, this pain was too real to be some sort of after death vision. Even the wooden floor of the platform hurt my knees and palms as I sucked in air in between violent coughs. The sounds were too real, peasants still shouting for my death, saying I had almost succeeded in killing their prince. The feel of two hands, one on my back and one on my elbow, both steadying me, were too real to be a dream. And me stumbling to my feet, alive, that was too real too.
That was when I finally looked up and saw the curly red hair, and underneath, eyes that were full of concern. I thought I might actually faint. The pain wasn't getting to me as much as this shock. The shock of seeing the man I loved as alive and well as could be expected. How did he get here? How did he survive, and how did he save me? Why did they, the guards and the prince, let him save me?
To be honest, the first time I had pretended to faint had worked out pretty well. Too bad this wouldn't be pretending. I did see black on the edges of my vision, and the sounds around me were fading in and out. But I pushed against them. I really did need answers, and fainting at this point wasn't going to get them for me, so I held onto Horatio, hoping I could stay conscious.
"Hi," I whispered, smiling. He really was here, and keeping me from falling down. He smiled back at me, and, even though I knew it was cheesy, but there really is no other way to say it than the rest of the world seemed to fade away, and it was just the two of us, at least for a moment. Ugh. Just as cheesy as I thought it would be, but get over it. You're picturing it, right?
Good. Moving on.
He nodded at someone over my head, and I felt an arm on my elbow as Horatio and the other gentleman helped me down from the platform, away from the crowds.
"How?" I asked my voice hoarse. Well of course it was, my throat was just being crushed a minute ago.
He shook his head. "Later. Come on. We need to get out of here before the crowd gets out of control. They wanted someone to blame for the assassination scare, and you were right there for the picking."
Where are we going?" I asked weak.
"To Fortinbras chambers. He'll meet us there after he calms them down. He's going to make sure they know the would-be killer was sent by Claudius. I confirmed it, so we'll let him convince the mob and then his advisors. For now, you'll just rest. You need it."
As I opened my mouth to protest, he cut me off. "-And stop talking. I'm sure your throat hurts from that ordeal."
So I was a good girl and was quiet on the walk to Fortinbras chambers. I didn't even comment on why we didn't see anyone on the way to them, considering we had to go past the ballroom where parties and feasts were held every night, and the kitchens. Perhaps everyone had been at my hanging? I thought.
Hanging. I had really almost just died. Alright, it wasn't too bad if I did faint. Almost dying is a good reason, and this would be the second time I had almost died. And if I couldn't even ask any questions as to what the hell was going on? Oh but that Horatio would have to carry me. He'd done that the last time I had fainted. At least this time he wasn't wet.
I pushed against the darkness in my vision one last time before I finally let it take over. Sleep really did sound good, I thought as sagged against Horatio.
