Empire of Shadows

37.

His hair had been combed back, perfectly parted with not a curl out of place. He'd been allowed the liberty of bathing in peace and had contemplated somehow drowning himself in the water—although he knew it was impossible without his body attempting to save itself. So at least he would be clean before he died. That was his one consolation.

He wore the color black—mourning colors for Polaria. The color made him appear even paler, almost as if he was a ghost of a person.

And perhaps he was.

He stood, shackles around his legs and hands making noise as servants finished the final touches on his execution garb.

A touch of kohl on his eyes and then a woman clasped the black cloak around his shoulders. He stared at his reflection in a mirror. His eyes slid down to his shirt that was for the most part unbuttoned. He lifted his gloved hands and touched the black scar on his chest before buttoning his shirt. "Death did not harm me the first time. Why should I be afraid this time?"

The servants were silent by Aslaug's command. No one was to talk to the Prince.

A woman sprayed a thin perfume across his skin and hair and Ketil sighed deeply at the smell. From the back of his mind, he remembered the smell. Perhaps it was his mother's? Maybe it was something else.

He combed his hands through his hair, earning a scowl from half of the attendants.

"Apologies, I've been disappointing people for twenty-three years, figured I would continue to do it to my grave." He dropped his shackled hands, glancing into the mirror.

If his clothes had been pale blue, it would have been a coronation outfit. But instead, black was for the dead and dying. "At least I look sharp," he whispered to himself. "I smell wonderful too. It doesn't lessen the sting of death, but it's nice."

He carefully turned, the shackles around his ankles making every movement harder. He stared at the young girl. "I suppose I will meet my maker today, yes? I will see my parents and Vasco and Mikhail and Olve and Kaia." He dropped his shoulders. "I tried—I really did. I failed."

The door to the dressing room opened and a few guards appeared in matching black, axes in hand. "Ketil Østberg, come with us. Please do not resist."

He nodded, keeping his head up so curls did not fall into his face. "I suppose this is it. Thank you all." He bowed to them a little before slowly making his way to the guards. He still limped, his ribs a dull ache—execution would fix that problem right up for him.

The guards flanked him. One behind him, one in front, two beside him, and they were slowly gaining a following of attendants and guards with even more weapons.

Ketil felt nothing. Maybe a hollowness in the pit of his stomach and an ache in his chest—if those counted as feelings per say.

He still had duties to preform. He still had dreams and desires and people to care for. What about Kaspar? What would happen to him and the promise he'd made to Kaia?

He'd failed them.

Maybe Runa would keep Kaspar or maybe she would turn him over to the streets. If that was the case, he would never taste freedom and he'd grow up as a sad and terrible orphan.

Poor Kaspar. He had a duty to protect him, but he couldn't even do that.

He felt tears pull at his eyes and blinked them away.

An old woman stopped them as they proceeded through the palace. "A blossom for peace." She pressed the flower into the breast pocket of his shirt before sticking a mint leaf into his mouth. "And mint for remembrance."