"So you believe I’m not from around here?" Ian asked, his voice low but steady.
"I do," she said. "I believe you."
Ian blinked. For a second, that almost felt like hope.
"Then why execute me?" he asked. "If I’m not one of you... not like the others you’ve hunted... then why?"
The Queen turned back toward him slowly, her eyes colder now, like the warmth had been drained from her voice. "Because I have to."
"That doesn’t make sense."
"It does," she said. "Redheads are to be executed. No trial. No questions. That is the law. If I spare you, I risk backlash from the Council... from the other ruling Divas. They’ll say I’ve grown weak. That I’ve defied ancient law."
She stepped closer. Her jaw clenched. "Here, anyone can kill a redhead on sight and be rewarded for it. That’s how deep the hatred runs."
Ian sat back a little. The words cut deeper than he’d expected. He was silent for a moment. Just breathing. Just... feeling the weight of it all.
He rubbed his wrists, the skin still red from the rope earlier.
"So that’s it, then," he muttered. "Guess I’m already dead."
The Queen said nothing. Maybe there was something in her eyes, pity, regret, or just the burden of command. He couldn’t tell. She turned her face away from him.
The doors opened. Two guards marched in immediately and stood at attention.
"Take him back to the cell," she ordered. "He’s to be executed in the morning."
Ian didn’t protest.What would be the point?
The guards grabbed him by the arms. They didn’t drag him this time. Just led him out, one on each side, stiff and quiet.
When they reached the cell, one of the guards unlocked the iron door, shoved him inside and locked the cell.
Two more guards stood watch just outside. They didn’t speak to him. Didn’t even look his way. Just stared straight ahead like statues.
Ian knew the Queen believed him. But that didn’t change a damn thing.
Morning came quickly....He would be executed at dawn.
By the time the sun clawed halfway above the hills, a crowd had gathered in the square below the castle. Men, women, even children filled the open space, whispering and murmuring as they waited by the gallows.
Ian sat in the cell, he hadn’t slept. Didn’t try, his body was tired. Two guards stepped in without a word. One held a pair of shorts in his hand, rough linen and barely enough to cover him. Ian didn’t move at first.
"Get up," one of them barked. Ian stood slowly.
They stripped him down, took the shirt and trousers they’d once given him. Left him with just the shorts and... the necklace. His fingers gripped it tightly.
"This stays with me," Ian said suddenly, his voice steady. "I die with it. You bury me with it."
The guards exchanged a glance. One of them shrugged. "Fine. Whatever helps you face the rope."
Then they led him out.
As they climbed the spiral stairs, Ian could hear the crowd. He tried not to look through the narrow slits in the wall, but when they reached the higher floors, he couldn’t help it.
From the walkway above the castle gate, the view was clear. A sea of people below. Waiting for him.
He said nothing...The doors to the Queen’s chamber opened.
Ian stepped inside, barefoot and half-naked, necklace hanging over his chest. The Queen stood by the window, arms folded. She turned when she heard the door close behind him.
"You understand now," she said. "It’s not personal, Ian Grey. It’s just fate."
Ian looked at her. His eyes didn’t hold fire anymore—just a tired kind of calm. "I know."
That was all he said. Thɪs chapter is updated by novel(ꜰ)ire.net
The guards moved to take him again. They stepped forward, about to turn him toward the gallows, but then the Queen’s eyes landed on something...his necklace.
Her gaze locked on the diamond-like emblem. She recognised it.
"Wait," she said, voice sharp. "All of you. Out." The guards hesitated.
One by one, they filed out, leaving Ian standing alone in the chamber with her.
"Where did you get that?" the Queen demanded.
She strode forward, suddenly, fiercely. Ian flinched instinctively, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her energy. Before he could say a word, her hand was at his throat, slamming him hard against the chamber door. The breath left his lungs with a wheeze.
He gasped, legs kicking slightly off the ground as her grip tightened.
"Where did you get it?!" she snarled, yanking the necklace from his neck with her other hand.
Ian’s hands fumbled at hers, but she was stronger than he could have imagined. She wasn’t just powerful in magic, she was physically powerful too.
"I....I can’t breathe," he rasped, eyes wide, signaling her with frantic gestures.
She hesitated... then dropped him.
Ian hit the stone floor hard, coughing violently, struggling to pull in air as his vision steadied.
"It was..." he started between coughs, "....it was given to me. My grandmother. She gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday."
The Queen’s brows furrowed, fury still burning in her eyes. "What was her name?"
"Clara," Ian coughed. "Clara Grey. She... she passed two years ago."
The Queen stared down at him, breathing hard, the necklace now tight in her grip.
Ian sat up slowly, rubbing his throat. "What the hell does this necklace even mean to you?"
"I have my phone," Ian said. "I can show you a picture of her..."
Finally, without taking her eyes off the necklace, she moved to the corner of the chamber and pulled his backpack up from the floor. She tossed it beside him.
Ian didn’t touch it yet.
"I don’t know why it matters," he said, voice hoarse. "But my grandmother made me promise I’d always keep it with me. She was firm about that... like it meant more than she ever told me."
The Queen stood still, her expression complicated now.