A Gilded Cage Ch. 05

He stepped back with a smile. "If you'll forgive me for saying so sir it rather hides whatever of looks you had."

"If I could be bothered to move I'd strike you but I can't so I'll have to forgive you." He gave a good natured smile to Rogers, before pulling on heavy leather gloves and picking up a riding crop. He noticed her flinch as he did so.

"Not for you pet, not if you are good." He turned to Rogers "am I done? I don't think we have forgotten anything."

"That's it sir. The men are mustering outside."

He turned to Aneira, a tower of silver and black. "You have been good and it would be wise to stay that way. I will not tolerate the slightest disobedience. If you so much as breathe wrong I'll flog you in front of my men. Do you want that? And that will be nothing to the punishment I'll give you back home."

"I promise, lord, I promise to be good." There was no point in doing otherwise. She hadn't the energy yet. She thought that if she was good for a few days he'd soften on her and she could regain strength enough to resist."

"I think we'll take the lift. The stairs might kill me in this."

As they left the building she was staggered to see five centuries of men in their finest dress uniform and another hundred on horse all with black wool cloaks like the general's but with cuirasses glimmering in the early evening sun from the ranks of the cavalry. Directly in front of them was an open black carriage pulled by four black horses ridden by men dressed very similarly to the general but with less decorated helmets. Rogers pulled out steps and the general helped her in. He mounted his own horse, black and with a steel and brass champron to match his helmet on its brow. She couldn't help but think he looked immensely fine, if more than a little strange and extremely intimidating. Rogers climbed up and sat opposite her, facing away from the direction of travel. The cavalry filed out onto the road, followed by the general and her coach and another smaller contingent on horse. She heard sergeants bellowing orders at the men on foot and they marched. A heavy black carriage pulled by six horses and surrounded by another twenty horsemen appeared and clattered along to join the ranks just before the last group of foot.

Trumpets, horns and heavy drums beat a strong, mournful march, carrying above the clatter of hooves and cartwheels. The world felt heavy and bereft of all its colour. It was growing cold and a little damp in the evening air, but she was sure it wasn't the weather that was freezing her insides. She pulled the cloak tight around her, and fought not to think about what was to come, but she couldn't push it from her mind. Looking up, she caught Rogers eye, unyielding and stern, but not unkind.

"Will it be quick?"

He understood and nodded curtly. He pitied the girl, and had no wish to increase her discomfort.

"Firing squad. Quick and clean. They will not miss." She barely heard him over the noise of horses, boots, and people, but understood enough, and felt a little calmer.

The streets were lined with people and there were people hanging off of balconies and out of windows too. This was clearly not a regular occurrence and there were many curious eyes. They filed out of town towards a vast open space - a semicircle of terraced stone seats and a wide plateau before the land fell away towards the river. The soldiers were amassing on all sides of the plateau, completing the circle. The stone terraces were already full of people with officials seated in the semicircle it enclosed. The general and her carriage continued past the ranks of soldiers into the centre of the space, the heavier carriage and its escort entering from the other side. She could guess who it bore.

The general dismounted and Rogers helped her out of the carriage, guiding her strongly by the arm to stand by his side. He leaned in to speak to her as the crowd settled, a towering menace of steel. "Look around, my pet. Look around you and understand what I am in this world. You could hardly imagine a more powerful protector. Take comfort in my strength, pretty thing, but let it remind you not to cross me."

There was movement opposite, with lines of guards marking a path from the carriage. Two large men dragged a figure from the heavier carriage, parading him for all to see, before dropping him in front of the general.

"King Idwal, you have been formally sentenced to death under the just law of His Imperial Majesty." He was projecting his voice out across the crowds with an extraordinary power of lungs but little apparent effort. "You have been brought here before your execution by his grace alone, in the hope that you might repent. Beside me stands the daughter you have wronged beyond recompense, if you do not have any words for your people or to the mothers of the soldiers who died ending your rebellion, you might at least find it your heart to beg for her forgiveness."

Aneira stood as if stone beside her general. She cried silently as he gently lifted the veil from her face. Camera bulbs flicked for a second then died away. "Daughter I pray that you may be free of his evil corruption. I pray that it is not too late for you to break free of his sorcery. Think not of me tomorrow, but of your future. Find a way out and lead our people in freedom."

Aneira couldn't look at him. She loved him, he had doted on her all her life and she dearly loved her father. But what could she do? She could hardly break him free. Though he was chained, she was no less a prisoner.

"Take him away. He is upsetting the girl. Haven't you hurt her enough old man?" He hissed and the king was dragged back and dropped in front of a thick wall of sandbags. Six men stood in front of him, pointing long rifles at him. The king stood, straight and tall, facing what was to come with what dignity he could muster. He was beyond despair, but for the sake of his daughter he refused to give in to them.

The general leaned in to her again, speaking under his breath. "Do not look away. Be as brave as he. It will be easier on him not to see you in distress in his last moments." Straightening, he lifted his voice again, the terraces of stone amplifying his words for all to hear. "As the sun sets we commend this soul to the heavens, leaving the judgement for his deeds in life to one wiser by far than any of us. Ready men, aim, fire."

The last rays of the sun blazed out as a deafening bang resounded around the arena and a woman's scream carried above it all. Aneira had fallen to her knees and wept. As the lights in the arena flickered on, all eyes were on the general, consoling the new queen. All that could see clearly were in agreement that her mournful beauty was matched only by the great tragic poems. She was carried back to her carriage by the general who mounted quickly and rode by her side rather than behind. That wasn't strictly proper but it was considered to be a fine gesture.

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She remembered nothing of the journey back aside from an occasional press of cold steel as he carried her. She had allowed the horror of it all to overwhelm her and felt numb to the world. She was tired, weary of resistance. He was so very strong and she so very weak. But no, she refused to give in to the monster that raped and destroyed. She would stand strong in the face of the inevitable as her father had done. At least she intended to. She wasn't sure she knew how.

He left her alone that night, not willing to distress her further. As much as he liked fucking her he could wait. He was willing to take it, but preferred that she gave herself. He enjoyed her reluctant pleasure. And besides, he was tired, too tired. He placed her on the chaise lounge while he undressed and showered, but she was such a picture of innocent beauty in her sleep when he returned that he could not bear to move her, and collapsed alone in his bed.