The boy was raving, screaming threats and profanities. The guards roughly dragged him past his family and the few spectators that had gathered for some cheap entertainment. He’d participated in a plot to assassinate me, a plot that came damn near to actually succeeding. I didn’t care that he was 15. I didn't care that he was an orphan. I didn’t care that he’d only smuggled people into the castle. I didn’t even care that his twin sister would be left alone to support his younger brother if he died. He was certainly capable enough of plunging a dagger into my back, and he’d plotted against me. Treason was punishable by death, everyone knew that.
Perhaps the executioner was hungry. Perhaps he had somewhere he wanted to be. Perhaps it was pity. Regardless, instead of drawing it out and making a show of the event, he did his duty quickly, then placed the body on a pyre and lit it. The scent of fire and death filled the air as the disappointed townsfolk wandered off until it was just the traitor's sister left.
"In the old days, you would have joined him out of association," I heard one of the guardsmen say to the weeping girl. "Be grateful you stayed out of his scheme."
