Chapter 256: Chapter 256 Fiona Calls Him Home
The royal platform stretched before him, draped in crimson banners that snapped like whips in the morning wind. The king’s throne dominated the center, carved from black marble that seemed to absorb light itself. Perry sat there with the cold composure of a judge weighing souls, his dark eyes tracking each execution with clinical detachment.
Even her disgust would have been a gift. One look of revulsion from those eyes would have been worth everything if it meant seeing her one final time.
But Queen Phoebe couldn’t even grant him that much.
The torment this brought Reginald defied measurement.
He stood shackled in the execution line, watching his loyal warriors meet their gruesome end one after another. Their bodies jerked and convulsed, making one last desperate fight against the hemp rope choking their lives away. Some lasted mere seconds. Others struggled for agonizing minutes before surrender claimed them.
The crowd surrounding the gallows alternated between horrified gasps and bloodthirsty cheers. Many spectators hurled curses at the condemned men, calling them filthy traitors who deserved worse than death. Others threw rotten food and stones, their faces twisted with righteous fury.
Several warriors soiled themselves in their final moments, displaying their shame for thousands to witness—exactly the humiliation Perry intended. After each death, guards hauled away the lifeless bodies like discarded refuse, making room for the next victim to suffer the same fate.
The stench of death, sweat, and human waste filled the air. But Reginald barely noticed.
His eyes remained fixed on that empty throne, searching desperately for any sign she might appear. Maybe she was delayed. Maybe she would arrive at the last moment, just in time to watch him die.
But as the line shortened and his turn approached, hope withered in his chest like a dying flower.
Now it was his turn.
When the coarse rope coiled around his throat like a serpent, Reginald locked eyes with King Perry. Those eyes were winter itself—ice-cold and utterly empty of mercy. The king observed each execution like tedious entertainment he wanted to finish quickly so he could return to more important matters.
"Grant me one final wish!" Reginald’s voice cracked as he shouted, desperation making it raw. "Let me see the queen! Please!"
His plea echoed across the plaza, causing some spectators to fall silent. For a moment, hope flickered—maybe even Perry possessed enough humanity to grant a dying man’s last request.
But the king’s expression never changed. No compassion. No acknowledgment. Nothing.
The executioner reached for the lever that would drop the platform beneath Reginald’s feet.
"Let me see her!" The words tore from his throat like shattered glass. "I’m begging you! Just let me see her face!"
But despite his desperate pleas, the execution proceeded without pause. Perry raised his hand slightly—the signal to continue.
The platform dropped.
"Let me... see her..." Reginald’s body writhed as oxygen vanished and his skull felt ready to explode. Pressure built behind his eyes until black spots danced across his vision.
The jeering faces of thousands of onlookers began to blur and fade. His bladder released, adding to the humiliation, but pain consumed everything else.
Yet just before his soul prepared to slip away into darkness, something impossible happened.
Fiona’s voice called to him.
Suddenly, the sneering faces of countless spectators vanished like smoke. The stench of death and the roar of the crowd faded to silence.
In their place stood Fiona, more beautiful than memory had ever captured.
She stood surrounded by a garden blooming with white roses and jasmine, their perfume filling the air with sweetness. Sunlight filtered through her golden hair like spun silk, and when she turned toward him, her smile held all the love he’d thrown away.
"Come with me," Fiona whispered, her voice like honey and warmth. She reached for his hand, and her touch felt completely real—soft, warm, alive.
The rope around his neck loosened. The burning in his lungs eased. Peace settled over him like a gentle blanket.
In his dying breath, it wasn’t Phoebe who came for him—it was Fiona. The woman who had loved him completely, unconditionally, was here to ease his passage from this world.
"Are you real?" Reginald found his voice returning, though it sounded distant even to his own ears.
He could feel the warmth radiating from her palm, could smell the familiar scent of lavender that always clung to her skin.
"Why would you think I’m not real?" Fiona’s smile was playful, just like he remembered from their happiest days.
"Even if I’m not," she said, her voice growing softer, "my love for you has always been real. That never changed, even when you broke my heart."
She took his hand and began leading him away from the pain, away from the hatred, toward something that looked like forgiveness.
At that moment, another kind of agony struck Reginald like a crushing weight—overwhelming guilt that choked him worse than any rope.
"I’m sorry." The words spilled out like blood from a wound. "God, Fiona, I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. I’m sorry for all the hurt I caused you, for choosing her over you, for destroying what we had."
His voice broke completely. "I’m sorry for it all."
Reginald collapsed to his knees in the garden of light, and Fiona knelt beside him without hesitation. Her arms wrapped around him in the tender embrace he’d rejected so many times in life.
"I know," she whispered against his hair. "I forgive you."
"I’ll treat you right in our next life," Reginald held her closer, desperate to memorize every detail of this moment. "Please, find me again in our next life. I’ll love you the way you deserved from the beginning."
Fiona’s laughter was like silver bells. "I’ll consider it."
Then the garden of light faded, and Reginald’s body swayed lifeless from the gallows rope as his soul finally found peace.
——
Phoebe’s POV
I stirred awake as evening shadows crept across the chamber walls, my mind still wrapped in the fog of exhausted sleep. The first person I spotted was Marcela, and warmth filled my chest at her familiar presence.
She’d just arrived carrying a tray of steaming food, her expression gentle and welcoming.
"Oh good, you’re finally awake. I was starting to think I’d have to dispose of another perfectly good meal." Marcela’s tone was light and cheerful.
I frowned in confusion, still groggy and disoriented.
Seeing my bewilderment, Marcela explained with a soft smile. "The king forbade anyone from waking you. He’s had fresh meals delivered regularly since you fell asleep so you’d have warm food whenever you decided to rejoin the world."
"You could just reheat the food," I said through a yawn, though Perry’s thoughtfulness warmed my heart.
Marcela shrugged with an indulgent expression. "Tell that to His Majesty. You know how attentive he becomes when it comes to your comfort."
I did know. Perry’s devotion could be overwhelming, but it always came from love.
"The executions," I said quietly, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "Are they still happening?"
Marcela’s expression grew more serious. "Yes, they should be finishing soon. Many traitors have already met their end."
When she set the tray before me, my stomach growled loudly. I was genuinely starved—missing so many meals while lost in exhausted sleep.
The duck was perfectly prepared, tender and seasoned with herbs I couldn’t identify. As I ate, I found myself thinking about what was happening in the plaza below.
"I should go," I said suddenly, setting down my fork.
Marcela looked puzzled. "Go where?"
"To the platform. To witness the end of it." The words surprised me even as I spoke them, but something deep inside me knew this was right.
"Are you certain? It’s not a pleasant sight, and you’ve had so little rest..."
But I was already standing, moving toward my wardrobe. "Help me dress quickly. I need to see this through to the end."
As Marcela helped me into my royal robes, I felt a strange mixture of dread and determination. Whatever awaited me at that platform—whatever I would see in those final moments—I knew I needed to be there.
The weight of my choices, of my role in everything that had led to this moment, settled on my shoulders like a heavy cloak. But for once, I wouldn’t hide from the consequences.
I would face them with the dignity befitting a queen.
