"Your Highness!"
Cashew's scream ripped through the courtyard, raw and broken, his small frame shaking with each sob. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks as he struggled violently against Lancelot's hold. "P-Please… Your Majesty, please spare him! Please!"
Lancelot gritted his teeth, muscles tense as he kept the boy from bolting again. But his own hands trembled slightly—barely noticeable, but there.
Around them, servants and nobles alike stood frozen, forming a loose, uneasy circle. Murmurs crawled like poison through the crowd.
"Did you hear?" one maid whispered, voice hushed but sharp. "I heard that prince is finally being executed."
"It was only a matter of time," another muttered. "Such impertinence… and for a prince? Disgraceful."
Lucius stepped forward, pale but composed, the only one brave—or desperate—enough to address the man at the center of it all.
