Smoke hung low over the damp earth as William and Catherine stumbled into the hidden clearing. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, each step carrying the weight of their peril. Catherine's hand rested on her side where the bruises bloomed beneath her dress. William half-carried her through brambles and broken branches, determined to put distance between them and the horrors they had fled.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy, silver shadows dancing at their feet. Each rustle in the underbrush made William's heart thunder. He pressed Catherine against his chest, whispering gentle words: "Almost there… just a little further." But her face was pale, lips trembling as though she fought to keep herself standing.
He guided her to a small hollow where a handful of rebels lay in wait. Robert Bruce emerged from the darkness, torch held high. "Will, you made it," he exclaimed, relief softening his rough voice. "But where is the child? Where is Taza?" Bruce's question twisted William's gut: their daughter should have been hidden with the other children. William swallowed hard before answering.
"Captain Ralin took her," he said, voice tight. "We were too slow."
Bruce's eyes went dark. "Gods… we will not let him escape with her."
Catherine shook her head, leaning heavily on William. "No. Leave me. Save her." Her voice cracked like dry tinder. William's heart twisted inside his ribs.
"I won't leave you," he said, tears brimming.
Bruce placed a rough hand on William's shoulder. "Listen to her. You must."
Catherine's gaze hardened. "Will… promise me you'll save her."
William closed his eyes, pain flaring every time her eyes met his. "I promise."
Catherine pressed her hand to his cheek, fingers trembling. "Then go. I'll slow them down."
Bruce knelt and placed something in Catherine's trembling hand. "Take this." He handed her a small vial of crimson powder. "If they capture you, do not let them break you."
She nodded, swallowing hard. William tightened his arms around her. "I love you."
She forced a small smile. "I love you more."
He bent and kissed her cheek as Bruce guided him from the clearing. William cast one last look at her—fragile, defiant, and alone—before disappearing into the woods.
By dawn, William had reached the rebel encampment on the far edge of the forest. Tears stung his eyes as he gathered fighters, voices hushed yet urgent. None could leave the camp until Catherine was safe. He briefed them quickly: they would ride at first light to intercept Captain Ralin's squad.
Horses neighed and hooves clicked on frost-hardened ground. William mounted his steed, heart heavy, and rode with fifty rebels who swore vengeance on Westham. Each man and woman carried ghosts of losses past—family, friends, and now Catherine's fate.
The forest thinned as they neared Tazan's outskirts. A warning sign of smoke coiled above the city walls. William gripped the reins tighter. He said, "They've taken her to the square." Fear made every muscle in his body quake. Their hooves banging like a funeral march, they charged for the far-off spires.
As William reached the top of the hill with a view of the plaza, a sour breeze ripped through his cloak. Under the bleak sky, hundreds of locals had gathered, their bodies quiet, their expressions stunned. A large wooden scaffold with blood-slick steps loomed in the middle. Around its base, torches burned, but in the chilly morning air, their flames flickered weakly.
Catherine was kneeling on top of the scaffold, her wrists snagged by heavy ropes. Over her shoulders, her silver hair cascaded like moonlight. Her chin was up, eyes blazing toward the gathered crowd, but tears had streaked dirt down her cheeks. William's heart skipped a beat. Even at her lowest, she had a royal appearance.
When Jeffran, the city magistrate, emerged at the edge of the platform, there was silence. Westham's crest was embroidered on his elaborate garments. He silenced the whispers by raising a jeweled scepter. It seemed as if William's heart had become immobile.
Jeffran said, "People of Tazan," in a voice as icy as snow. "Look at the traitor's spouse. She had the audacity to disobey King Russell. Her heart was filled with betrayal. Such offenses are worthy of the harshest punishment.
Although Catherine's lips moved, the magistrate's remarks were too loud to override. William waited for her to say anything, but the wind was the only one who responded.
Two guards grabbed Catherine's arms as Jeffran made a signal. She didn't fight back. There were stones in William's chest. A rebel next to him grabbed his arm as he attempted to advance. The man's jaw clinched as he said, "We promised to let her live until dawn." "Don't act hastily, William."
William gritted his teeth. His determination solidified into ice as he looked at his fighters. They had pledged to keep her safe. They wouldn't flinch.
Jeffran raised his scepter higher. "Catherine Campbell, for the crime of aiding rebels, of treasonous collusion, by the authority of King Russel, you are sentenced to death."
Catherine's eyes locked on William's distant figure. She mouthed one word: "Remember."
Suddenly, a low rumble echoed through the square. Torches flickered, and the crowd gasped. William squinted, trying to see what had shifted. A lone black horse reared at the edge of the crowd—its rider cloaked, face hidden. The horse reared once more, and the rider drew a sword that gleamed like a shard of night. The crowd parted before the newcomer, revealing a scarred man who raised his blade toward the platform.
Jeffran's voice faltered. The black-clad rider spoke, voice carrying: "Let her go."
William's breath caught. He recognized the voice—Robert Bruce.
Bruce galloped toward the scaffold, charging through startled guards. Soldiers leaped to intercept him, but his sword sang through their defenses. Flames from torches reflected in his eyes, fierce and unwavering.
Catherine's eyes widened with hope as Bruce neared. He skidded to a halt at the base of the scaffold and swung his sword across the ropes binding her. They snapped and fell away. Catherine stumbled, Bruce catching her. She looked up just in time to see her captors rush forward. Bruce raised his blade, meeting them in a blur of steel.
William's heart hammered. He turned to his fighters. "Now!"
They surged forward, running down the hill toward the square. The crowd scattered as rebels crashed into Westham guards. Shields clanged and swords rang out. William galloped his horse into the fray, determination pushing him like a blade to the heart.
Bruce ducked under a guard's swing and jabbed a blade into his side. Catherine stepped back, horror written on her face as she fought to remain standing. Bruce shoved her behind him, blocking another soldier's thrust. Blood spattered on the planks at Bruce's feet. He twisted, sending the soldier stumbling back.
William leapt from his horse, unsheathing his sword. The air filled with battle cries, dust, and stifled screams. He caught sight of Catherine, shielded by Bruce's broad back, and felt a surge of relief—until a soldier knocked Bruce's sword from his hand. The next guard raised a dagger to Bruce's throat.
"Don't—you—" William screamed, charging forward, blade swinging in arcs of fury. The guard twisted, and William's sword bit into his arm, sending him crashing to the planks. Another soldier slammed William's shoulder with a shield, sending him skidding across the wood. Pain lanced through his ribs, but he rose, anger fueling him.
Bruce broke free, kicking the dagger out of reach. He grabbed Catherine's hand. "Run!" he shouted.
Bruce cleared a path through the guards, lunging at the front line. Catherine stumbled beside him, leaning heavily on Bruce's arm. William fought forward, brushing aside guards with sweeping strikes. He called Catherine's name, but she didn't turn. Bruce pushed her down the hill, away from the battle's heart.
William parried a spear thrust, pressing forward. He glimpsed Bruce hacking at a guard's neck, forcing him to fall back. Catherine staggered behind Bruce, chest heaving. William's fists shook. Relief surged—she was safe. Then a shout rang out.
"Over here!" A figure at the edge of the square waved wildly. It was Sir Oren, a former ally-turned-spy. William hesitated, watching Catherine slip past a pair of guards who collapsed under Bruce's strikes.
Suddenly, a horn blared—a single, devastating note that silenced the clash of battle. The entire square froze. William's blood ran cold.
High above, on a balcony draped in black and crimson, King Russel appeared. His presence was a blade of ice, bending the wind around him. He wore gleaming armor, cape swirling like smoke. He raised his hand, and the guards below bowed. The rebels stumbled back, uncertain.
Russel gazed at the scaffold, now empty of Catherine's bound form. Then his cold eyes found Bruce and William emerging from the horizon of clashing bodies. Recognition flickered on his face. He spoke, voice cold:
"Your heroes come too late."
In that moment, a thunderous cannon blast echoed from the fortress walls. Dust and debris erupted around the square. The ground beneath William shuddered as an iron bolt struck the scaffold's beams—the entire platform splintered, collapsing into splinters.
Catherine shrieked. William's stomach dropped as he saw her driven back against the guard rail by the blast's force. Bruce lunged to catch her, but a wall of soldiers surged, cutting Bruce off.
William abandoned his horse and sprinted down the hill. He pushed through the chaos, chest heaving, eyes burning with panic. Guards raised their swords, blocking paths, but he swung his blade, cutting a bloody trail.
He reached the shattered scaffold. Catherine lay on the planks below, blood soaking her dress. Her breathing was shallow. William dropped beside her, cradling her head. "Catherine!"
She gasped, eyes flickering open. "William… I'm sorry."
His heart shattered. "Don't you dare."
Her fingers twitched, brushing his cheek. "I love you."
He held her close as her breathing slowed. He pressed his cheek to her forehead, tears falling onto her silver hair.
Bruce fought his way to them, breath ragged, sword stained with crimson. He dropped to one knee beside William, eyes haunted.
"Will, we have to move—" his voice cracked.
William shook his head, voice strangled. "She can't…"
A soldier's boot thudded nearby. William looked up to see Jeffran emerging from the ranks, clipboard in hand, expression detached. He studied Catherine's still form, as though taking notes.
"She was given every chance," Jeffran said, voice clinical. "She chose revolt. Witness her fate." He gestured, and two guards grabbed Catherine's feet. William sprang up, sword raised. "No!" he roared.
Jeffran ignored him. The guards dragged Catherine's body toward the center of the square, stacking her among others who had died under Westham's laws—execution by decree, the "justice" of a tyrant.
William lunged forward, slashing at the guards. Bruce joined him, steel meeting steel. But more soldiers poured into the square, scattering them back. William got one final look at Catherine's pale face—her eyes closed, lips parted as though still breathing.
He stumbled back, chest quaking. Something inside him broke. He fell to his knees before the pile of bodies, hands trembling as he reached for Catherine's still form. He pressed his ear to her chest. No breath.
William's mind went white-hot with rage. His fist pounded the earth. Blood from his wounds slicked the stones. Around him, the crowd watched in silence—fear and awe mingling in their eyes.
Then a single cannon blast shattered the square again, and the wooden gates burst open. William looked up, shielding his eyes against the smoke. Through the haze, he saw a lone figure riding toward him, cloak billowing. Sword gleamed.
Recognition struck him like lightning. The rider was dressed in the same black and crimson that had marked Catherine's execution. His hood dropped back in the blast of wind, revealing pale skin and eyes that shone like embers. William's breath caught; he did not expect to see him again.
The figure came to a halt before William. The rebel fighters behind advanced on either side, swords ready. William stared, dazed. The man dismounted, sword pointed at William's heart.
"William Moses," the rider said, voice low and distant. "You survived as I told you. But now… you must choose."
William's gaze flicked from the man to the corpses at his feet, then to Catherine's still face. "Choose… what?" he whispered, voice broken.
The man's lips curved into a sad smile. "Revenge—or surrender."
William's world spun. His vision blurred with tears and smoke. He rose slowly, sword slipping in his grip. He stood before the rider, voice raw with grief: "I will not..."
Then a shot rang out—sharp, deadly. The rider stiffened, eyes widening. He staggered, blade clattering to the stones. A crack of thunder rolled through the square, and he collapsed, clutching his chest.
William's blood ran cold as he stumbled forward, disbelief eclipsing his grief. He reached the fallen rider's side, heart pounding fiercely. He looked into the man's eyes—fiery, confrontational, now flickering with the last embers of life.
"Why…?" William whispered, voice cracking.
The rider's gaze drifted to the pile of bodies, then to Catherine's pale hand. His lips curved into a final, mournful smile. "For Tazan," he rasped, then his eyes closed forever.
William knelt in silence, staring at the lifeless face of the one who had promised him choices. Behind him, the city gates creaked shut once more. The rebels slowly lowered their swords. A hush fell as the crowd began to stir, uncertain, shaken.
William lifted the rider's sword, and the world blurred around him—blood, smoke, grief, and the weight of a vengeance that now had two names.
As Catherine's body is taken from the square, William holds the rider's sword, torn between grief and fury. The sky darkens with storm clouds, and in the distance, a horn sounds—summoning a larger army to Tazan's gates.