Curse of a Lycan Luna

Death.

Death is all my future holds.

And my future is very short. 

The cells were dark, swallowing me whole. Just like my impending death would. 

The walls felt as if they were caving in, suffocating me of the very oxygen I so desperately needed. The putrid stench filling the minimal space was the last thing I clung to in this life. 

I'd gladly swallow down every last gulp of the thick, sour stench if it meant the footsteps crashing down to the very lowest floor of the cell block were not coming for me.

But I knew they were.

Coming to lead me to my death. 

"Get up," a voice I recognized barked. A voice I used to love the sound of. Now, though, it was that death knell.

I looked up into the grizzled man's cold, dead eyes, remembering the life and light that used to soar through them. Growing up, I had always laughed when I was told he was the executioner. There was nothing about him that identified him as a reaper. 

But now, his calloused hand jerked at the chain around my neck with a hostility he never bandaged my skinned knees with. The voice clanging around the solid walls was not the one that sang me lullabies. His forceful, domineering presence never checked under my bed for monsters.

I wondered who this hurt more.

"Daddy," I whined, the chains biting into my skin with the least bit of resistance. 

I was surprised when he spared me one glance over his shoulder. If I didn't know any better, I would think his eyes reflected the pain and misery my own body emulated.

But I knew better.

My father, my protector, my executioner, was leading me to my death. 

The sorrow was gone in less than an instant, replaced with the emptiness he was sending me off to.

I didn't risk another word. His heavy footsteps were like a metronome, moving in a way that proved he was familiar with this path. I, however, stumbled along behind him, tripping over the chains bound to my ankles. Just a few days ago, he would have reached back to take my arm and guide my way out of the dark abyss. Instead, he dragged me along like a feral dog fighting against its leash.

My mother used to always say behind every great man was an even greater woman.

She was gone, but my father still had me trailing in his footsteps.

The sunlight pierced my skin. I almost had to look down to confirm it wasn't burning off. It had only been ninety six hours in that hole, but it felt like lifetimes. 

My father didn't need to exert much effort to shove me to my knees once we had reached the stage, but he did anyway. My chains were shackled to a hook protruding from the floor, pulling my eyes downward to examine the bloodstains of those unfortunate enough to have been where I was kneeling now. 

There was only one thing this stage was used for. 

I fought it, pulling at my binds to look out at the people whom I had been raised to love and already trained to protect. 

My gaze pierced through the crowd, demanding that someone look at me and see what exactly they were condoning. They all cast their eyes downward, though. Out of shame or disgust for what they were about to witness, I did not care. 

It was a cold day in hell when a king executed his innocent heir. 

Another man I was abundantly familiar with took his position beside my father. Times he chased my siblings and I out of my father's office with a smile on his face, his laughter following us down the hallway, danced through my head. It was quickly washed away, replaced by the sneer he looked down on me with when he found me, broken and bloody, on the doorstep of the palace. 

It was my mother's blood soaking through my skin they cared about most, though. 

I needed to look back at my father's right hand man as I couldn't even picture his expression, it was so foreign. I watched as his lips peeled back in rage and spittle flew out of his mouth with the words that declared me a cold blooded murderer to my people. 

I spared one glance back to my father. Each word his friend spoke seemed to drain more and more life out of him until he could barely maintain his slumped posture. His eyes even lacked the coldness I had so recently seen, only lifeless and dull.

Just like mine would soon be. 

"A life for a life!" I heard the man beside me shout out to the crowd. My eyes were once again trained on the people refusing to meet my stare. "On this day, your princess will pay the ultimate price for the cold blooded murder of your queen!"

I heard cries of outrage, but I didn't see the anger. I thought I had no more tears, but they stung my eyes, creating a blur that was impossible to see through. 

"No," a broken voice on the other side of me barely whispered. 

I closed my eyes, begging for his silence. He did not need a redeeming quality.

Once upon a time, I had loved him. How does a child not love their father who was nothing but good to them?

They find out the truth. 

But the king's voice, although barely audible, commanded the silence and attention of every onlooker. They were here for a show; they demanded justice in the form of blood.

The man to my left broke his composure, whirling around to look at my father. "What?"

"I said no." His hoarse voice was stronger, but not by much. 

"But we have a confession."

It was true; I had confessed. I had not been the one to kill my mother, but it was still my fault. Her blood was on my hands. No matter how hard I had tried to hold it in her body that night, her sacrifice was my fault. 

I was a woman of honor. I would confess my sins.

"We have a confession, but no proof. My daughter will not be killed today."

The huff of frustration made me believe this conversation was well rehearsed. I wondered if just maybe I was kneeling here because it had been a long time since the executioners platform had seen fresh blood.

"She is young and she is weak. If the fates believe death is her true attonement, she will meet it soon enough in banishment. Lead her to the boundary."

Every muscle in my body tensed, but I refused to let my discomfort show. What my father promised me was a slow death - a slow death that showed anything but mercy. Even a blind man could see it was only because he was a coward. Too cowardly to behead his own flesh and blood. 

I heard whispers of concerns he thought I was innocent. 

He had nearly a week to convince them of my innocence, though, and that clearly was not what he had done. 

I did not fight when guards came to roughly grab my arms and drag me along.

I did not look back to see my father's refusal to even glance at me.

I did not drop eye contact with anyone brave enough to meet my gaze.

I would have left the clearing without an escort, but I had two men in front of me, one on either side, and two flanking me. I had to laugh - how dangerous did they truly think I was to need six men to escort a little fifteen year old girl to my banishment? Yes, I was the princess, but not anymore. It was not my physical abilities that had garnered the respect I had earned in this kingdom. 

As I walked, I allowed no one the opportunity to tarnish my name even further. Anyone who heard my side of the story would come to their own conclusions, but the only conclusions that mattered were the ones of the men standing on that stage. 

I had to wonder if I had simply handed them the opportunity they had been looking for on a silver platter. The opportunity to dethrone the weakling princess. It had been abundantly clear my father was disappointed I was first in line for the crown when my older brother died. He never said as much, but the king would go to the ends of the earth to ensure I never reached my rightful seat. 

He made his bed. Now he can lay in it.

I hardly noticed as I made my final walk down the streets I had grown up walking down. The walk to the boundary was long, but I didn't even see the forests and fields I played in as a child. Cautious eyes monitored my exit the whole way, but I barely noticed.

My eyes glazed over, my feet moving hypnotically. The girl who walked up on the executioner's stage had an inkling of hope. The woman who walked away did not. 

And that is the story of how a fifteen year old princess - a weakling, a runt at that - was wrongfully banished for a murder she was responsible for, but did not commit. 

Everyone thinks my story ended there. That I succumbed to the slow death, the "mercy" I had been shown.

Oh, how they will wish I did.