Across Lifetimes, Still Yours
The crowd murmured, hungry for an execution.
“Marcus Vel Drazan,” the priest thundered, “loyal son of the Crown, warrior of Thornvale, accused of treason.”
“Mia Orven,” he continued, his voice sharp as steel, “scholar of the rebel province Viremonthe, accused of sedition, sorcery, and corrupting a royal heir.”
Gasps. Spat curses. Even a few stones tossed from the edges.
Marcus’s lip curled. “They’re scared of us.”
“They should be,” Mia muttered. She turned her face toward his, the rope forcing her head at a crooked angle. Still, she smirked. “They’re burning the wrong traitors.”
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