The Execution that didn't happen
1018 Words
The iron cuffs bit into Mint’s wrists as the guards dragged her into the courtyard. Her legs barely worked. Every step felt like her feet were sinking into stone. Her body trembled not from cold, but from despair. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it would c***k open her ribs.
The courtyard was already full.
Pack members lined the stone paths, shoulder to shoulder. Warriors. Elders. Children. Even the visitors from the outer territories. Everyone had come to watch the traitor die.
The Alpha’s mate. The omega thief. They whispered. Loud enough for her to hear.
“That’s her.”
“She stole the Lunaris Crest and still thought she could be Luna.”
“She’s cursed.”
Someone in the crowd threw a piece of rotten fruit. It hit her shoulder and slid down her dress. She didn’t even flinch.
Another followed, this one an egg. It cracked against her side.
The guards said nothing. They just walked.
At the front of the courtyard, the execution platform stood bare, the stone polished clean, like it was waiting for her.
They forced her to her knees in the center of the courtyard, right in front of the executioner’s stone slab.
A long iron chain connected her cuffs to a ring in the platform, giving her just enough slack to kneel upright but not move an inch more.
Across from her stood a small ceremonial bowl glass with silver edges filled with moonwater. Sacred. Cold. Meant to “cleanse” her before death. Meant to give her peace.
Mint could barely lift her hands to it. They trembled too much.
She dipped her fingers in. The water spilled from her hand and splashed onto the stone. Her vision blurred. She dropped the bowl.
It hit the platform and shattered into pieces.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
“A sign,” someone muttered.
“She’s unclean.”
“She deserves to die.”
Mint closed her eyes. She could barely breathe. Her heart felt like it was slowing down. Like it was giving up before she did.
“Moon Goddess,” she whispered silently, “if you’re listening, please… I don’t want to die this way.”
A few minutes later, the crowd parted and the Alpha arrived.
Leighton walked slowly, dressed in black ceremonial armor, a silver chain across his chest, the ShadowFang crest on his collar.
He said nothing. He didn’t even look at her.
He took his place behind the platform, beside the executioner, arms folded behind him. His face was stone.
Mint’s eyes met his. Just once.
There was nothing in them. Nothing. She lowered her head.
Tears slid down her cheeks as the executioner stepped forward.
He pulled a long blade from its sheath. Polished. Heavy. Final.
“By order of Alpha Leighton Thorn,” he said loudly, “this traitor is sentenced to death for theft of the Lunaris Crest and violation of sacred law.”
The crowd murmured approval. The executioner raised the blade.
Mint whispered, “Please…”
She wasn’t sure who she was talking to anymore.
She didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not without being believed. Not without understanding why this happened.
Her voice broke again.
“I didn’t take it,” she whispered. “I didn’t… I don’t even know what it looks like.”
The blade stayed raised.
Mint’s hands clenched then she looked up, directly at the Alpha.
And something strange slipped from her lips.
“I know you used to hate your father.”
The crowd froze.
Mint wasn’t sure why she said it. It just… came out.
Her voice shook, but she went on.
“You still wear that black ring, don’t you? Not for power. For him. To remind yourself never to kneel again.”
Leighton’s head turned.
Gasps.
He took one step forward, as if pulled.
The executioner hesitated, blade still raised.
“I hear it,” Mint whispered. “The way your mind breaks when you try to sleep. I feel it. I didn’t ask for it… but I feel it.”
His expression didn’t change but he didn’t speak. And he didn’t give the command.
The silence thickened. Then a voice rang out from the other side of the platform.
“Is this what ShadowFang has become?”
All heads turned. A tall figure stepped forward, Alpha Halric of the Eastern Ridge, his crimson cloak brushing the floor behind him.
“You murder your fated mate in front of us all, for the sake of pride?”
Leighton’s jaw tightened.
“Do not interfere,” he said coldly.
“I would never interfere with your pack’s laws,” Halric said, calmly. “But I will speak when I see an Alpha spit on the Moon’s decision.”
“The Moon doesn’t assign thieves,” Calista snapped from the crowd.
Halric turned to her. “And yet the bond is there. I felt it. We all did.”
The crowd shifted. Whispers rose:
“She knew things…”
“Was it real?”
“If it is, and he kills her…”
Leighton’s fists clenched behind his back.
Ronan, standing behind the elders, said nothing. His face was unreadable. But his eyes were locked on Mint.
The executioner looked to Leighton for a signal.
For a long moment, the Alpha didn’t answer.
Then, finally, he spoke, “Return her to the cell.”
Gasps. Whispers. The guards stepped forward.
“She will stand a public trial at dusk tomorrow,” he added.
The blade was lowered. The chains unhooked.
Mint didn’t move at first. Her body had gone numb. She was dragged again, legs stumbling beneath her, eyes wide.
Calista watched her disappear through the gates. She didn’t say a word but her face twisted into something dark.
---
That night, as the courtyard emptied, and the fire pits burned out one by one, Calista stood at the highest tower, alone, hands gripping the stone rail.
She had failed but not for long.
Tomorrow was the trial. Tomorrow would be death. And this time, there would be no interruptions.
- Writer
