Song vibe: Haegeum – Agust D

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  NOCTURNE

  The Great Hall, Firestone

  As his brothers began to file out of the chamber, Nocturne offered Saphira his hand to stand.

  Fye, the ride here almost killed me, but to think that she would have dealt with this alone. His fingers found her waist without thought, feeling the impossible softness of her body underneath. Now, those who harmed her—those who betrayed me—will receive their due.

  “Saphira,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her hip. “This will be finished soon.”

  “I know." Her hand slipped downwards, entwining their fingers. “Just do what needs to be done.”

  Nocturne re-entered the Great Hall, still holding her hand. The silence fell at once—thick, expectant, threaded with fear and awe in equal measure.

  He took his seat in the judgment chair. Saphira remained standing at his right, close enough that he could feel the steadiness of her presence.

  “First,” he said, his voice even, controlled, “to those who raised a blade against my wife.”

  He scanned the hall slowly, deliberately, meeting eyes that dropped just as slowly. “The punishment for any threat against my family is death.” He let the words settle, waiting for the room absorb them. “But my wife has asked for mercy on your behalf."

  Nocturne glanced sideways at Saphira; he liked dispensing mercy in her name. Her eyes brighten for a moment as she realised his intent.

  "Given the circumstances of Gorda’s magic, I have agreed to pardon you all.”

  A collective breath escaped the hall.

  “Next,” he said, turning his gaze forward at last. “Quintus Sunfire.”

  Chains rattled as Quintus was brought forward.

  For a moment, Nocturne saw the castellan as he had once been. A familiar presence in these halls. A voice he had trusted. A man who had bowed his head and sworn loyalty when Edwin granted him Firestone.

  That man no longer exists—if he ever did.

  “I have already stripped you of your position,” Nocturne said, rising to his feet, “and replaced you with one worthy. For your years of service—under King Edwin and under me—I was prepared to banish you.” His voice hardened. “But your crimes run deeper than what anyone realised. Theft. Bribery. Manipulation.”

  The crowd gave a knowing mutter; the kind that came only when rumours are confirmed.

  Good. Nocturne thought. Let everyone know the truth. Then no one can say that I give unjust judgment.

  “And then there are the words you spoke of my wife. In my hall. In front of my people.” He stepped closer, the words bringing something savage to his chest. "Whore. Adulterer. Camp wife." He looked to the crowd, saying the next words for them, "My vows were said before the Almighty. She is my wife in body, spirit and soul. For the sake of my people, I will say my vows on mountain soil too, when time allows."

  Quintus bowed his head. "My lord, without mountain vows we all assumed—”

  “Silence. For your crimes,” Nocturne continued, voice low and unwavering, “you are sentenced to death—”

  “My lord—”

  “—tonight.”

  Saphira flinched beside him.

  “I will grant you a moment to compose your final words,” Nocturne said. “A letter to those left behind. A last drink—”

  “You don’t understand,” Quintus wheezed. “This woman, this foreign witch, has deceived—”

  Nocturne did not allow the accusation to finish.

  He drew his blade and struck in one clean motion.

  Quintus’ head fell from his shoulders, striking the stone ear-first before rolling to a stop at the feet of the crowd. The body followed with a dull, graceless thud. Blood spread quickly across the floor, dark and unmistakable.

  The crowds drew back, though respect gleamed in their eyes.

  You all watch. Nocturne felt his muscles coil as he swept his gaze across the hall, commanding them to stare at what he had done. Your Count is no longer a ruler in name only. Firestone is mine. Test this at your peril.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Above: Quintus meets his end.

  Nocturne looked down at what remained of the man.

  “He suffered less than he deserved,” he said quietly. Then, with a measured breath, “Guards. Remove the body.”

  He felt it then—not triumph, not satisfaction, but the heavy finality of the act.

  Not a battlefield kill. Not the necessity of martial law. This had been judgment, rendered openly, by my authority as Count, alone.

  My first kill of the kind. My choice.

  He saw Saphira tremble; he saw the tears she did not let fall. But she stood, composed and unflinching.

  The Countess of Firestone. My Countess.

  Every instinct in him urged him to pull her into his arms, to turn her away from the blood and the consequence of his actions.

  This is the cost of standing beside me, he thought grimly. Almighty, forgive me.

  The servants hurried to clear the body and soak up the blood with heavy cloths.

  Nocturne accepted a rag from Rell and turned away from the hall. With his back to them, he wiped his blade in careful strokes. His breath came slow and controlled—not anger, not regret, but the release of the tension it took to end a life this way.

  He sheathed the sword, the motion releasing the ache in his shoulders.

  When he turned back, his eyes found Saphira’s at once.

  She wiped her eyes, and then she nodded.

  Good, he thought. She understands. She did not look away. This—this—is who I am now.

  Nocturne turned back to face the crowd. He seated himself back on the judgement chair and said, “Selwyn, step forward.”

  The former Chief of the Sunfire clan stepped forward, his hands clasped, his wrists unchained. The former clan chief had been under Firestone guard since the night Astra died and Gorda went missing. He was not charged with any crime, but August had made the right call—he was too dangerous to be set free. His eyes were glassy, with tears unshed from witnessing his brother's execution. Selwyn stopped at the dias, a guard standing on either side of him.

  “I have committed no crime, my Lord," Selwyn murmured, as he took a moment to still the trembling in his hands. "An innocent man cannot ask for mercy."

  Nocturne regarded him for a long moment before speaking.

  “You have not broken any of Firestone’s laws,” he said at last. “But you have broken the ancient customs of these mountains.” His voice remained steady, his posture wide as he sat in the judgment throne. “You failed to maintain discipline in your house. You permitted magic to grow unchecked. You promised your daughter a future you had neither the right nor the power to give her.” He paused. “And she is dead because of it.”

  Selwyn’s breath broke into a sound halfway between a sob and a cry. The hush spread through the hall as the news of Gorda’s death spread.

  Now they all know. Good.

  "Your daughter poisoned my wife and Lady Marigold. Killed Lady Astra. Manipulated Firestone with her foul magic. She has paid for her crimes, killed by the beast she controlled." Nocturne swept his gaze over the hall. "Yes, that creature I killed—the one wearing my face—was Gorda's. She used secret powers to control and manipulate you all—and Selwyn turned a blind eye."

  "I swear, I didn't know of my daughter's... powers," Selwyn pleaded. "Surely you'll not make a father pay for the crimes of his child?"

  “I do not punish people for the crimes of others. However...” Nocturne turned his gaze to Felix. “You sat in the Sunburst Chair under the guise of guardianship until your nephew came of age—but you misled the wardens. In your cowardice, you hoped the nightspawn would act in your place.”

  Felix did not flinch.

  “These acts are contemptible,” Nocturne continued. “But they do not fall under my jurisdiction.”

  Selwyn looked up sharply, hope flashing across his face—brief and desperate despite his tears.

  Nocturne extinguished it.

  “It is within my purview to decide who may remain in my lands,” he said. “And you are no longer welcome in them. You are banished, Selwyn Sunfire. May the Almighty have mercy on your path."

  The rage flashed over Selwyn’s face—screwing up his wrinkled features. He lunged sideways, wrenching the blade from the guard at his flank.

  Nocturne moved at once, stepping in front of Saphira, his hand already on his own sword.

  But Selwyn did not attack his wife. He turned the blade inward, pressing it hard against his throat.

  “You killed my brother! Murdered my only child! And now, you dare banish me?” he shouted, his hand shaking. “Take it back—or my blood will be on your hands.”

  Nocturne met his gaze without blinking.

  “So be it.”

  Selwyn’s mouth worked soundlessly. His grip whitened. He was a mountain man—and mountain men did not bend. Selwyn swallowed the lump in his throat.

  Nocturne drew Saphira into his chest, already knowing how this would end.

  Selwyn dragged the blade across his own neck, cleanly severing the arteries.

  Blood spilled fast and bright across the stone.

  He felt Saphira shift. His hand knotted into her hair, holding her tight, covering her ears as Selwyn’s body hit the floor with a fleshy thud.

  My wife... this is something you should never have to see.

  Above: Nocturne protects Saphira.

  “Clear it up,” Nocturne commanded, holding his wife. To her alone, he whispered, “Don’t look—not yet.”

  She nodded.

  Only when the body was removed did Nocturne release his grip on Saphira. He moved his hand to her back, keeping contact with the bare skin between her shoulder blades.

  “This was not justice,” Nocturne said into the silence that followed. “This was theatre.” He looked to Felix. “What will the Sunfires do with the body?”

  “He died dishonourably.” Felix exhaled slowly, steadying his voice. “If a man can no longer endure life, he should take his sword and walk into the shadowlands.” His voice tightened. “Yet, they were still both my uncles—and Gorda was my cousin. Send the three bodies to Sunfire. They will be buried at the foot of the mountain—only their feet will touch home soil.”

  Nocturne inclined his head. The lowest of honours. But still not a disgrace.

  Releasing Saphira, he turned back to the hall.

  “No more spawnlords. No more political games of influence and fear,” he said. “I am committed wholly to Firestone. I will retire for the evening. Tomorrow, we begin a new chapter—under law, tradition, and strength.”

  He offered his arm; Saphira took it.

  Together, they walked around the bloodstain and out through the Great Hall, servants and guards bowing low as they passed.

  I'll leave the bloodshed behind, Saphira. Tonight, I am yours.