A Monarch's Choice

Malice is covering her hands as the ink drips from her executioner. She was signing away something that even a monarch had no right to, she was opening the flood gates for the beckoned call of the heretics calling for her crown; her head. She knew that her choices were scarce and without having received a response from the military general Claude, she had no other alternative. The privy council hung on her every word. Maybe she could stall that which would change her kingdom’s fate.

Princess Ariana consumed the blood that she was forced to spill. Her gulps were confessing her sins and removing the veil from the unchaste heir. Those lips as dark as a rose withering away; stained with the innocent virtue of a messenger at the wrong place, wrong time. The falsehood poured out of her parted lips, singing the song of a siren leading her masters to the sea. Her brown eyes pierced through the counsel and for just a moment, she allowed herself to hope. Until the boom of the cannon rocked the walls on the outside of the Tower. Until her hired gun carved the name of the English Footman who will serve as a martyr for her cause. Until the once gentle name of Ariana Marie declared war.