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SILENCE had fallen over the gallows following the execution. Each time the wind blew, the corpse—which had been left hanging as a warning—swayed stiffly. As the sun began to set, the crowd dispersed one at a time. Now that the uproar had quieted, only a single guard remained on the ominous platform.
As the guard yawned, an approaching figure called out to him, prompting him to look in the man’s direction. The newcomer appeared to be a young knight. A boy stood behind the knight, garmented in the sort of refined clothes that only nobles wore. He had the face of a beautiful woman, and though his golden hair resembled the hanging criminal’s, his was even lovelier than hers. All told, this sort of beauty was wasted on a young man.
“I’m here on orders from the king,” the knight said. “May I show you his letter?”
The knight withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket, showing it to the guard. However, the guard didn’t understand its contents, for he’d never learned to read. He’d been hired to act as a sentry.
“It’s an order to retrieve the body,” the knight explained.
After looking over the letter, the guard nodded, pretending to have understood its contents. He then left his post. When accepting this job, he’d been told that the body would be burned tomorrow, but until then, it would serve as a warning. If those plans had been expedited, it wasn’t any of his business. This just means my job is over faster, he thought happily.
Once the guard was gone, the knight stood before the dangling prisoner, cutting the rope that had tormented her for too long. She fell, and he caught her. The knight had always considered her to be light of weight, but now she was shockingly emaciated. Her flesh had all melted away, and when he held her, he felt naught but bones. Her once-soft hair had been dirtied and tragically torn to shreds.
After closing the young woman’s half-lidded eyes, the knight wiped the drool spilling from her mouth with his sleeve, not caring if he besmirched his clothes. Finally, he gently wrapped her in a cloak, cradling her in his arms as one might hold a child. He and the boy then headed back down the road they’d come from.
As he walked beside the knight, the boy held the young woman’s cold, emaciated hand. Her fingers drooped languidly. During her lifetime, she’d often held his hand like this. Yet now, her touch no longer radiated any warmth. In an attempt to warm her icy skin, the boy squeezed her hand even harder.
When the pair arrived at their carriage, the knight boarded the vehicle first, laying the woman down on the cushioned bench. The boy sat down on the opposite side. After they’d exchanged glances, the knight called out to the coachman, and the carriage began moving.
“Let’s go home, Rosemary,” the boy whispered to the sleeping woman.
Reynaldo—one of the few people Rosemary had ever opened up to—took his elder sister’s hand, kissing it reverently. By home, he hadn’t meant the royal palace, where Rosemary had been set up and murdered. Neither had he meant the Hubert region, where their father had used her as a political tool. No, he’d been referring to the villa where they’d spent their childhoods.
The knight withdrew the fake letter from his pocket and crumpled the piece of paper in his hand. Seated next to the coachman, he stared at the castle towering in the distance. Reynaldo stared at the same scene.
The knight had sworn his loyalty to Rosemary, and her murderers resided within that castle. Reynaldo had loved his elder sister more than anything, and her tormentors resided within that castle. The knight and Reynaldo shared only one thing in common: a desire for vengeance.
As dusk fell over the city, the carriage drove away undetected, vanishing into the gloom. The next morning, the missing body caused an uproar, leading to the hired guard’s punishment. Not a single person believed his testimony.
In the end, the body of Rosemary Hubert—a criminal once condemned to death—was never found.