Refusing to face his king, Meyer shamefully turned away, his captain looking over his shoulder waiting for his command. “I would sooner see my country lie under the palm of the enemy than be forgotten entirely.” The marshal explained, but he did not expect the king to accept his reason.
When realisation struck him, believing that he was capable of drafting such a plan that he would willingly execute, the king reached for his belt, intending to strike down the traitor, but his sword was not present. “Y-You orchestrated this?” King Friedrich stammered, as he feared that his betrayal was the result of his ill judgement.
“No, I simply gave the command.” Meyer replied.
The marshal nodded, and the captain returned a gesture of obeisance. However doubtful, he understood that he had already committed himself to treason. As he faced his hostages, his resolve was steeled. His sabre swung downward, and August brought his children closer as he turned away from his fate. From their barrels, which hid their ticket to the abyss, the rifles discharged, and their flames ignited. Gunpowder spat, and targetless lead sprayed, striking anything in its path. Ranks rotated in and out, volley after volley, soldiers reloading and firing in alternation. The thunder of their weapons echoed, drumming against the walls and rattling the glass which had long defended itself against the wind. Death bellowed its drums, and the sound of wrath broke the peace of night. Like a detonation of firecrackers and fireworks, the nearest towns could surely hear them. There were distant galloping horses who came to a halt from the scare, and then seconds after, the hurried whip of a knight’s reins was heard. One yelled to hasten his mount, but as he approached, his voice was deafened by the screams that erupted between each round of fire.
Lords and ladies, their heirs and junkers fell, riddled with holes. Blood spread across the floor and bodies piled up, their cries eventually growing fewer as the gunfire intensified. The only queen alive held onto her husband’s arm as the spared family looked on in horror, forgetting that their children were witnesses too.
The young prince stared at the scene, his view of the world altered forever, while the flashes of gunfire reflected in his eyes, burning an image into his mind that would haunt him forever. Although his elder sister turned him away, embracing him, he could not be uncensored from reality any more. He had heard everything that unfolded.
The last volley of the night rang out, and trails of smoke sizzled. Traitorous soldiers stood down their rifles, and the hall fell silent. Before them, the dead’s hands appeared to reach for their feet, their eyes wide, but the only movement that came from them was the flow of warm, red life. Like a water feature made of three scores of men, women, and children, blood ran out of new orifices, trickling down their limbs and hair. Not one was spared. Yet the first thing that came to the executors’ minds was not to honour the dead, but to trample over them as they picked at their corpses like crows, searching for valuables and loot.
Their grand marshal, who authorised the killing, did nothing to stop them, and he looked on, turning a blind eye to their actions. “Forgive me, your majesty.” There was shame in his voice when he dared request a pardoning from his liege. “But to fulfil my duty to the people, your people, anything had to be done to ensure the survival of the realm.” He said, though he was sure nothing could convince his king.
Meyer marched towards the captain, who sheathed his sabre. When he felt the presence of the marshal approaching him, he spun around. Guilt-stricken by the massacre, the captain could not bring himself to face the king and forced his focus onto his commander, his head slightly lowered.
“Once the south has been purged of rebels, have his majesty and his royal family sent to Neuschwanstein…” Meyer quietly instructed his captain, ensuring that only he would know. “For protection.” He added as a safeguard.
Continuing on past the captain, the marshal trod carefully over the bodies, scanning the dead for anything that caught his eye, too. He abandoned the king to his own thoughts, who had just seen his most trusted soldier stoop so low without a sense of morality. Anger welled within him. His fists tensed as his traumatised family surrounded him, finding protection in their husband and father. The captain obeyed as commanded and turned to his king. Exhaling his last sense of pride, he snapped his fingers and directed his men toward the royals.
Corpses stripped of their inventory were hauled out of the hall and tossed into the snow, stacked into a mound. To have been spared when his vassals had been murdered was the utmost humiliation the king refused to bear. As his soldiers neared him, ready to seize his family, in a moment of instinct, King Friedrich whipped his arm forward, and from his sleeve, a hidden pistol flipped into his hand. The captain noticed the shine of a gilded barrel pointing at him and ducked, alarmed, but he was not his target. King Friedrich pulled its trigger without a second thought, and a short bang rang out. A squad held him down after he fired his only shot, disarming the king whose family were quickly escorted away. Reinforcements gathered around to secure the frenzied man, but they were still afraid to hurt him despite their changed allegiances.
Being dragged away, kicking and fighting, the king shouted. “Death will have you soon, Johannes!” Powerless, he could only spit on his former soldiers’ faces to disgrace them. “Traitor! Traitor! All of you, traitors!” They were branded, but they had known that beforehand.
The door slammed shut, and his voice was muted by the palace’s thick walls. His intended target, however, remained standing. Holding his ear, which rang from the shot, the marshal withdrew his hand and brought it into view, bloodied by a flesh wound. The bullet had just grazed him and struck the wall, where it would forever be lodged in a shallow hole. Meyer sighed, his troops continuing their work, but before all his victims had been cleared from the scene, there was an object on the ground by his feet that caught his eye. He knelt down and saw that it had spilt out of the pocket of the dead king, cradling his silent infant.
It was a gold badge with an emblem of a long-lasting dynasty that was, in one night, eradicated. Meyer picked it up, and the royal corpses were dragged away. He returned to the table where he had executed his betrayal, the place where the light was brightest, brushed the surface of the blood-stained badge, and admired its masterful craftsmanship with a smirk and a chuckle. But then, another set of doors opened.
From the lobby, an officer hurried in, bearing a glaive and his distinct armour. “Meyer!” The man called his name, his tone antagonised.337Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIvn9J7l2ef
and then Add to home screen.