The Green Tower was a place built not for glory but for finality. It was on a wide stretch of land that had long been used for punishment. It was not a place people visited for comfort. The ground was packed hard from years of use, darkened in some places by old blood stains that had not fully faded.

Around the perimeter, the tools for execution stood like grim monuments. A row of tall wooden gallows stood, their crossbeams bare, the ropes coiled neatly at the base of each post, for hanging. Beside the gallows, heavy iron cages just large enough for a man to stand in, others were smaller enough to force anyone to crouch. A few of these cages had spikes fixed inside, not sharp enough to kill quickly but enough to cause pain over time.

Farther along, ten wooden crosses were planted into the ground, arranged in rows, their surfaces rough and marked by repeated driving of nails. Iron shackles were attached to some of them, used to hold those condemned for crimes. Nearby, a sturdy wooden horse with a sharpened edge was set up, a whipping post with iron manacles dangling from chains.

Another part was a pit, covered halfway with wooden bars, used to throw criminals into darkness for days before execution. Somewhere close, a large iron brazier sat cold, its purpose evident in the soot that blackened the stone around it.

In the center of it all, the main stage for the day’s work was a low, wide wooden platform. At its front were several blood-soaked chopping blocks, their surfaces gouged and stained a deep rusted brown. Beside it stood a few baskets woven from thick wicker, their purpose clear. And close by sat buckets of water, along with clothes and tools, that executioners used to clean their blades.

Hundreds of people had gathered around the open ground. They had come from every corner of Lycanthria and beyond. Some had travelled through the night to witness this execution. Some stood on raised stones to get a better view. Others pushed forward, eager not to miss anything. Children sat on their father’s shoulders, trying to see over the adults’ heads. Some carried stones, eggs, rotten fruits, and broken pieces of wood.

The mood was not somber; it was festive in a savage way. A low rumble began at the back of the crowd and grew into a roar as the first of the prisoners appeared. More than thirty men and women, dressed in the torn remnants of fine clothing, were marched in single file, forming two uneven rows. Their wrist were still bound in chains. Their faces were pale, some streaked with tears, others fixed in a blank, terrified stare.

The crowd surged forward, pulling at some of the prisoners, and the guards immediately formed lines to hold them back, but they did little to stop the attack. The people threw what they had in their hands at the prisoners.

Rotten fruit splattered across the prisoners’ faces and clothes. A rotten cabbage struck an elder in the face. He stumbled, and a guard yanked him back to his feet. A rock hit a woman on the head, and it tore her skin, and blood streamed from the spot. She cried out, but the sound was drowned out in the torrent of curses. People spat at them.

"Traitors!"

"Show no mercy to the traitors!"

"Kill them!"

"Burn them!"

"Stake them for selling us all to the wanderers!"

At the far end of the Green Tower, there was a high concrete dais, draped in the banners of the royal house. It overlooked the entire scene, a place of separation and authority. King Alaric stood at the first step; his expression was firm. Beside him was Aveloria, her posture straight and expression calm. Behind them were Trovald, Galen, and Theron.

Evander stood close by, his arms crossed and expression one of cold interest. Serene and Seraphina were next to him, their faces pale but composed.

On the left side of the dais stood several elders of the council, older men and women dressed in heavy robes, and their faces grim.

Commander Tharkun and many royal guards were positioned around the dais, along the edges of the ground, and near the execution blocks, their eyes watching the crowd and their hands on the pommels of their swords.

King Alaric raised his hand. Slowly, the noise from the crowd began to fade. It took time, but eventually the shouting reduced to murmurs.

"People of Lycanthria," He began, his voice carrying across the grounds without need for a herald. "You see before you men and women who swore oaths to this kingdom. Oaths of loyalty. Oaths of service." He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the prisoners. "They broke those oaths."

A murmur of anger ripples through the crowd. "Kill them all!"

Alaric continued, his voice hardened. "They conspired with our enemies. They fed information to the wanderers. They placed every one of you, your wives, your children, your homes in danger so that they might line their own pockets and advance their own treacherous cause. Their crimes are not just against the crown. Their crimes are against you. Against the very area of our society. They chose greed over duty. They chose a stranger over their own blood."

The crowd reacted. Some shouted insults. Others demanded immediate judgment.

"This kingdom was built on order. On laws. On the understanding that betrayal will be met with a consequence so absolute that it serves as a warning for all time." He paused, letting his words settle.

"By the laws of this land, sealed by the blood of our forebears, I, King Alaric, sentence these traitors to death by beheading."

The crowd erupted. Applause and shouting thundered across the Green Tower. Some raised their hands, calling for the execution to begin.

Alaric let the noise linger on for a moment before raising his hand again. Silence returned.

"And as the law demands, the families of these traitors are stripped of all titles, lands, and holdings. Their wealth will be inventoried and distributed among people experiencing poverty in this kingdom. Every gold, every bolt of cloth will go to those they sought to harm. They are hereby exiled from Lycanthria. They have until sunset to leave the city walls and never to return."

The cheers returned, louder this time. A few of the prisoners let out choked sobs.