The Forbidden Royal Execution of the Red Witch: 7 Timelines of Betrayal and the Dark Secret of the Aethelgard Bloodline

The Day the World Stood Still

The iron bells of Aethelgard usually rang for weddings or victories, but today they tolled for a death.

Kaelen, the woman known as the Red Witch, felt the rough stone of the courtyard against her bare knees.

Her crimson hair fell over her face like a shroud, hiding the calm expression that terrified the guards.

Above her, King Alaric looked down from the high dais, his hand gripping the arm of his throne until his knuckles turned white.

He was a man who had conquered a dozen nations, yet he looked remarkably small in the presence of a woman in rags.

To his right, Princess Elara was a vision of gold and silk, though her voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

"End her life now!" Elara shrieked, her finger pointing at Kaelen’s exposed neck.

The executioner, a giant of a man with a black hood, shifted his weight and raised the massive greatsword.

The sun caught the edge of the blade, sending a flash of light across the silent, gathered crowd.

Every person in the capital had come to witness the end of the magic that had allegedly cursed their crops and blighted their children.

But as the sword reached its zenith, the heartbeat of the universe seemed to skip.

The wind died instantly, leaving a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight on the ears.

A swallow, caught in mid-flight above the palace spires, remained suspended against the blue sky like a painting.

The executioner’s muscles were locked in a permanent state of tension, his weapon hovering inches from Kaelen's hair.

King Alaric was a statue of regal judgment, his mouth open as if to utter a final word that would never come.

Kaelen stood up, her chains falling away from her wrists as if they were made of smoke rather than iron.

She did not look at the King, nor did she look at the man holding the sword.

She turned her gaze toward Princess Elara, whose eyes were wide with a terror that surpassed mortal understanding.

Elara was gasping, her chest heaving as she realized she was the only one in the entire city who could still move.

"You," Elara whispered, her voice trembling as she backed away from the advancing witch.

Kaelen walked slowly, her footsteps making no sound on the cobblestones that were now gray and leaching color.

"You have tried to kill me in seven different timelines, Elara," Kaelen said, her voice echoing as if from the bottom of a deep well.

The Princess stumbled against the throne, her royal poise collapsing into the frantic movements of a cornered animal.

Kaelen reached out and touched a frozen flower petal, which disintegrated into ash at her fingertip.

"In the first timeline, you poisoned my tea because you feared my influence over your father," the witch continued.

"In the second, you hired assassins to burn the cottage where I tended to the sick and the dying."

"In the third, you convinced the church that I was a demon born of the Great Rift."

Each word seemed to sap the gold from the palace walls, turning the vibrant tapestries into moth-eaten rags.

Elara shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she clutched at her father’s frozen sleeve for protection.

But the King was no longer a man; he was becoming a hollow shell of porcelain, cracking under the pressure of the frozen moment.

"You think you are protecting this kingdom, but you are only protecting your own stolen divinity," Kaelen said.

She stood inches from the Princess, her green eyes glowing with a light that had watched stars die.

"I wasn't the one who cursed Aethelgard; I was the one holding the walls together while you tore them down for power."

The Princess opened her mouth to scream, but only a dry, rattling sound emerged.

Kaelen leaned in close, her breath smelling of ozone and ancient forests.