The Devil's Warrior Queen
Chapter 372: Prediction Or Nightmare?

Chapter 372: Prediction Or Nightmare?

"The council has thereby sentenced the witch to death, remember where your loyalty lies, warrior. If you try to come in our way, we won’t hesitate to take it as treason against the kingdom." The leader of the council uttered firmly, leaving Aldric quiet.

Without wasting a moment, the council members rose on their feet as the leader announced "The trial is over, the witch shall be executed at dawn." With those words uttered, they marched out of the grand hall, while the guards dragged her out.

As they dragged her past Aldric, he avoided her gaze like a plague while she glanced at him before she was pulled away to her detaient room.

Zoya was still reeling from doubt and confusion, how on earth was she supposed to crawl out of this uncanny situation? She pondered inwardly.

She couldn’t rely on Aldric, he was a warrior and he had duties in the kingdom, she was the least of his problem certainly, the only thing she could hope for was a miracle, a miracle that might not happen.

Alone in the dimly lit detainment room of the ancient castle, Zoya, with hair as pure as snow and eyes the color of storm clouds, sat huddled in a corner, her heart pounding with fear and uncertainty. Her once serene face was now etched with worry, her usually steady hands trembling as she clutched them tightly together in a desperate attempt to calm her racing thoughts.

The room itself was devoid of comfort, its stone walls cold and unforgiving, casting eerie shadows that danced across the floor like malevolent spirits. A single torch flickered weakly in its sconce, its feeble light barely illuminating the oppressive darkness that seemed to press in from all sides.

Zoya’s breath came in ragged gasps, her chest tight with anxiety as she paced back and forth across the cramped space, her footsteps echoing hollowly against the stone floor. Every creak of the ancient timbers, every whisper of the wind outside, sent shivers down her spine, filling her with a sense of dread that seemed to suffuse the very air around her.

She wasn’t expecting to see Aldric again, wasn’t expecting his visit and she didn’t want him to. It was best he stayed away from her or he would be labelled as a traitor if he helped her escape. This was reality and she was finally wide awake, awake from the beautiful dream she had reveled in but now, it was time to face reality.

As the hours stretched on into the night, Zoya found herself unable to rest, her mind racing with thoughts of the fate that awaited her on the morrow. The weight of her impending doom hung heavy upon her shoulders, crushing her beneath its oppressive burden until she felt as though she could scarcely breathe.

Sweat broke out upon her brow, trickling down her back in icy rivulets as she struggled to quell the rising panic that threatened to consume her. Her pulse pounded in her ears like a drumbeat, each thud sending fresh waves of terror crashing over her trembling form.

In the flickering torchlight, Zoya’s grey eyes gleamed with unshed tears, their depths betraying the fear and despair that lurked within her fragile heart. She felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare from which there could be no escape, her every thought consumed by the specter of her impending doom.

Unable to bear the suffocating silence any longer, Zoya let out a choked sob, her slender frame wracked with sobs as she sank to her knees upon the cold stone floor. She felt utterly alone in her despair, abandoned by the gods and forsaken by those who had once called her friend.

And yet, even in the depths of her darkest hour, a glimmer of hope flickered within Zoya’s soul, a tiny ember of defiance that refused to be extinguished.

With a trembling hand, Zoya reached out to brush away the tears that stained her cheeks, her fingers tracing the contours of her face with a touch as gentle as a whisper. And as she closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer to the heavens above, she felt a strange sense of peace descend upon her troubled soul, a calm amidst the storm that raged within her breast.

And so, with a weary sigh, Zoya settled herself upon the cold stone floor, her eyes fixed upon the distant horizon as she awaited the dawn of a new beginning, or perhaps her end.

Dawn broke rather quickly and the heavy wooden door of Zoya’s detainment room creaked open, filling the air with a sense of foreboding as the flickering torchlight spilled into the dimly lit chamber. Outside, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor, accompanied by the harsh clanking of metal chains, a grim reminder of the fate that awaited the white witch.

Zoya stood frozen in place, her heart pounding in her chest as she braced herself for what was to come. Her white hair cascaded around her shoulders like a shimmering waterfall, framing her delicate features with an ethereal glow that seemed out of place amidst the gloom of the castle dungeon.

But her eyes, those stormy grey eyes that had once sparkled with life and laughter, were now clouded with fear and resignation, their depths betraying the turmoil that raged within her soul.

As the guards entered the room, their faces obscured by the shadows of their hoods, Zoya felt a cold dread settle over her like a suffocating shroud. She knew that she was powerless to resist, that her fate had been sealed the moment she was sentenced to death.

With rough hands, the guards seized Zoya by the arms, their grip like iron bands as they dragged her unceremoniously from the room.

She stumbled and fell to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to keep pace with her captors. But they showed no mercy, their faces twisted with contempt as they hauled her roughly to her feet and continued on their relentless march through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle.

Outside, the morning air was cold and biting, the moon hanging low in the sky like a silent witness to the injustice that was about to unfold. Zoya shivered as a gust of wind swept through the courtyard, sending a chill down her spine as she was dragged ever closer to her doom.

The courtyard itself was bathed in an eerie half-light, the torches lining the walls casting long, flickering shadows that danced across the cobblestones like phantoms in the sunlight.

In the center of the courtyard stood a towering scaffold, its twisted form silhouetted against the sky, a grim reminder of the kingdom’s unforgiving justice.

Zoya’s heart sank as she beheld the scaffold, knowing that it was here that her fate would be decided. But even as she struggled against her captors, her mind filled with a desperate longing for freedom, she knew that there was no escaping the inevitable.

With a final, brutal shove, the guards forced Zoya to her knees before the scaffold, her hands bound tightly behind her back as she gazed up at the gleaming blade that hung suspended above her head.

The executioner stood nearby, his hooded gaze fixed upon her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine, a silent reminder of the fate that awaited her should she dare to defy the will of the kingdom.

And yet, even as she knelt upon the cold, unforgiving cobblestones, Zoya refused to surrender to despair.

As the executioner raised his axe high above his head, preparing to deliver the final blow, Zoya closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer to the gods above before the blade came down on her neck, her head came rolling off on the floor, but as quickly as it happened, she shot her eyes open with shallow breaths flaring from her lips.

Her body trembled with terror and her shaky hands traveled to her neck. It was only a dream, but it felt so real, like a prediction of what was to come, but she knew it was no prediction, her visions never appeared when she was asleep, it couldn’t be.

She shook her head in denial, she couldn’t die tomorrow, not now.

Finally, dawn arrived and the clutches of fear clamped around her heart, it’s teeth digging into her chest.

The guards unceremoniously flung the door open and dragged her out to the courtyard where her gruesome fate would meet her.

In the grim courtyard where the condemned met their fate at the hands of the kingdom’s executioner. And towering above this bleak scene, like a sinister sentinel of death, looms the Execution Scaffold, a structure both feared and revered by the citizens.

Crafted from ancient oaks harvested from the forbidden forests beyond the kingdom’s borders, the scaffold stands as a testament to the dark arts that have long held sway over the land. Its massive beams, worn smooth by the passage of time and stained with the blood of countless souls, form a grotesque tableau against the backdrop of the fortress walls.

At its center, rising high above the heads of the gathered guards, is the platform where the condemned are brought to meet their end. Hewn from the same blackened wood as the rest of the scaffold, it bears the scars of countless executions, a grim reminder of the kingdom’s unforgiving justice.

But it was not the platform itself that inspires fear in the hearts of the condemned, but rather the twisted contraption that hung suspended above it, a massive, iron-bladed guillotine known simply as "the Widowmaker."

Zoya and the other guards watched as a prisoner was led to the scaffold, their hands bound and their faces pale with fear, they are met with the solemn gaze of the executioner, a hooded figure clad in dark robes and wielding a wickedly sharp axe. It was said that the executioner’s identity was known only to the ruling elite of the kingdomm, and that he was as much a creature of shadow as he is of flesh and blood.

With a flick of his wrist, the executioner signaled for the condemned to kneel upon the platform, their heads bowed in resignation to their fate. And as the gathered guards looks on in morbid fascination, the executioner raised his axe high above his head, the blade glinting in the pale light of the sunrise.

In a single, swift motion, the blade falls, and the condemned’s head rolls from their shoulders, landing with a sickening thud upon the blood-stained platform below.

And as the guards erupts into cheers and applause, the executioner stood alone amidst the carnage, his hooded gaze fixed upon the next unfortunate soul to meet their end upon the Shadowed Throne’s dreaded scaffold.

His eyes mechanically dropped on Zoya and she flinched in terror.