In the end, were any of his actions worth it?

William Dran Evronsworth was the one true heir to the throne of Krell, destined to save the kingdom from darkness. The long-lost crown prince who would purify the world through the blessings of the gods.

William’s eyesight was feverishly blurry, but he didn’t need to see to hear the deafening cheers of the crowd.

They were finally pleased, and all it took was William’s neck embraced by the bloodstained wood of the guillotine as his long list of crimes was enumerated.

Not that William cared to hear that list. None of the specifics really mattered anymore. None of it had ever mattered at all.

William could laugh, but he wasn’t the sort to laugh in the face of despair.

The festering agony of William's current injuries overshadowed his trepidation over his imminent demise. The rose-red cuts and purple-blossomed bruises from the objects the audience threw at him were nothing compared to his fatal stab wound. Blood seeped from his stomach as he felt his extremities numb. Acrid blood sifted through his teeth. Stomach acid burned in his throat and eroded his organs.

Really.

Why behead him when that injury alone was sure to kill him? As a symbolic victory? His broken nose creased painfully as he sneered, and he was sure that those who saw would take offense. It was a dramatic contrast from his sharp nose he had prided himself in. His vanity had burgeoned as he stared at his “royal” features in the ornate palace mirrors. Now, he was a peacock on a crusty chopping block.

William didn’t care what they thought of him anymore.

The sheer vitriolic hatred for his existence was almost as suffocating as the smoke and dread. The scent of charred meat and death wafted from the burning buildings. The invisible strings that held the world together, or perhaps merely connected this world to something else, were taut around William’s neck.

Were any of his efforts over the years worth it?

Indignant tears threatened to sting his eyes, but he held them inside. They could view him a villain, but he would never excuse them thinking him weak. Not even at his lowest did he allow for his guard to lower, his dignity an ever-vigilant light.

That was the reason he refused to speak. Refused to scream to anyone who would listen how unfair it all was. Refused to explain his perspective with the platform he’d been provided.

He wouldn’t beg for mercy, and he wouldn’t allow his voice to crack wretchedly in front of them. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

He couldn’t trust his voice nor his words. There was no telling what mortifying thing he might say the second he opened his mouth.

In the end, he didn’t even know why he was here.

He could have listened to the list of his crimes as described by those who would steal what little was left of his life, but what would the point be? Whatever drivel they spewed, it wasn’t true.

It wasn’t.

He could admit to imperfection, but he knew the laws of the kingdom. He’d committed no crime worth his execution. In the end, someone wanted him dead.

The only opinion that mattered were the words of that man. To know why he was here, upon this shitty guillotine, he needed to hear from him.

But William didn’t want to know.

If he knew why, he might not be able to hold back his tears. He closed his eyes to hold them in.

It was frustrating and infuriating. William ignored everyone, wishing for the descent of the blade. He was a dead man no matter what. He just wanted to die with what remained of his self-respect. He was far too old to plead for his life like a pathetic child. At twenty-six years old, he wouldn’t shame himself by behaving with juvenile grief.

“…William…”

An anguished voice warbled, hoarse from crying.

His eyes shot open, but the blood loss warped his vision into vague shapes and colors. Still, he could recognize the kneeling figure before him. White robes brushed against a blond braid that was normally woven with delicately arranged flowers but now in disarray, a solid light of hope and compassion shining in William’s betrayed vision. Arthur was the one person that was always on Willow’s side. The one person he trusted more than anyone else.

Arthur’s face was screwed up with concern, sensitive green eyes swimming with disappointment and love. “…It’s all right, William. It’ll be over soon.”

How wretched.

How disgusting.

How pitiful.

William did everything he could to hold in his emotions and hide how horribly twisted he felt inside. He wouldn’t let them see him fall. He wouldn’t let them see him succumb to shame.

“Your Highness…”

William closed his eyes.

He couldn’t hear this.

He didn’t want to know.

The fluffy pink clouds above them showed no concern for the world below, a beautiful sunset incompatible with the agony. The fluffy wisps reminded William of a memory from years past he had long abandoned.

Fluffy and woolly and troublesome. A life before he met Arthur Galvhan. A life before he was a prince. A life when there was nothing but miserable clouds in his inconsequential life. Willow Hierde alone with his sheep.

Arthur’s sorrowful voice snapped him out of his reminiscence. He whispered words softly in his ears: words of apology, words of affection, shallow words that meant nothing at all.

At the very end, William’s face broke down. Never cry, never show weakness, never surrender to pain. Never, never, never, never…! A choked sob wound its way out of his throat, bursting like weeds from the dirt. Why had he worked so hard…?! His throat burned with a mute scream and his face contorted with agonized despair. He held on to his dignity. His dignity was all that he had left, the only thing they couldn’t steal from him. 

Was any of it worth it?

He worked so hard and desperately to be a perfect heir and earn the crown on his head. To prove his legitimacy, one painful self-destruction at a time. To prove his worth.

To make Arthur proud.

Hot, miserable tears pricked his eyes and mixed with the sweat and blood further, blurring his vision to mimic the white Nothing that awaited them all. William prayed for the guillotine to fall. He needed to hold it together. Just a few moments longer. Just long enough that no one would see him cry.

The presence of the glow marking death in the distance held them all hostage. Arthur’s familiar fingers gingerly wiped away William’s tears, and the fragrance from the freshly picked flowers in his hair stung William’s nostrils.

Mercilessly, William’s death wouldn’t hasten despite his wishes. He couldn’t open his eyes. Those wretched tears would escape and then everyone would see his shame.

Crown Prince William Dran Evronsworth. His existence had meant something. He meant something. He had been special. He had been important. He’d done his best. He—

“…So special, Your Highness.”

His soft and sweet voice, full of assurances and kindness.

“Don’t worry, William.” Arthur caressed his cheek gently. “I’ll stay by your side. I swore an oath to you until the day you die.”

William's nausea multiplied as his stomach dropped. He wanted to spit in his face. To scream from the pain of betrayal. To demand answers and to avenge himself.

His vision shook as he tried to see and all he could see was Arthur’s kind smile. 

“You are so amazing, Your Highness.” Well-practiced smile lines creased.

No.

No more.

William’s heart shook violently against his chest and the tears fell down his cheeks, finally escaping from the prison of his broken eyes, stinging bright and red against his grimy face.

“You were truly special. The legend of your greatness will live on eternally.” Veneration in every syllable. A gentle light from his palm to comfort William in his dying moments. As though to give William one last hug. William only felt disgust at the sight, the pure light that represented nothing.

No.

Fluffy clouds above and the wail of crows scratching through the evening sky.

The guillotine dropped.

He was never special.

He was never anything at all.

In the end, none of it was worth anything.