Chapter 47: The Beginning Of The End

Eliana takes in a quivering breath, trying to calm her terror as the large doors to her castle are pulled open and the crowd of rebels and Climont soldiers scream out their lust for her demise. She bites down a sob, clutching at her overweight chains as dread washes over her, tightening her muscles. Two burly men flank her, matching every step she takes down the stairs. Her gaze sharpens and she clears her vision more by blinking away her tears.
Her heart aches for Jasper. With every movement she makes, descending from the castle, a noose is tightening around her organs. Soon it shall be around her neck, and she will be gone from this world. If only she had told Jasper from the beginning who she was. Surely he would turn his back on her, but it would be for the best. She would not be feeling this pain right now. All she cares for, now with her father gone, is to see her mate one last time.
As Eliana surveys the crowd, eyeing every man and woman that has betrayed both her and her father, she wants to scream. These traitors have excited impatience in their gazes. They pump their fists as they beg for her death. She grits her teeth and holds onto the rage boiling in her stomach.
When she is halfway through the crowd and she has reached the bottom step, she catches sight of a familiar face.
Alma.
The werebird stands almost in the center of the jeering rebels, but with her stature she is almost engulfed by their weight.
Relief washes over Eliana, her legs swaying under her. She has to bite her lip in order to hold back a smile. She makes eye contact with Selma who stands on the large platform in the center of the courtyard. The woman smirks, folding her arms as the thick noose next to her shifts in the breeze.
Gulping her fear, Eliana looks back at Alma whose gaze is almost completely covered by the large hood of her cloak. The Princess tries to put as much effort into portraying her gratitude through just her eyes. She quickly peers across the crowd once more, one person in particular in mind.
She spots Olisnia in the back of the courtyard, her tattoos completely covered, but her eyes flash violet once she makes eye contact with Eliana. Hidden within the shadows of the sides of the square’s walls are three figures. They tower over every other individual within the compound. Each wearing a cloak, the Princess is unable to tell who they are. Clearing her senses, she takes one long breath in.
Eliana is hit with a wave of putrid scents hanging over the crowd. Every so often she notices an earthly tint to the air, most likely belonging to the Pivurlions. No matter how much she tries, though, she cannot sense Jasper’s lavender aroma.
Breathing out, she makes eye contact with Alma once more. The werebird only shakes her head curtly. She knows what Eliana is asking, and she is answering.
Jasper will not come.
Eliana closes her eyes momentarily, fighting back tears, before she continues on her path through the crowd. The rebels throw random objects in her direction. Rotten fruits or spoiled milk either fall shy, landing at her feet, or they make contact with her legs and abdomen, coating her flesh. A few chuck rocks, several crashing into her temples, splitting open her skin. She gasps as a red fire erupts in her head, a shiver tightening every one of her muscles. She only hesitates a moment to catch her bearings before the men on either side of her shove her forward.
She continues, almost stumbling over her chains, as she stares up at the gallows that looms over her. The noose swings limply as if it were calling her. She gulps and stops at the bottom of the stairs.
Selma turns from her and faces the crowd, “My fellow humans, thank you for coming for such a momentous occasion. I have gathered you all here to witness the death of the very last werecat.” The crowd whoops with a large boom. “After today, the Pivurlions will no longer have any leverage over us. We humans are the rulers.”
The men in the crowd are the loudest, bumping their fists into the air as the cheer.
Eliana glowers at Selma, the betrayal still fresh in her aching heart. A soft growl grows in her throat. She breathes in, composing herself before ascending the stairs of the gallows. Her golden locks hang low against her cheeks and she tries to blink away the blood dripping into her eyes. Once at the top, the noose is pushed over her head and is tightened around her neck. The Princess forces a façade of strength to wash over her as the rope closes of a majority of her oxygen.
Through the crowd, Eliana hones in on her friends who slowly shift around the rebels. As they near the platform, the Princess holds her breath, her muscles tight. She looks towards the sky a stray tear escaping her grasp.
In the next moment, chaos ensues.