A murmur of approval swept through the gathered nobles.

Ragnar’s gaze settled firmly upon Laheir.

"Do you have anything to say in response to your punishment?"

Laheir’s lips twisted into a cold sneer.

"You think you’re better than me? Whether you wear the crown or not, you’re still just a bastard. These people will soon realize you’re no different from me or Nheera. No better than any vile noble that has ever walked this halls. You are vicious, cruel, and possess no mercy in your heart."

Ragnar did not so much as flinch.

"After everything you’ve done to our people, this kingdom needs a harsh and vicious ruler to undo the damage left behind by people like you. I only wish my father had been more like me. Had he possessed a backbone, he would never have tolerated evil such as yourself for so long."

His glare was hateful and menacing. "Your brother, Aeron Tavish, ran an illegal assassin guild and sent killers after me and my wife multiple times. I have made sure to properly dismantle his organization in the last few months. And for the devastation you both inflicted upon this kingdom, every Tavish estate, every acre of Tavish land, and every coin your family possesses will be seized and used to rebuild the East that you and your brother burned to the ground."

His death would serve as a lesson to anyone harboring the notion of one day following in Laheir’s footsteps. They will all arrive at this very position, with their deaths already sealed and stamped in ink.

Ragnar gave a sharp nod toward the guards stationed along the walls.

"Take them away."

The guards moved immediately.

Laheir offered no resistance. He walked quietly, his head still held high with the same arrogant pride he had carried since entering the throne room.

His sons were another matter entirely.

As the guards seized them, they began to struggle violently, shouting curses and pulling against their chains. One demanded mercy. Another screamed threats. The youngest simply shouted in panic as he fought desperately against the men dragging him forward.

Their frantic protests echoed throughout the throne room long after they were hauled toward the doors.

***

The execution took place within a private grassy area enclosed by the castle walls. A simple wooden scaffold had been erected there, its weathered beams standing stark against the bright afternoon sky.

This was no public spectacle for common criminals.

For highborn traitors such as Laheir Tavish and his sons, the king had chosen privacy within the castle grounds, where only selected witnesses would observe their end.

Ragnar stood upon the upper walkway of the King’s Tower, overlooking the area from a commanding height. From there, he possessed a clear and unobstructed view of the entire proceedings.

Below, guards lined the perimeter while a small gathering of nobles watched in grim silence.

Laheir was led up the scaffold steps first.

Even now, with his hands bound behind his back and death only moments away, he carried himself with cold arrogance. His spine remained straight. His expression remained unreadable. His head was held as high as it had been on the day he first entered court as a noble lord.

His three sons stood at the foot of the scaffold under heavy guard, forced to watch.

Uncertainty began to show in their faces. Their father, however, showed none.

Laheir stopped in front of the executioner’s block and turned to face the king’s Tower. Despite the chains around his wrists and the certainty of death awaiting him, he stood tall, refusing to show even the slightest hint of fear. His voice rang out, strong and defiant, loud enough for Ragnar to hear every word.

"I accept my punishment with grace," he called out. "The way a true nobleman should. Long live the king."

A hush briefly settled over the crowd as all eyes turned toward where Ragnar stood watching.

He looked down at Laheir from above without a trace of emotion. The look on his face remained cold and impossible to decipher as he replied, "I have no use for the words of dead men."

For a long moment, Laheir held Ragnar’s gaze. Neither man looked away. Then, without another word, Laheir turned, knelt before the block, and calmly lowered his head onto the worn stone.

The executioner stepped forward.

The massive sword flashed once beneath the sunlight.

It was over in a single stroke.

A deafening roar erupted from the crowd gathered on the green. Some cheered, others cursed his name, while a few simply watched in stunned silence as Laheir Tavish’s severed head tumbled across the bloodstained platform.

The guards wasted no time.

Yannick, Laheir’s second son, was dragged up the steps next. Unlike his father, there was no pride in his eyes. His face had gone pale, and his entire body trembled as he struggled against the guards forcing him down. His pleas were drowned out by the noise of the crowd.

The blade rose once he was in position and he squeezed his eyes shut as it came down.

Blood splashed across the platform.

One by one, Laheir’s remaining sons were brought forward to meet the same fate. One shouted curses, another begged for mercy, but none were spared. Before long, their heads joined their father’s upon the execution grounds, a grim reminder of the cost of treason.

When the last execution was carried out, Ragnar turned away from the bloody scene, ready to leave. The matter was finished and he had other issues to attend to.

But he stopped when a guard hurried toward him and dropped to one knee, holding out a sealed letter.

"Your Majesty, this arrived only moments ago. It’s marked urgent."

Ragnar accepted the letter and broke the seal. His eyes moved across the contents, narrowing slightly as he read.

It was from Elka and it read;

’My parents have been coming to my cottage for days now, harassing me. I know you are searching for them. They’re hiding near me in the western coastal village of Dunharbor. Send your soldiers. I’m ready for them to be taken.’

Ragnar folded the letter slowly and slipped it into his coat.

His mind was already working through the implications.

Laheir and his sons were dead, but the rebellion’s roots stretched far deeper than a single noble house. There were still others who had financed it, supported it, and sheltered its conspirators from the crown’s justice.

Elka had just handed him the final two culprits on a silver platter.

Her own parents.

Two more traitors who had willingly aligned themselves with the same cause as Laheir.

"Dispatch soldiers to Dunharbor immediately. Conduct a thorough search of the entire village and every surrounding community. Leave no place unchecked until Lord Halric Nereth and his wife are found."

Without another word, Ragnar walked past the guard. Outside, workers were already beginning the grim task of clearing away the bodies, while the crowd continued to cheer the fall of House Tavish.

But Ragnar’s attention was no longer on the dead. It was fixed firmly on the living.

And soon, he hoped to have Elka’s parents in chains.