On the fourth day after the fall of Lyonesse, Isolde summoned the surrendered courtiers of the former kingdom once more to the great hall of Ravenhold Palace.
This time, however, a young nobleman knelt silently by her side—exquisitely dressed, handsome, with an aura of refined elegance.
Even on his knees, he resembled a slender birch tree, impossible to ignore.
The courtiers, fearful of being purged, couldn't help but glance up at him.
He is a beauty of unearthly grace, they thought.
But then, they realized something was amiss.
This noble youth… wasn't he Grand Duke Alaric's son, Sylas? Why was he kneeling beside the Queen of Aethelred?
A restless murmur spread through the hall. They could surrender—they were minor figures. But how could Sylas surrender?
His family had enjoyed the kingdom's favor for generations! He had been celebrated and admired! And if he must surrender, why was he already kneeling so subserviently beside the new Queen?
Wasn't he renowned for his cold, noble demeanor, for looking down on all women? How could he now serve the Queen with such obedient debasement? It was laughable!
Sylas kept his head bowed, almost burying it in the folds of Isolde's gown. He bit his lip and pinched his leg, using the pain to stay focused.
From yesterday until now, Isolde had tormented him relentlessly. She didn't use beatings or shouts—such methods were beneath the Queen of Aethelred.
Instead, she employed bizarre artifacts crafted by Aethelred mystics, devices that left his body in agony and his mind clouded.
All while she pressed him relentlessly: Who is your betrothed?
Sylas bitterly regretted his slip of the tongue. He insisted, over and over, that he truly had no betrothed.
But Isolde no longer believed him. She would not rest until she had her answer. And today, she deliberately brought him before his former country's ministers to humiliate him.
"Pillars of the former Lyonesse," Isolde began sarcastically, "yesterday I reviewed the state of your kingdom. It was truly appalling. A shocking sight."
She played with a lock of Sylas's hair, winding it around her finger and giving it occasional, sharp tugs.
Each tug made Sylas jolt, but he dared not show his anger, pouring all his energy into resisting the disorienting effects of the enchantments.
The courtiers kneeling below, however, misinterpreted it entirely.
To them, Sylas was clearly trying to seduce the Queen.
Look at him, shuddering like that. He thinks his looks are all he needs. He's using his body to seek power and wealth now! they thought. This despicable wretch, who once acted so loyal, has sunk to the lowest depths.
Isolde continued, "I simply wish to ask you: what made you think you could resist mighty Aethelred for three years? Can anyone tell me why?"
The hall fell deathly silent. No one dared speak rashly.
The Queen's question surely meant she intended to punish those who had resisted most fiercely.
But there were always those unafraid of death, or those gambling for power.
Several women who had held minor positions straightened up, staking the lives of their families on this bet. They began pointing fingers wildly.
"Most wise and mighty Majesty, Lyonesse held out for so long only because of a few treacherous rebels!"
"This guilty subject accuses the Minister of War, the Vice-Minister of War, and the General of the Right Flank! They resisted the great armies of Aethelred and refused to repent!"
"I also accuse—"
In an instant, those hoping to climb over their colleagues' corpses began frantically denouncing others.
Isolde listened with a cold smirk. She gave Sylas's hair another tug and whispered to him, "Tell me, who is your betrothed? Otherwise, I will have all these people killed."
"I've told you, it was a slip of the tongue... I have no betrothed... Nngh..." He curled in on himself in pain, like a slender cat forced to groom itself against its will. The once cold and brilliant son of the Duke could now only kneel subserviently at the hem of her skirt.
Isolde gritted her teeth, a murderous smile on her lips. "Fine. Keep holding out. Let's see how long you can last!"
She spoke calmly to the guards beside her. "As these loyal informants have suggested, seize the accused and execute them."
Instantly, the hall fell completely silent. Executions? Already?
The women who had made the accusations now realized there was no turning back.
Within moments, several officials were dragged to the entrance of the hall and beheaded.
Until their last breath, they couldn't believe it—they had surrendered, yet they could still die like this? Killed on the word of their former colleagues?
Their severed heads were placed on wooden platters and brought back into the hall by the guards, as if serving a course at a banquet for the surrendered courtiers to witness.
The metallic scent of blood filled the air. Several civil officials, overcome with nausea, began to vomit. Some of the more timid ones wept silently.
Aethelred's reckoning had begun. Being a conquered people was not easy.
"Besides those who resisted," Isolde continued, "were there any corrupt or treacherous ministers?"
The opportunists in the hall, like sharks smelling blood, began frantically tearing into their colleagues once more. Soon, another group was led out to their deaths.
Isolde: "Did any of the royal harem interfere in politics?"
"Yes!"
"..."
Several male consorts from the former royal harem were brought before the hall and beheaded as a public example.
In just one morning, the entrance to the great hall resembled a slaughterhouse. They were killed in batches.
By the end, even Sylas felt he might faint. Dazed, he tugged weakly at Isolde's gown and whispered, "Enough... please, stop the killing... stop..."
"Stop?" Isolde asked. "Then who is your betrothed?"
She asked again. Sylas's eyes were glazed with confused tears. He looked up at her blankly and said with a bitter smile, "Must you force me to falsely accuse someone?"
"Oh? Daring to question me now?" Isolde looked out at the Lyonesse courtiers and suddenly smiled. "You tell me. Was the Duke's son here a good man, or a bad one?"
The blood-scented hall plunged into dead silence.
Even in his disoriented state, Sylas felt a flicker of relief.
If someone speaks against me, perhaps I can finally die?
But those who remained were seasoned opportunists.
Judging by Isolde's familiar, possessive treatment of Sylas—playing with his hair, keeping him close—they assumed the young man was in favor. Perhaps even a favorite.
Therefore, the most eager informant immediately fawned, "Lord Sylas is known for his cold nobility, peerless in all the land! A veritable jewel of Lyonesse! To serve by Your Majesty's side is like a fine gem finding its rightful setting with a brilliant sovereign!"
"Hahaha..." Isolde laughed, immensely pleased by the flattery. She couldn't help but chuckle.
But then, she let out a long sigh. "Your Lyonesse truly had its share of clever people. However... I have a family principle: the more something pleases me, the more it deserves to be destroyed. So, guards! Execute her."
As she spoke, two heavily armored soldiers stepped forward, grabbed the woman who had just condemned four or five of her colleagues, and began dragging her away.
The woman panicked, begging incessantly: "Your Majesty, I am loyal! Your Majesty! PLEASE!"
It was useless.
To Isolde, the Lyonesse courtiers were no different from livestock. Her killings today were not just to pressure Sylas.
The old Lyonesse power structure needed purging; the local factions needed to be put in their place. This was an opportunity to decapitate the native leadership, making future rule easier.
In truth, loyalty or treachery didn't matter—whether in the court or the harem, they were all just representatives of influential houses. Killing one was as good as killing another.
The message was what mattered: the sky over Lyonesse had changed.