“If he accepts my proposal,” the woman said, “his sentence should be commuted to life imprisonment, as per canon number 216 of the kingdom statutes.”

What? Did he hear that right?

Areg peered at the young thing who’d just proposed marriage to him.

Etana Tidryn. He remembered her from his talk at the Gokk House. She’d recited the “broken ones” verse from the Book of Xereill and pulled him out of the sticky spot he’d put himself into. It looked like the pretty little maid was trying to rescue him once again.

From a beheading, no less.

He studied her determined expression. It was hard not to admire her ballsy move in such stark contrast with her small stature, her neat housemaid bonnet and apron, and her general look of cute harmlessness.

By Aheya!

She must be one of those excessively kind souls who couldn’t handle the unfairness of life. Or of death, as it happened. While most people experienced a mixture of pity, thrill and relief that it wouldn’t be their own head rolling, the likes of Etana Tidryn felt only pain. They believed it was their duty to help every unfortunate, suffering soul. He knew that feeling.

Areg let out a sigh. His admiration and gratitude aside, he wasn’t sure what to think about this new turn of events.

Say he accepted her offer, and ruined her future in passing. Was that a better choice for him? Was a lifetime in Ultek’s prison preferable to a quick death in a few days? He didn’t think so.

The crowd hummed and heaved, with those closer to the front relaying Etana’s words to those behind them, and everyone craning their necks to get a look at her.

Ultek finished his foul tirade, marched to the edge of the scaffold and crouched before Etana. “Aren’t you clever, little whore?”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“This man,” he pointed at Areg, “is a traitor and a criminal. You know what that means? It means all his properties and assets have been seized. Did you consider that? He is no longer the wealthy landowner Lord Areg Sebi. He’s a nobody.”

She held his gaze.

“He has nothing, you half-wit,” Ultek said. “And that’s what you’ll inherit—nothing—when his bones are tossed into the communal grave.”

“I understand that,” she said calmly.

The police chief shook his head, a bewildered look on his face. “And you still want to marry him?”

“I do.”

Slowly, Ultek straightened, turned away from the crowd, and launched into another litany of curses, sending spit projectiles at Judge Mahabmet.

The latter grimaced with disgust, wiped his face and moved away… in Areg’s direction.

“Take the offer,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“I can’t,” Areg whispered back.

Judge Mahabmet gave him a look full of sorrow. “Why, boy, why did it have to come to this? Why couldn’t you just bask in your hero’s glory, enjoy life, chase skirts, and stay away from politics? What were you thinking—you, a military man—backing that fantasist Dreggo and attacking Boggond himself? Why?”

Areg didn’t bother answering Mahabmet’s questions. Given the judge’s choices, he wouldn’t understand, anyway.

“I don’t need her sacrifice,” he said instead. “And I don’t relish a lifetime in prison.”

“You don’t know her situation,” the judge whispered hotly. “What if she stands to gain from this? What if this is her chance to avoid an arranged marriage or to give a bastard child she’s carrying a legitimate father?”

Areg glanced at Etana.

She didn’t look pregnant. Then again, perhaps she wasn’t showing yet. Mahabmet was right. He shouldn’t assume she was hell-bent on helping him solely out of some misguided altruism. Maybe, just maybe, marrying him could somehow help her, too.

Mahabmet glanced at the still swearing Ultek, before whispering again, “Listen to me, boy. I speak to you as your late father’s friend now, not as the realm’s high judge. Do you relish having your head severed before a gawking crowd? After everything you’ve done for Eia, after everything your father has done for Eia? Do you really want to go out like that?”

Areg winced at Mahabmet’s mention of his friendship with his father.

The judge had conveniently forgotten about it when he validated Ultek’s fake evidence. He’d let fear for his position or safety, or both, dictate his actions. Fair enough. But when he’d made that choice, he’d lost the right to talk to him as if he cared.

The thing was, his words had struck a chord. As much as Areg hated to admit it to himself, the idea of being dispatched into the afterlife by public decapitation turned his stomach.

He didn’t want to die like that.

He’d risked his life countless times on the battlefield where death had always been a hairbreadth away, but it was different there. Had he been killed in action, he would have departed to Aheya’s purgatory proud with a sense of a duty—and destiny—fulfilled. But to die in shame with his head chopped off and held up by the executioner, and his dead eyes bulging at the crowd…

A sudden silence broke him out of his macabre thoughts.

Ultek had stopped swearing and spun around toward Etana, his voice calm once again. “Very well. Marriage requires both parties’ consent. Let’s see if the filthy object of your affection is inclined to give it.”

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on Areg.

Clenching his jaws, he looked at Etana.

“Please,” she mouthed. “Say yes.”

She looked desperate, on the verge of breaking down.

“Yes,” he mouthed back as if entranced.

Her eyes widened with surprise—and relief. Mahabmet must’ve been right. She needed this.

Areg shifted his gaze to Ultek. “The filthy object accepts Dame Tidryn’s proposal. I will marry her.”

The crowd met his declaration with hearty cheers, punctuated by complaints from the few who felt cheated out of a good beheading.

Ultek marched to Mahabmet. “Please correct me if I’m wrong, my lord, but this ridiculous custom only works if the woman is a maiden. Right?”

Blanching, the high judge nodded.

“I will inspect her later today to ascertain her maidenhood,” Ultek said.

Mahabmet gave him a cold stare. “That examination must be done by a healer vestal, Chief Ultek. Two of them, in fact, as required by the law for court-ordered medical examinations.”

“Fine,” Ultek gritted through his teeth before waving to his men. “Grab the wench—she’s coming with us.”

Two policemen wrapped their gloved hands around Etana’s skinny arms and escorted her to Chief Ultek’s vehicle.

Her face was white with fear as she scurried to keep up.

Areg glanced at Mahabmet who averted his gaze. Small wonder. If Etana was pregnant like the judge thought, she wouldn’t pass the test. That meant no marriage. And that meant back to square one for him.

A big, cottony wave of fatigue came over Areg as Ultek’s men cuffed him. It enveloped his body and mind as the cops led him back to the armored vehicle and pushed him inside.

Slumping down on the bench, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead into his palms. Had he not been so tired, he would’ve laughed at his situation.

Tragicomic. A word he’d never used outside of literature class his first year at the Academy came to mind. There was no better way to describe the fact that his living or dying now hinged upon the state of a young woman’s hymen. If the vestals found it intact, he would spend the rest of his days locked up in the Iltaqa Prison. If the hymen was ruptured, he’d be executed next First-day.

As the vehicle began its jerky progress through the crowd, Areg leaned back and let his eyelids slide shut.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.