In the throne room, most of the windows are shattered, and splinters of colored glass sparkle in the patches of sunlight on the blood-splattered floor. Some of the hangings have been torn off the walls to cover the dead bodies. Capes of nobles have been cut into shreds and are now being used to bind wounds. Expensive leather boots have been dragged off the feet of the dead, and people try them on; others remove the jewelry and the wallets from the dead men's pockets and strip their clothes off.

Amidst the chaos, Oliver sits on the throne, one foot thrown over the hand rest, the other tapping on the floor. Noticing me, he claps his hands and sits upright.

"Bruno!" he exclaims. "You are just in time to enjoy the spoils. How do you like my new chair? Come here, try it." He jumps up and gestures at the throne. "It is something to tell your children about, don't you think? 'I sat on the throne of a king'." He pauses and looks around me. "By the way, where's the king?"

I come over and run my hand on the ivory hand rest adorned with carvings of battle scenes and mythical creatures.

"He died before I got to him," I say. "I think he was poisoned."

"Here's your king," says one of the two men walking after me, dragging the monarch's body by the hands and the feet.

They drop him by the throne. The dead man's eyes stare up into the high ceiling. People stop their activities and come closer to look. Some of them spit at the body, others point and shout offences and jokes.

"Well, there's a reminder that we're not done yet." Oliver raises both hands into the air to get everyone's attention. "My friends! Step back, please. We have a few matters to take care of before we reap the fruits of our victory." He points at the body on the floor. "Hold him upright."

The two men pick the body up again and hold it so that the dead man's face is visible to everyone. People back away, forming a wide half circle in front of the throne.

Oliver steps forward and points at the dead man. "Who is this?"

"The king," shout some, while others whistle and cheer.

"This is important," Oliver says. "We don't want anyone to spread rumors that the king survived. We don't want any impostors to pose as him. Now look closely and spread the word that you have seen the king die."

He retrieves his dagger and slashes the dead man's throat from ear to ear.

The heart of the king had stopped a while ago, so there's no gushing of blood, only a slow, lazy flow that gradually soaks his white shirt, ripped at his chest. The two men holding him release their grip and the body drops to the floor.

"Has the king died?" shouts Oliver.

"Yes!" people scream, stomping their feet and shaking their weapons in the air.

"And now," says Oliver, looking around, "let us proceed to the second part of our spectacle. Bring in the royal puppies!"

Two people come into the circle, bringing with them Ferox. His face is barely recognizable under the multiple bruises and cuts, but he's still struggling, trying to shake off his captors. Two more men from my group bring forward Hadrian, who walks mechanically, looking under his feet.

Then, Aurelia enters the circle.

She's walking alone, her eyes cast down, her hands folded modestly in front of her simple blue dress. Nobody makes any attempts to lay a hand on her, but there are looks of distrust from the crowd. She stops in front of Oliver and looks at him. He nods, and she moves to stand between me and him, facing the crowd.

"My friends," says Oliver. "We couldn't have achieved what we did today without the assistance of this fair lady. Princess Aurelia had given us the map that led us here, and she also brought the tyrant's death about."

Hadrian raises his head and looks at his sister with wide, unbelieving eyes.

"How could you do that?" shouts Ferox, struggling against the hands holding him. "Has devil possessed you, sister?"

Aurelia regards them with a sad expression.

"It grieves me to admit it," she says softly, "but indeed, I've played a role in what has happened today. I loved my father with all my heart, as well as I love you, brothers. And yet," she continues, raising her voice so that everybody would hear, "I also love my people, and seeing them subject to my father's cruel and unjust rule has been too much for me to bear. He who rises high must lift his people with him, or he must fall and make place for a more just ruler. Sometimes we must sacrifice our loved ones for the sake of greater good."

"Well said," says Oliver, watching her with interest. "Such beauty and cleverness should not be wasted. I hope you will assist us in building a better society."

She smiles at him. "I will be happy to serve my people."

"You, murderess," roars Ferox. "Killing your own blood!"

"Well, regarding her blood," says Oliver, stepping forward to face the two brothers. "While you two are alive, there will always be a chance that your father's supporters could rally around you and attempt to restore you to power." He pauses. "Unless you kneel here and now and vow to abdicate the throne. If you do that in front of all those witnesses, nobody will ever see you as possible rulers again."

The two princes stare at him, silent.

"Kneel?" repeats Oliver.

"Never." Ferox looks him in the eye.

"You?" Oliver turns to Hadrian.

Hadrian blinks. His gaze shifts to the body of his father lying in the pool of blood, and he visibly shudders. Perhaps it's only now that the reality of his imminent death has really gotten to him.

"I'm waiting." Oliver pokes him lightly in the shoulder with his bloodied dagger.

Hadrian looks up.

"No." He clears his throat. "No, I will not...kneel."

"Too bad," says Oliver cheerfully. He turns to me and extends his hand, and I place my sword into it.

"Get him down," he says, and the men who hold Ferox hit him on the back of his knees, forcing them to bend. He crushes to the floor, and they struggle to hold him still and to push his upper body forward, exposing his neck. I remember how Ferox nearly decapitated me and chills run up my spine. I wonder if he's remembering that moment now, or any other time he acted as an executioner.

"Oh, look! You're kneeling, after all," says Oliver. "Now, in the name of my people, for all your crimes against them, I sentence you to death by decapitation."

He pauses and looks at Aurelia who stands motionless, staring into space, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles are white. Then, he smiles.

"My fair princess," he says. "In order for us to make sure you really are on our side..." He extends his hand, offering her the sword. "You will do it."

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