My Soul Tattooed in Black- Part 4

“So what happens now?” I ask. Even though King Cadeyrn said I wasn’t going to die, I assume that any sort of trial will result in a public execution, but it could be torture or exile; I highly doubt it though. Cyrus blanches.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Was the king supposed to tell me how I would die? Has it been decided and the king is just taunting me by telling me false information? I kind of like keeping my death an unformed doom in my head. It’s easier to deal with.

“Oh Astridore, he didn’t.” Cyrus’ shoulders have tensed up and he has started wringing his hands. “I didn’t know he hadn’t told you. It wasn’t my idea. I promise. This wasn’t the way I wanted this to happen.”

“Wanted what to happen? Cyrus, you aren’t making sense.” How complicated could my execution be? And why would Cyrus think I would think it was his idea? Cyrus’s mouth clamps itself shut and his eyes are screaming panic. I don’t know how to fix this situation. “Cyrus why would you think I would blame you for any part of planning my death?” Cyrus gets even whiter, if that’s possible. He stops wringing his hands and each one slowly wraps around a bar to my cell before taking a breath so big I don’t think air will ever stop going into his lungs. He suddenly exhales the most earth-shattering sentence Astridore has ever allowed to pass through someone’s lips.

“You aren’t going to die. My Father is forcing us to marry this afternoon.”