от
The verdict was death, decreed for both Rosamund and the bandit, with the execution set to take place in the forthcoming autumn.
With justice served, Elena and I decided it was time to leave this place of sorrow.
On our departure day, the Spencer brothers intercepted our carriage, falling to their knees before it.
Gawain’s eyes were rimmed with tears of regret. “I was wrong, truly wrong. Can you give me another chance? I neglected and wounded you for Rosamund’s sake, a grave error I vow never to commit again. I promise, I’ll never cause you pain for another’s sake. Madeline, grant me one more chance to right my wrongs, please.”
I casually responded with a sneer, “Get away!”
Then, I turned to Elena.
Edmund, also on his knees, pleaded with Elena, “Elena, my mistakes are unforgivable. I questioned your intentions and resented what I saw as your interference. In my blindness, I protected the one who murdered our child. I’m lower than human, a true beast. You have every right to hit me and curse me, but I beg you, don’t abandon me. Life without you is unbearable.”
Elena, unmoved, yanked the carriage curtain down, muttering, “Bad luck.”
I nodded in agreement as I ordered the coachman to speed up, “Run over anyone in our way. I’ll cover the damages if someone gets killed.”
The coachman gave a loud assent, and with a crack of the whip, the carriage jolted into motion.
The brothers, too slow to get up, barely avoided the hooves and wheels, scrambling aside like mud–splattered strays. They pursued the carriage on foot for a stretch, but soon, their figures diminished, swallowed by the horizon.
Our paths were never meant to converge again; separation was inevitable.
Three months later, news reached us.
Gawain suffered the fate of castration, thus being stripped of any chance to sire children.
Edmund, with his hands brutally cut off, saw his medical career end. His once–glorious title of divine physician was now forever sullied.
The irony was not lost on us; their downfall was orchestrated by Rosamund, whom they had cherished.
It was the Spencer brothers who delivered themselves into Rosamund’s clutches.
On the eve of her execution, moved by lingering affection, they decided to grant her one last meeting.
Rosamund, ever the schemer, had somehow infused the wine with a paralyzing agent.
With a toast to their last reunion, the three raised their glasses, and as the wine flowed, so did the poison, leaving the Spencer brothers collapsed on
the ground.
With Gawain paralyzed in fear, she lifted a blade and whispered through tears, “Gawain, you promised that only I would carry your children. With my death, I’ll make sure you keep that promise.”
Gawain gaped at her in terror, shaking his head with desperate urgency, but his fate was already sealed by the heartless verdict of castration. He cried as his world spiraled into darkness. Whether it was the excruciating pain or the sheer terror that made him succumb to unconsciousness, no one could truly say.
Following that grim scene, Rosamund turned her attention to Edmund as she chopped off his hands.
“Edmund, you regretted not saving the heirs of your family with these hands. As your confidante, I’ll grant your wish.
The once–great doctor that Edmund had been was now a memory.
Rosamund ended her own life in prison, avoiding the public execution.
Gawain, robbed of his manhood and the ability to sire heirs, sought refuge in the numbing embrace of alcohol. His solace turned to tragedy when, in a drunken stupor, he fell into a pool and drowned.
wife.
Edmund vanished into thin air. The tales that followed him spoke of a man on a perpetual journey to find the woman who had once been his beloved
On a brisk winter morning, Elena and I stepped outside to a chilling discovery.
There, on our doorstep, lay a man, rigid in the embrace of death. His hands were gone, and his face, though touched by frost, bore a haunting familiarity. It was Edmund.
We arranged for a coffin and had him buried without ceremony or sentiment.
Unlike the Spencer brothers with their capacity for forgiveness, we held no such generosity.
Why Edmund chose our threshold for his final breath remained a mystery, but it was of little concern to us.
I was swamped with soothing Elena, whose voice rang in my ear with frustration, “Bad luck! Even in death, he’s still a burden. Now we have to deal
with the cost of his burial!”
The End
The End
