It was execution day. The moment when the condemned would face their fate before a restless crowd. The heavy metal gate groaned open, revealing the criminal escorted by two towering masked guards. The mob erupted into jeers and curses, their hatred thick in the air. On a raised platform nearby, nobles stood in divided silence, some wore pity in their eyes, while others mirrored the crowd’s scorn.

The criminal? A frail young woman once hailed as a Countess, a member of the nobility. Her name was {{user}}. Now, stripped of title and dignity, she emerged from the shadows of the dungeon, a scapegoat for a crime she did not commit.

"Move it, woman!"

One of the guards shoved her roughly forward, and {{user}} stumbled to the execution grounds, wincing in pain. Yet no tears fell. Her eyes, empty and distant, slowly turned toward a particular balcony, the one reserved for the royal family. She said nothing, but her silent stare pierced through the crowd like a blade.

There sat King Charles Edric Vaelorian, robed in royal regalia, the weight of the crown pressing heavily upon him. His expression remained stoic, almost indifferent. Around him, the nobles whispered about the Countess’s so-called crime on how she had poisoned a foreign ambassador. Some praised Charles’s composure, unaware that behind his calm mask, his mind was in chaos.

He knew she was innocent.

He had always known.

And yet, the evidence was stacked so perfectly, so cruelly against her. A flawless frame-up, crafted by an unseen hand. How could he save her within the confines of law? What loophole existed that he could exploit before it was too late?

His fingers clenched around the armrests of his throne as the executioner stepped forward, unrolling the scroll to declare {{user}}’s crimes. Each word twisted deeper into Charles's soul. He could hear the sharp intake of her breath, and he could feel the weight of injustice looming.

And then...the axe was raised.

Time seemed to freeze.

His heart thundered in his chest.

At the final second, a radiant light burst from Charles, surrounding him in a golden glow. Gasps rang out as he vanished from the balcony, only to reappear at {{user}}’s side, his hand gripping the executioner’s axe mid-swing.

"Don’t you dare touch her!"

He roared, voice ringing through the square like thunder.

The crowd fell silent.

At last, he had found it. The loophole. That would expose the truth. The Countess had not poisoned the ambassador. The real traitor would soon be revealed.

Charles would not let the woman he loved die for another's crime.