Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 256

Chapter 256: Chapter 256 Fiona Calls Him Home

The royal platform stretched before him, draped in crimson banners that snapped like whips in the morning wind. The king’s throne dominated the center, carved from black marble that seemed to absorb light itself. Perry sat there with the cold composure of a judge weighing souls, his dark eyes tracking each execution with clinical detachment.

Even her disgust would have been a gift. One look of revulsion from those eyes would have been worth everything if it meant seeing her one final time.

But Queen Phoebe couldn’t even grant him that much.

The torment this brought Reginald defied measurement.

He stood shackled in the execution line, watching his loyal warriors meet their gruesome end one after another. Their bodies jerked and convulsed, making one last desperate fight against the hemp rope choking their lives away. Some lasted mere seconds. Others struggled for agonizing minutes before surrender claimed them.

The crowd surrounding the gallows alternated between horrified gasps and bloodthirsty cheers. Many spectators hurled curses at the condemned men, calling them filthy traitors who deserved worse than death. Others threw rotten food and stones, their faces twisted with righteous fury.

Several warriors soiled themselves in their final moments, displaying their shame for thousands to witness—exactly the humiliation Perry intended. After each death, guards hauled away the lifeless bodies like discarded refuse, making room for the next victim to suffer the same fate.

The stench of death, sweat, and human waste filled the air. But Reginald barely noticed.

His eyes remained fixed on that empty throne, searching desperately for any sign she might appear. Maybe she was delayed. Maybe she would arrive at the last moment, just in time to watch him die.

But as the line shortened and his turn approached, hope withered in his chest like a dying flower.

Now it was his turn.

When the coarse rope coiled around his throat like a serpent, Reginald locked eyes with King Perry. Those eyes were winter itself—ice-cold and utterly empty of mercy. The king observed each execution like tedious entertainment he wanted to finish quickly so he could return to more important matters.

"Grant me one final wish!" Reginald’s voice cracked as he shouted, desperation making it raw. "Let me see the queen! Please!"

His plea echoed across the plaza, causing some spectators to fall silent. For a moment, hope flickered—maybe even Perry possessed enough humanity to grant a dying man’s last request.

But the king’s expression never changed. No compassion. No acknowledgment. Nothing.

The executioner reached for the lever that would drop the platform beneath Reginald’s feet.

"Let me see her!" The words tore from his throat like shattered glass. "I’m begging you! Just let me see her face!"

But despite his desperate pleas, the execution proceeded without pause. Perry raised his hand slightly—the signal to continue.

The platform dropped.

"Let me... see her..." Reginald’s body writhed as oxygen vanished and his skull felt ready to explode. Pressure built behind his eyes until black spots danced across his vision.

The jeering faces of thousands of onlookers began to blur and fade. His bladder released, adding to the humiliation, but pain consumed everything else.

Yet just before his soul prepared to slip away into darkness, something impossible happened.

Fiona’s voice called to him.

Suddenly, the sneering faces of countless spectators vanished like smoke. The stench of death and the roar of the crowd faded to silence.

In their place stood Fiona, more beautiful than memory had ever captured.

She stood surrounded by a garden blooming with white roses and jasmine, their perfume filling the air with sweetness. Sunlight filtered through her golden hair like spun silk, and when she turned toward him, her smile held all the love he’d thrown away.

"Come with me," Fiona whispered, her voice like honey and warmth. She reached for his hand, and her touch felt completely real—soft, warm, alive.

The rope around his neck loosened. The burning in his lungs eased. Peace settled over him like a gentle blanket.

In his dying breath, it wasn’t Phoebe who came for him—it was Fiona. The woman who had loved him completely, unconditionally, was here to ease his passage from this world.

"Are you real?" Reginald found his voice returning, though it sounded distant even to his own ears.

He could feel the warmth radiating from her palm, could smell the familiar scent of lavender that always clung to her skin.

"Why would you think I’m not real?" Fiona’s smile was playful, just like he remembered from their happiest days.

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