[ IP ] Defending her honor

To look at her was to see a woman of demure beauty, a chaste and wholesome individual, darling of the realm. To know her was to understand that looks were often deceiving, and to recognize that while earnest and upright, her proclivities could be considered decadent, though certainly forgivable, if not for the rigid Clergy and their opinions imposed on the masses. 
 
 The capital was in upheaval, though rioting had not yet broken out in her streets. It would take a single spark, one stone thrown, and very soon the mobs outside of the palace would have a prime target. This was by design. There were undesirables in the court, a few peasants would find their way into the Palace in the midst of all the chaos, they'll pillage some of course, as their class is want to do, but they will also leave a dead Duke behind. 
 
 For the sake of an ambitious young man, what was a little blood? Even of ones own sister? She was the lamb, the sacrifice, the punching bag. Her licentious affairs had been made public, proclaimed to the throngs, to the Clergy, and only because of her High birth was she being spared the penalty of death. This did not sit well with the small man living well under the heel of law, should she not be punished like they? 
 
 Somewhere above she was being prepared for her walk - there was no carriage permitted, no guard, no escort. Though she still had her title of Princess, it was to be in exile, and she would not set foot in the Palace henceforth. She would be sent to live in the countryside, in a very modest estate, and there live out her days tending to her daily prayers so that her soul might be given the slightest chance at redemption. That was the official proposition, a Merciful Brother prostrating himself before the Church and God, asking to spare his darling sister. He did not expect her to live out the day. 
 
 `` It is a lovely dress,'' The Handmaiden said, as she let the hem fall. It was a light blue, fine silk. Decadent and immodest, exposing shoulder and a portion of her chest. `` All considered.'' 
 
 She was seated atop a stool as she was attended, one woman was tying her ashen hair in the back, another was powdering her cheeks and applying rouge to her lips. She certainly looked very pretty, the model of a temptress. Her eyes, crystal blue, were vacant, for what could she do? Slight as she was, weak and in the care of very loyal, very strong Guardsmen. The very same that stood flanking the door to her rear. She had already tried charming them. It did not work. 
 
 She was escorted outside, at her own pace as they did not lay hands on her. Much relied on the appearance of this being her own will, her garb, demeanor, her choice. It would incite. 
 
 Outside, at the foot of the long marble steps stood a line of Red Cloaked Palace Guard. They wore full plate, carried immense tower shields, and were armed at their side with maces. The crowd had been gathering since the early hours, it was by now stretching all the way to where the Palace road collided with a prominent Inn. A dry forest, and there, at the top of the steps walked the lightening. 
 
 `` They are blood thirsty,'' Said one of the Guards at the foot of the stairs, and no one replied. That was evident. There was one such Guardsman who on close inspection could be seen trembling, ever so slightly as he thumbed the head of his winged mace. The man to his left regarded this and laughed. 
 
 `` Are you scared of a few peasants, Gerrard?'' 
 
 Gerrard shook his head. 
 
 `` Would n't blame you. Fuck all we can do but carefully back up those steps, they come this way.'' 
 
 Gerrard continued to shake his head, he was not listening. The Princess had by then set her foot on the last step, and the line of Guards parted to create a path, she stepped onto the cobble road. She had dignity, and that made them mad. At first there was a bubble around her, a crescent that ebbed with her approach, anger not belying an ingrained respect and compulsion to make way for Nobility. This grew strained with every inch. They closed in, everyone was shouting obscenities. A man took a step outside of the crowd, he spit on her, `` Harlot,'' He said through grit teeth. 
 
 She was perhaps seven feet away, a thin line of people were moving in behind her and pressing inward. Gerrard broke rank in a sprint, his startled companions looked at each other in confusion. He shouldered his way through the thin line, sending a woman off her feet. With a gauntleted fist he smashed the jaw of the man who had spit on the Princess, he went down immediately, jaw broken. At once the crowd surged, stones, tomatoes, shoes started to fly at his and her direction. He raised his shield to block whatever he could, but something found its way to the Princess' cheek, she recoiled slightly, and then turned to look at him, thin line of blood from her lower lip, eyes wide. 
 
 `` For the love of God do not stop now woman!'' His voice cracked desperate, and he started to reach for his mace. The throng had grabbed hold of his shield, seeking to pry it from him and only with great struggle he managed to keep upright, and then push back, toppling a few. 
 
 Behind them, back at the marble steps, a few Guards were drawing their arms and took tentative steps toward the crowd. Their Captain briskly walked out in front, lightly punched one of them in his steel covered gut and leaned in close, whispered, `` Do you want to die? If not out there it will be tonight, mark my words.'' There was a tense moment, those two locking eyes, the others looking towards them, `` Stand down,'' The Captain said. The man he had stopped scoffed, set his mace back into his belt with force. They stepped back in line. 
 
 Someone had wedged their arm in the crook of Gerrard's elbow, preventing him from raising his weapon, more gripped his shield, he was brought to his knees. They started to pile him. In the confusion, while attention was temporarily drawn to the struggling knight, a select few in the crowd seized their moment. They sprung forward, draped a cloak around the Princess, started her forward, to those that noticed they struck and tackled. Mass confusion erupted, everyone was either fighting or being trampled. All lost sight of the Princess. 
 
 Gerrard had long been brought to the ground, he strained, cursed, but the weight of five bodies was too much. After a time he ceased his struggle. His helm was pried by greedy hands. Through the mass of angry faces, for a moment, he could see the brilliance of the sun - it had been such a lovely day. 
 
 Someone drove a knife in his throat.
