A fact that many people don’t realize is that when a country undergoes a regime change, it’s actually rare for the royal family to be executed.
In monarchies, the king serves as the center of governance and the unifying symbol of the nation.
If he were simply killed, it wouldn’t just disrupt the state—it could spark nationwide outrage.
After all, if an unknown group suddenly appeared and beheaded the sovereign whom the people had served for generations, who would accept it?
That’s why exiled kings are often silently assassinated or made to suffer a mysterious accident in some remote location.
However, there are a few notable exceptions.
The first is in conquest states, like the Mongol Empire.
They didn’t care about local sentiment—they razed, slaughtered, and burned everything in their path.
Public opinion meant nothing to them.
After all, how could there be resistance when there was no one left alive to resist?
The second exception applies to chaotic eras like the Three Kingdoms Period or the Sixteen Kingdoms Period in China.
During times of constant warfare, total annihilation was a common tactic.
Morality and mercy had ceased to exist, so executions that would normally be unthinkable became routine.
And finally, the third exception—when a rebellion wins the support of the people.
If the royal family is hated for its incompetence and tyranny, and the rebels are seen as saviors, then executing the king ceases to be a controversial act.
There’s no need to worry about backlash.
But us?
We weren’t forcing this execution against public opinion—we already had widespread support.
And we had already completed the dynastic transition.
It might not have been a traditional monarchy, but we had clearly established that this nation now served an Emperor.
So there was no reason for other nations to be wary of a sudden systemic shift.
Of course, that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be plenty of fools eager to find something to criticize…
But seriously, what could those weaklings even do about it?
The Daiching Empire was too far west and had no real interest in our affairs.
The Federated Empire was a non-issue since Louis XVI was personally favorable toward me.
That only left a handful of minor states—none of which could even dream of opposing our strength.
“…Understood. Then, may I ask when the execution will take place?”
“It can’t be rushed. We need time to gather people… About three months from now should do.”
There were plenty of citizens who would love to watch the beheading of the former king.
And this would also serve as a clear warning to the remaining noble families.
A grand, spectacle of justice—one that would make them think twice before even considering rebellion.
“How many high treason convicts do we currently have in custody?”
“Around ninety. That number excludes those who died in prison due to illness or poor health.”
“Prepare them all. They will all be executed at once.”
From Duke Barelmund to the other nobles who had resisted me—eliminating them together would bring the total just shy of one hundred.
It might not seem like much, but it was perfect for a public execution.
“Send official notices across the nation. And invitations to the neighboring countries as well.”
“As you command.”
With time running short, preparations needed to be handled swiftly.
I wasn’t sure how large the audience would be, but the more flawlessly this event was conducted, the stronger my authority would stand.
And so, time passed…
As the execution date drew near—
On one particularly warm day…
“…The weather is getting hotter.”
Wiping sweat from his forehead, the man who was once called King Carl VII muttered to himself.
It had been months since he was imprisoned deep within the palace.
Watching the outside world through a tiny window had been his only pastime.
And now, even that small comfort was about to be taken from him.
“I suppose… I won’t live to see this year’s autumn leaves.”
Just like our situation now.
At first, our Revolutionary Army was merely a rogue military force invading from the north.
But through a series of events and carefully built justifications, we gradually won public support.
And now, with my coronation complete, the narrative had spread across the nation:
We are the forces of justice. The Riudolph royal family is the embodiment of evil.
A simple, binary perception—but one that worked in our favor.
Which meant there was no need to hesitate any longer.
“It is time to execute Carl VII—no, Carl von Riudolph.”
“There should be no issues within the country, but… will the surrounding nations accept this?”
“They will. And even if they don’t—what exactly are they going to do about it?”
I wasn’t worried about international backlash either.
The reason France was condemned for executing Louis XVI was due to the unfairness of the trial and the subsequent shift to a republican government.
That kind of gaze could never come from a mere political marriage.
There was no doubt—those women were deeply in love with him.
Compared to that, what worth did the fallen king’s daughter have?
She was nothing more than a discarded princess of a dethroned dynasty—an offer not even worth considering.
Carl knew this.
And so, he simply sighed and resigned himself to reality.
Since the future was inescapable, all he could do was spend his remaining time as best as possible.
“What are you doing, Your Majesty?! If you have time to sigh, come over here and help!”
Unfortunately, his wife and children refused to accept the truth.
Carl let out another sigh as he watched Queen Jalomier, a fork and spoon in her hands, desperately trying to dig into the stone walls.
“Stop this nonsense, woman. Do you truly think this will lead to an escape?”
“It’s better than just sitting here waiting to die! Didn’t the Saint escape from the Holy See this way?!”
Was she delusional, or simply refusing to accept reality?
Did she really believe that they—people who weren’t even skilled in magic.
Could replicate the escape of a Saint, a woman who wielded divine miracles and vast holy power?
Even a master of earth-based magic would need days to dig a proper tunnel.
And this was a palace prison, reinforced with layers of stone and concrete. It would take far longer.
Did she really believe they wouldn’t be caught in the process?
Guards and cleaning staff entered the cell every two days.
How long did she think she could keep this hidden?
“For the love of—please, be rational. Do you honestly think you can break solid stone with silverware? Even if you somehow manage to dig through, where will you put the debris?”
“We can burn it with magic or wash it away—”
“Do you even hear yourself? Stone isn’t coal—it doesn’t just burn away!”
It was frustrating.
Carl understood her desperation, but…
Watching her cling to false hope, thrashing in futility—
It was just pitiful.
Even if they used fire, the smoke and stench would immediately alert the guards.
And if they tried to flush the rubble down the toilet?
It would only clog the pipes and expose them even faster.
Even if, by some miracle, they dug a hole—
The cleaning staff would immediately notice the difference in the walls.
If they were going to waste their final days on pointless efforts, wouldn’t it be better to treasure their last moments together instead?
Before they were dragged to hell, before their final hours in this world ended—
Wouldn’t it be wiser to spend them as a family?
“Even if we escape, we have nowhere to go.”
“The other members of the royal family have already been purged or exiled.”
“The nobles who once swore loyalty to the crown have fallen and lost their power.”
“Even if we make it out of here, we would be nothing more than beggars wandering the streets.”
—Clatter.
Jalomier’s hands trembled as the spoon slipped from her grasp.
“So… You’re saying we should just sit here and wait for death, Your Majesty?”
“That’s right.”
At those words, despair washed over her face.
Carl gently patted her back.
Theirs had been an arranged marriage—one forged by political convenience, not love.
And yet, watching her utterly broken like this still pained him.
But there was no time to grieve.
—Clank.
“Who goes there?”
“By order of His Majesty the Emperor. The prisoners are to be relocated before the execution.”
The soldiers’ voices were cold and firm.
Carl did not resist.
“Understood. Give me a moment to put on my coat.”
He carefully adjusted his garments—the last time he would ever do so.
As the cold touch of iron shackles clamped around his wrists, he shuddered.
And in that moment, one final thought pierced his mind—
Sending the Crown Prince to the Empire was a mistake.
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