John sat on his mighty, oak throne. Its engraved back faced a wall where none would see the finesse it's creator engraved into its back nor the time he took to create that finesse. Not while John made his verdict anyway. In front of him was a weak and broken man. He was in tears, snot dribbling down his face as he wept for his mother and prayed that god would save him from his inevitable fate. His hands were bound and he was kneeling in front of the small staircase that lead up to the throne where John sat, his high justiciar standing idly by to advise him on the current situation. The noble next to the snivelling manchild had explained the situation, a man from another nobles jurisdiction committing a crime in his. The verdict was practically made before John had even known about it. A beheading was to take place, and as written in the old scrolls, the king was to do it. 

A few hours later and they were up a portion of one of the mighty mountains that overlooked the capital city. The boy's head was on a stone carved inwards so that a head could rest on it. The outward side of said stone was splattered with dried blood and John was readying his longsword to add a fresh coating. He raised his sword, the convoy of the noble and John's advisors stood by to watch. John's son, Malcolm stood by, the first time he had seen a beheading was long ago and this would not be the last. John had been widowed a year or so before and Malcolm was mostly under the care of various nannies and carers while John did his duties. They interacted rarely. The sword dropped, it sliced through the head like butter and the head slowly rolled along the grass floor. John turned to his justiciar while sheathing his bloodied blade.
"Write up a warrant for Lord Maclachlin, 500 gold for the cattle murdered to be delivered by next week or see a higher tax for the offending noble." He mounted his horse and rode, accompanied by his son and a convoy of his private guard.