The cut had been swift and clean—like a sword slicing through rot.
The military atmosphere had transformed completely.
With the dead weight gone, the light returned to the soldiers' eyes. Order was restored to the barracks.
Now, the army could focus solely on preparing for war.
The Queen had, of course, gone into a furious uproar.
Astrid sighed as she recalled the scene that unfolded that day.
Her mother's extravagant silk sleeve had sliced through the air, and the crystal glass she threw shattered against the marble floor.
"How dare you! How dare you drive my people out?! While I'm still standing here, and without even my permission?!"
The Queen had shrieked so loudly it echoed through the halls.
With King Charles bedridden, she no longer needed to keep up appearances.
She stomped her feet, flailed at her attendants and maids.
In the past, she might have even struck Astrid—but not anymore. Now she dared not.
