In the royal palace, the Queen Mother opened her eyes and her body trembled vigorously and her limbs were extremely difficult to move or manipulate.
On her left sat Lady Elyria Valthorne in her prestine gown and her red hair hanging off her shoulders.
"Morning granny…" she said with a sweet playful voice.
The Queen Mother turned her head in shock, not expecting to see anyone or hear anyone in this part of the royal palace that were off limits.
But to her surprise, Elyria was standing over her son percival, with her foot pressed on his scorched neck.
The sole of her shoes scraping against the now dry skin of the King and the remaining soft tendons sizzled to the cool padding of the shoes.
"Tch! Its your fucking 'sugar boy' isnt it? You're not that reckless. This type of mad and irrational behaviour feels nothing like you and reeks of boyish immaturity. It must be that fool Zaja Thornhill who put you up to this fuckery…"
