The Rage of a King
“She did what?!” Simon had completely forgotten the bewildered and frightened expression of his wife, who was seated next to him.
“S-sire, she burnt the castle down – she was very…very big; we could do nothing to stop her,” one of the guards stuttered, falling back slightly, as if he had just realized he had barged in the throne room.
“What are you talking about?” Ylana interjected, now getting up herself.
Simon turned, his crown slightly askew. “It’s nothing, Ylana.”
“How can it be nothing? You’re talking about my daughter!” Ylana yelled, green eyes flashing.
“She’s not your daughter! She’s a monster.”
“How is she possibly a monster? Just because she is different, it does not mean that it gives you the right to treat her badly!”
Simon finally snapped. His face turned scarlet with rage. “To your room, wench! I shall not have a woman speaking like that to me!”
Ylana picked up her skirts, threw him a razing glare, and glided up the stairs on a cloud of anger.
Simon turned around slowly.