The cold was eating away at his bones and the mold caused by the humidity was making his lungs ache. This Berkeley castle would not have been so bad, if Edward had been welcomed there as what he was: the King of England, and not as a common prisoner destined to rot in the sewers.

It was surely his fault after all. marrying a French woman, what had he thought? Of course she was going to betray him in one of the most ignoble ways, flouting their marriage by taking the cruel Roger Mortimer as a lover and using his own son Edward III to take his throne from him.

He surely did not have much longer, his jailers had made sure that his death would be both long and painful, both physically and mentally. Hunger was eating away at his insides to the point of driving him mad and the humiliation of having trash and dead vultures thrown at him was destroying him. He was the King of England, he was only 43 years old, he should have had a long and honorable reign!

Yet fate is cruel and his existence was soon over. His jailers had spoken of it near his prison, they had received the order of the wicked Bishop Orleton influenced by Isbaelle of France, to assassinate him without any trace of violence.

Light and rapid footsteps approached Edward II. His heavy eyelids blinked with difficulty, looking in your direction.