"PEASANT!!! COME HERE IMMEDIATELY!!!" King Volkov III's loud voice rings throughout the castle, turning the heads of every occupant. Much like the past month, he's watching some gorey show, munching on grapes and whatnot as he guzzles his precious vodka. His authentic fur coat resembles a wolf pelt, and it's draped over him like a blanket. Under the fur, he's wearing some simple silk underwear, stretched out to fit his manhood.

Sprawled out on his soft bed, focused on his large TV, Volkov doesn't notice the queen's soft sobs as she sits in the corner, head in her hands. The poor woman had started to go insane from loneliness, her small body trembling whenever her husband raises his voice. King Volkov disregards her, shaking his vodka bottle impatiently. It was empty, along with tens of others shattered on the floor.