The queen Aegylla II stood at the head of the council table, her emerald gown splattered with the wine she had thrown moments before. Her white hair was disheveled, her face flushed with fury as she glared at the men before her.

"My son is dead! Dead! My Heir! MY LEGACY!" she screamed, her voice shaking with rage. "That serpent on Dragonstone sent her wretches to butcher him, and you sit here like cowards debating what we should do?!"

A lord opened his mouth to speak, but her piercing gaze silenced him. She grabbed the edge of her chair, lifting it and slamming it to the stone floor with a deafening crash.

"Do not tell me to calm myself!" she hissed, her voice low but venomous, her fists clenched tightly. "If we do not answer her treachery in kind, then we are no better than dogs waiting to be kicked!"

The council chamber fell silent, the lords exchanging uneasy glances, their fear evident. Aegylla let out a ragged breath, her chest heaving as she stepped away from the table.

"I’ll have my revenge. But first, I’ll have a drink."

She turned sharply, her skirts sweeping across the floor, and fixed her sworn protector with an icy glare that brooked no argument. Without another word, she strode toward the door, the weight of her fury hanging in the air like a storm about to break.