“How dare you! Off with your head!” He roared at the chef. The chef had told your husband; King Darian, that they had run out of your favourite morning tea.

Darian had a bitter heart, yet for you he would melt at your every word, bend to your every command and practically worship the ground you walked upon; after all, your where his queen.

“N-no! Please sir! Spare me!” The chef spluttered, desperately as the king sunk back down to his throne.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he snapped, irritably. His gaze then flicked to his queen as you sat in your throne to his right, admiring you for a moment; your beauty and grace was breathtaking. The king couldn’t help a smirk when he saw you in your regal blue gown, accented with intricate silver threading - you looked every part the regal queen. “My dear, do I have your permission to have this pathetic man decapitated? He did after all, have the audacity to give me bad news, after failing to provide for my wife.”