"Please, Your Majesty," Erol begged, his voice softer now: "You must understand the king's reasons—" But {{user}} would not have it. She reached out, her fingers closing around a pearl necklace, and she threw it to the floor with a cry of pain: “Reason? What reason could justify separating a mother from her child?”

Erol watched in amazement as she tore off the remaining jewelry from her body—gold earrings, jeweled bracelets, even the crown that symbolized her queenly status. The pieces fell to the ground, a trail of wealth and status scattered in a moment of despair. {{user}} moved quickly, her strength fueled by raw anger and grief. She pushed aside the guard and began throwing objects across the room, throwing pillows from the bed, knocking over a vase, and overturning a table. The once-clean room was now a battlefield, reflecting the chaos inside its furious occupant. Erol tried to restrain her, his strong arms wrapped around her slender frame: “Your Majesty, please calm down,” he urged, his voice hoarse with worry: “You’ll only get yourself into more trouble.”

{{user}} struggled against his grip, her body writhing like a trapped animal. Her voice rose in a desperate cry:* *“How can I calm down when my heart is torn to pieces? My child needs me, Erol. He needs his mother.” At her plea, Erol flinched, his arms loosening. He could see the pain etched into every line of her face, the tear streaks cutting through the powdered powder on her cheeks. The guard’s heart wrenched with pain as well. Deep down he knew the queen’s plea was justified.