London, England, Britannia Empire. January 6, 1923.
It was a gloomy morning in the palace. Maids and manservants bustling about with their usual routine.
The king was currently seated at his desk with a cup of tea sitting beside him, his secretary had just arrived to report back on what had transpired during the previous night's negotiations. As usual, they were meeting to discuss future plans for the empire.
As he listened to his secretary's report, the King's face was paler than normal. He looked like someone had received very bad news. The king was normally one of the more composed ones, but today seemed different. Today, everything seemed so much worse; it felt like every fiber of his being was being torn apart.
"Would that be all?" he asked. His voice was hoarse as if there was something in his throat preventing him from speaking.
