In the royal palace, Vel'Asha's eyes opened, trembling as the Queen Mother struggled to move her limbs.
"Morning, sunshine," a playful voice came from Vel'Asha's left, and to the Queen Mother's shock, Cassandra was standing beside her, with her foot pressed on Gaiseric's scorched neck.
"It's your boytoy, isn't it? You're not that reckless. This type of mad and irrational behavior feels nothing like you and reeks of boyish immaturity. It must be your boytoy who put you up to this.
I should have been more direct and captured that country-destroying rascal without hesitation. But I got greedy and overly cautious, leading us into this disaster. Because yes, Cassandra, while you might think you've pulled off the heist of the century, by derailing Gaiseric and Lysander's destinies, you've doomed us all," watching the variety of fourth-degree burns all over Gaiseric's body, Vel'Asha said—her tone weak and deflated.
