Edmund made his way back home, his fury burning more than ever. Why couldn't things just go the way he wanted? Why were the gods against him? All he was doing was fighting for what rightfully belonged to him. He had been raised by his mother, and she had spent every second of her life reminding him that he was supposed to be a king, and he should fight for what was rightfully his.
But now, Edmund was slowly losing hope. Nothing was going the way he planned, and things only seemed to get worse for him. Was he really supposed to be king? Was it worth all of the risks he had taken? He had been happy with his life as a baker, he might not have been satisfied, but he had been happy. He wasn't living life like a criminal, hiding and running at the sight of his own family's banner. It was ridiculous, and he had genuinely grown tired of it.
