Royal Capital of Kingston.
BANG!
With his hair grizzled, Warwick, dressed in a Naval Marshal's uniform, returned to his residence from Parliament and casually tossed his sidearm sword onto his desk with a heavy THUD. The impact scattered the documents on the table all over the floor. It also made the servants, who were about to help him change his clothes, tremble with fear.
Even a fool could tell that their master, whose power rivaled the King's and even slightly overshadowed him, was in a very foul mood.
"Get out."
Hearing their master's rebuke, they collectively sighed in relief, fleeing the study as if granted amnesty.
This left Warwick alone on the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose, yet unable to stop the vein throbbing insistently on his forehead.
His anger was entirely due to the Royalist Party's sudden attack during today's Parliament meeting, which had thoroughly incensed him.
The accusatory voices still echoed in his mind.
