The Impending Storm of Bloodshed - III

At this moment, the nobles and ministers in the hall were almost in tears. Indeed... indeed! The empress is senile, the princess is rampant, but our Lord Ansel will never disappoint!

"An —" 

"Ansel."

Evora had barely begun to speak when the elderly empress's voice from the throne overpowered her. 

The dark eyes of Ephesande, aflame with a fierce fire, lit up with delight. She laughed merrily, lightly patting the armrest of her throne, which was ablaze with blood-red flames.

"Come, come to my side."

Ansel bowed slightly, "Your will, Your Majesty."

"..." 

Evora remained silent, her gaze fixed on Ansel as he calmly approached the throne, the fury in her eyes growing more restless.

Upon reaching the throne, Ansel bowed again to the empress, "Forgive my long absence, Your Majesty."

"Heh heh heh... There's no need for such meaningless formalities between us."