Joseph, who had been anticipating a relaxing time, realized he had severely underestimated the explosive force of the delicate hands behind him and the massage skills of their owner.
Camellia pressed down in all the wrong spots, her fingers frequently landing on the points where tendons meet; she also added "techniques" such as twisting and pulling that, combined with the strength she gained from cleaning and carrying soup pots every day, made Joseph's tears nearly burst forth within a few moves.
"Ah—stop, stop!" Joseph cried out with a sob, "I'm dying, I'm dying..."
What he really wanted to shout was, "I confess, I confess everything!"
Soleil, who had just entered the room, was startled by the screams. Peering through the dim light, she saw a woman pressing the Crown Prince against a "long table," one hand on his neck and the other holding something dark, seemingly about to smash down.