The news of Anita's death spread quickly across the royal city.
From the market to the tea houses, to the palace gates and the servants' quarters.
Everyone was talking about Duchess Anita.
How she knelt at the palace gate.
How the people threw stones.
How her carriage ran wild and crashed.
Some said she died on the spot; others said she died at home. But no matter when she died, her death was a reality no one mourned.
"She deserves it," some whispered.
In the quiet wing of the palace, two guards stood outside Elizabeth's room.
"I heard she knelt for hours, begging for mercy," one guard said with a smirk. "She dared to beg."
The other chuckled. "After all the things her daughter did? Poisoning Lady Anastasia? Stealing another woman's husband? Who would pity her simply because she was kneeling?"
"Serves them right," the first guard said. "Mother and daughter are the same. Always plotting. Maybe she wanted to force the king's hand or accuse him of being cruel."
