[ Warning Gruesome Scene ]
The talks with his uncle left Aamon quite happy—he was getting his wish, that white-haired bitch was going to die if that's the last thing he ensured. No one humiliates him and lives to tell the tale.
Thinking about his humiliation made Aamon's face darken. He knew he needed to let off some steam, and he had just the perfect idea—a dark smirk married his face and he looked at the maids covering in fear. "Bring me those!"
The maids nodded and left to gather what he had requested.
His personal room was dark, the red, silk curtains clouded the room from any ounce of sunlight just as he preferred them—Aamon wore brass knuckles on both hands and each of the silver knuckles were oozing blood. He unhooked the buttons of his shirt and slumped on his couch.
