Countess Vexmore turned gracefully, though her shoulders carried the faintest stiffness, and began walking toward the door.
But then a hand reached for her neck from behind.
"Wha-!" she let out a startled yelp as rough fingers clamped around her slender throat. Her eyes went wide, disbelief flooding her as she turned her head just enough to glimpse the culprit.
Her son.
Her only remaining son.
Her lips parted, ready to demand an explanation, but no sound came out. His grip was iron, cutting off her voice, strangling her cries before they could escape. Desperately, she tried to scream for the guards and maids just beyond the door, but the pressure on her windpipe tightened until all that came out was a strangled wheeze.
The Countess thrashed wildly, and her manicured nails even clawed at his hand, but it was like trying to scratch a diamond. Useless.
