The door slammed shut behind Edward Smith as he kicked it with all frustration.
Edward Smith— ninth prince of the Imperial British Royal Family, stood in the center of his disciple residence with both fists clenched.
The projection screen near the window was still glowing. Still showing the arena. Still showing Tony Clark standing at the center of it like he owned the ground beneath his feet.
Edward stared at it with red eyes.
"Phat"
He knocked the entire projection array off the table.
It shattered against the marble floor.
"This bastard..."
The words came out low. Barely above a whisper. Which was somehow worse than shouting.
His personal servant Lassi stood near the doorway, having rushed here the moment she'd heard Edward had returned from the arena viewing.
She had composed herself carefully on the way over. Prepared words. Prepared explanations. Prepared the specific tone of voice that usually worked on Edward when he was angry.
She opened her mouth.
