Whatever the circumstances

Lancelot did nothing to stop himself from fuming with anger. He would no longer pretend and allow his mother do as she pleased. He was tired, genuinely tired of allowing her kick everybody around for her own pleasure. Today, he would set her straight and remind her of all the lines she could not cross; each and everyone of them.

With a sturdy gaze and irritation stirring and boiling his temper, he dashed out the door of the banquet hall, and did nothing to stop himself from crashing into an incoming servant. The man fell to the ground, flat on his back, but Lancelot did not spare him a second glance, talk more of an apology.

Peter, who hurried behind his boss, was left with the responsibility of helping the man up and apologizing to him. By the time Peter had his head up, Lancelot was far down the corridor, several meters ahead of him. He stood still, his hands lay helpless by his sides, with a gleaming sadness in his eyes as he watched Lancelot stomp off to confront the queen.

He