"Will father be alright?" Martina asked quietly, looking at Roosevelt. His expression had suddenly deflated.
"Why?" Roosevelt answered with a tired voice.
"Can't bear to let him live longer... Oucchhh!" Roosevelt groaned in pain as Martina stomped her boot hard on his foot.
"Are you sick?" she glared sharply.
"No."
"Can you stop joking then?"
The two continued to bicker the entire way until they finally walked into the Royal residence. The moment they stepped inside, their expressions changed completely. All the playful irritation disappeared as seriousness washed over their faces. The atmosphere was heavy.
Pleard, the loyal minister, stood silently beside the bed. Ramos sat in a rocking chair, his expression exhausted and grim. On the bed, a frail and wrinkled old man lay motionless, his breathing shallow.
"So you are here?" Edward's weak voice came from the bed.
Both Martina and Roosevelt straightened up and bowed their heads deeply, greeting the Royal father.
"Hmm. Sit."
