It was on a cold morning that death visited the palace. It moved with stealth and with purpose. It sneaked in on the two unsuspecting figures lying on the massive oak bed with scarlet linen sheets entwined together, lost in the throes of passion. It moved noiselessly towards the bed where moans of pleasure rose and fell in tandem with the rhythm of the mating dance. When it struck, its blows were final and fatal.
There was blood everywhere. Dark stains on the scarlet sheets, the lampstand, the cream colored walls, and the wine rug. The body of the female lay face up with eyes wide, in an expression that was a blend of pleasure and pain, with arms wrapped around the waist of the headless body lying on top of her, joined together at the hips.
The clouds wept and the skies wailed. Thunder and lightning joined in mourning the great catastrophe. Emotions were at war and all that beheld the great sight were left befuddled and speechless. Never in the history of the kingdom had such happened. Several abominations had been committed and chaos unleashed. With one act, an entire family was wiped.
Death came at the hand of the king, who was lying lifeless on his right side on the wine rug, face contorted in pain, rage and sadness. The hilt of a knife was protruding from his belly. Few feet from him was the lifeless body of the queen. Her heart had given out at the gory sight. Lying on the bed in each other’s arms were the king’s children.