How do you believe my son had done this? Why?Mature

The man behind the door, allowed your majesty Serata to get dressed and being escorted by his guards and the manservant to be there in the house down the hall to go to the chamber, where the Duke was?

The duke looked at him, tears ran from his eyes. He was wearing his jacket a doublet on his shoulders was a black satin cape ermine lined, on his legs were pantaloons. He had black gloves, on his hip rode a rapier and broad sword, both of which he was well versed in using.  He stepped from the fire to glare at him.

The sire looked at the man, he knew he was not a stupid man, he was gruff and there was no way in which he would have allowed his son to dbeside the o this. He knew, that his son was good at fighting the monster that Serata’s son was.  In a fair fight, Martine would not have had a chance. Yet Maltrea was standing there awaiting him, he scuffed the toe of his boot on the bare stone covered floor beside the tapestry.

Serata knew what his son was capable of doing?  The Duke's son was not able to do this, without a question in his mind, why had his son dared to fight him. There could be no way in which they would do this.

"Maltrea, why are you here?" Serata asked as he looked at him, he began to advance towards him. He could not really be here to tell him, Martine had slayed his son. This must be a joke in bad form but a joke.

"Your ... Monster has done it again!" Maltrea screamed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust. 

Serrate asked, “How can you say this?"

"How can I not?" Maltrea screamed, the rage filled his soul.

"What evidence do you have to suggest, such a thing as that?" Serrate had been able to lull him into thinking about this. in a way to defend his son from this accusation..

"Is this not his glove?" Maltrea suggested as he handed him the evidence, 

"Yes, it is!  He may have misplaced it?"

"He did on my dead son's betrothed." Maltrea stated, he remembered the murder.

"The guards were busy trying to stop the blood from flowing from his son's chest.  There was a pommel of sabre protruding from his throat. His head lay at an awkward angle. He looked at the eyes of his son.  

Someone was busy in the chamber where his son lay dead.  Someone was busy making love to his son's wife. The Duke had entered the room holding a candle.  

The woman's eyes opened and looked at the person in the darkness of the room, and to the other figure who just entered the room. "You're not Salomon!"

"No, and you are not worthwhile! Wench!" a voice filled with scorn said to her, as he drew up his dagger from his belt'scabbard. 

"Help! I am being raped?" Dabbrea screamed, as she looked at the man before her, making love to her.

The boy who made love to her drew up a dagger, to cut her stomach open. The boy leaped out of the room, to escape from the room not seeing the duke who was standing there.



The End

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