They didn’t insist, however, the prince barely managing to stifle a laugh by drawing one of his hands from behind his back to his mouth, while the king merely reclined deeper into his throne as though hoping he could escape into its lavish comfort. Like his crown, the throne was carved into the shape of the Finfallian crest, except it also had the added feature of wings stretched to either side as though the entire stone tree was about to take flight.

“Why are you here, Bryony No-Surname?” the prince asked. “The writ of petition you filed with the royal scribe is rather lacking in details…” At that, Tomas fired a dagger-filled look in the wiry man’s direction before continuing. “…just something about requesting visitation of a prisoner being held in Comman Dur. A most unusual request, I might add. Is he your kin?”

Bryony drew in a quick, silent breath, less to steady her nerves than to center herself on the task at hand, an art she’d been trained in for the last ten years: deception. The success of this gambit would all come down to the next few moments. “Thank the gods, no, he is not my kin. In truth, the prisoner in question is less someone I wish to visit, and more someone I wish to watch draw their last breath, Your Majesty.” Despite it being the prince who was questioning her, she continued to direct all responses toward the king, for it was his approval she needed.

“I don’t follow,” the king said. “Those who have the misfortune of being imprisoned in Comman Dur will never see the light of day. Some would argue that is a fate worse than death itself. Is that not punishment enough?”

“For the man who murdered my entire family? Never, Your Majesty.” She finally allowed herself to raise her chin and meet the king’s eyes, and she was pleased by how quickly the false tears blurred her vision and streaked down her cheeks. “But if your wisdom doesn’t see fit to punish death with death, then at least grant me the courtesy of being able to stare my family’s murderer in the eyes one final time and condemn him for his heinous crimes.” She allowed her lips to tremble, forcing her hands into fists at either side. To anyone watching, she would bear the countenance of an angry young woman who’d been wronged by some monstrous criminal. Still grieving, but not so much that she couldn’t cling to the hope of revenge.

The king’s lips had turned down, his eyes shrinking as their lids narrowed. At the least, she’d finally grabbed his attention. “Of which prisoner do you speak? Comman Dur is rather full to brimming with murderous ilk.”