“I don't know,” Anik repeated in the same tone, angling his chin up with a jerk. “Skahli.”

Frowning at the unfamiliar word, Ren's eyes settled on the tattoos on the Lowlander's arm. He needed at least something interesting to tell Thais so Thais wouldn't rat him out. Time was passing quickly; lunch would be served at any moment. “What's that about?” he asked, pointing to the black markings.

Slowly, Anik touched the top part of the tattoo with the tips of two fingers. It looked like curving antlers circling his forearm. “This? My first kill was a stag,” he said, and met Ren's eyes.

Ren swallowed involuntarily. The Lowlander's first kill was the symbol of Frayne's royal family. Of himself, Hellic and Thais. A coincidence? It had to be. This man had probably never set foot in Frayne before in his life. The prisoner was simply trying to scare him. He certainly seemed to have enough contained anger to confirm all the stories about the Lowlanders Ren had heard, and Ren wasn't interested in staying one moment longer. However little he had managed to drag from the eerie Lowlander, it'd have to be enough.

Stepping back from the iron bars of the cell, Ren didn't turn around until he was out of sight and then some. He made his way swiftly past the lion pit, although he still startled when one of the giant beasts shifted, disturbed by the sound of his footsteps, its piercing yellow eyes boring into his.

Ren was so focused on looking over his shoulder that the impact of a body against his own nearly made him jump out of his skin. But the figure in front of him was a person, not a beast. And not just any person.

Although Ren had never seen King Halvard up close, he was unmistakable. He was a large man, with broad shoulders, a trimmed beard, and a thick fur cloak wrapped around his shoulders despite the mild weather. Around his neck hung a golden chain, the links nearly as thick as a baby's wrist.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Ren said quickly, bowing his head. He made to move past the king, but stopped when a second man stepped up alongside him and blocked Ren's path. This man was considerably leaner, but radiated just as much authority. Ren had heard of King Halvard's first advisor, the cold and unsettling Lord Nathair. None of the stories had been pleasant.

“What's your name, boy?” King Halvard asked, narrowing his blue eyes.

Ren looked between the two men, unable to shake the feeling of being out of his depth. He kept his eyes respectfully lowered. “Ren, Your Majesty.”

The king's face turned red, and without warning, he reached out and grabbed Ren by the front of the shirt. “Ren Frayne? The late queen's bastard son?”