The servant leading us was a humble lackey from the High Court, now respectful and deferential, far removed from his previous arrogance.
Once we reached the prison, he dutifully opened an empty cell, explaining that it was where my father had been held.
I followed his gesture, my gaze settling on the cold, empty space. The straw on the ground still bore remnants of blood.
I couldn't tell if it was my father's or someone else's.
My expression dimmed. "I see. You can go now; I'll find my way out."
The servant hesitated, but perhaps fearing Simon's influence, he didn't dare disobey me and retreated quietly.
The cell was dim, with only the occasional crackle from the brazier breaking the silence.
I didn't push the door open but spoke quietly, "Aren't you coming out?"
As soon as I spoke, a figure slowly emerged from the shadows. I looked up and froze for a moment when I recognized his face.
Dressed in black and wearing a mask, he was indeed a strange character.
"You have keen eyes, my lady," he complimented me, yet there was not a hint of warmth in his gaze.
As he stepped closer, I felt an odd familiarity in those eyes, but I couldn't place them right away, so I dismissed the thought.