Shyanne gritted her teeth as a pang of jealousy shot through her as Micah spoke to Susanne. It wasn't usual for her to feel the emotion. Usually, she had everything she wanted and she had no reason to be jealous of anyone. She was beautiful, rich, highly esteemed among nobles, and doted upon at her every whim, but as she watched Micah and Susanne, she narrowed her eyes and shook her head. Kneeling, she took a drink.

Her hair had fallen from the loose braid and stuck to her sweating neck. She gathered it up and twisted it a few times. She could not wait till she got home.

Jarien and Adi stopped with the others at the stream, beginning to get tired from their all-morning forced march. They washed downstream as Telwyn suggested, and then headed back up further to each get a drink of the beautifully clear water.

Jarien sat on a rock and watched the others, while Adi sat on the soft grass next to him and folded her legs underneath her.

~~~~~~~

Viris and his Lieutenant supported the young woman as she literally collapsed in their arms. She hadn't been ready for this, it had evidently taken her by surprise and Viris vaguely wondered if she really had anything to do about it.

Still, orders were orders, and he had to follow all clues. They slowly led Grace out the doors of the inn and to an extra horse that they had, where the officer helped her up and then they both mounted. Viris gave orders that one man ride on either side of her, both for her own protection, since she seemed weak, and to prevent her escape in the unlikely case that she tried to make a break for freedom.

Grace felt herself assisted out the door and onto the back of a broad, sturdy animal. This was all too unreal. She had always been a law-abiding citizen. Actually, she still was for the most part, come to think of it. Technically, she never knew Liam was an outlaw until today. Although, a jury could condemn her of withholding information... Her pattering heart groaned at the thought of what awaited her at the end of this journey. A dungeon, perhaps? Visions of dank, musty cells with slimy walls and rotten hay strewn on the floor, with rusting chains lying around, rough bars blocking her escape, flashed through her mind's eye. She shuddered and raised her eyes quickly to dispel the images. She saw the guards on either side of her and winced involuntarily. At least, she reminded herself, They have been nothing but gentlemanly so far. That should encourage me, shouldn't it? But her reasoning did nothing to soothe her quivering heart. A horrible thought now began running through her mind... Alone. You are alone. Another person's trouble has fallen on your head and your enemy has played his hand well. You are alone now. She choked back a sob and bit her lip. However, with an effort she raised her head high and brushed back a lock of hair from her face. With a gritting of her teeth, she gripped the saddle horn tightly and squared her shoulders. If she had to cry, it wouldn't be here. Not where Jack was likely waiting to see it happen.

Viris and his men formed up around Grace and prepared to ride out of the town. They had no reason to remain, now that they had found a person with possible information, and it was important that they returned to the castle as soon as possible.

They left the town then, riding through the forest, then across the plains. All of the men went out of their way to be kind to Grace, and be courteous to her as much as possible.

It was two days later that they arrived at Dravon, A happy sight for them all, since they had been on patrol for the better part of a month, and all were eager for rest, and those that had families, to come home.

Viris led them straight to the castle, and their party was admitted without delay. They reigned in outside the inner gates, and Viris dismounted, along with all of his men. He aided Grace down from the horse and led her toward the main doors, "Now Ma'am, we must part ways. I have to hand you off to the current Captain that is in charge at the castle here. I must say you have been one of the most cooperative prisoners I have ever escorted, it has been a pleasure."

He rapped three times on the doors, and waited.

Door to the castle was thrown open, and a commanding officer stepped out; his nose notched high into the hair and his eyes looking cynically down upon Grace and Viris. His black hair was slicked and oiled, and his mustache and sleek ebony boots were also, to match. His gaze switched from bored to amused as his attention dwelt on Grace.

"Ah, a prisoner for the King!" The Captain said unpleasantly, a crude chuckle escaping his lips. "And a fair one at that." Two men moved up behind his broad shoulders and he stepped out into the daylight, surveying Viris and his men. "We received a report that you were heading toward the village....we didn't expect this though." his eye brow's arched, as he caught a very unpleasant look from Viris.

He sighed and gestured to Grace. His two men moved in and grabbed her arms gruffly, pulling her away from Viris. The other Captain grinned, and leaned in to whisper to Viris. "Don't look at me that way.....never forget the king likes me better then you and it will always be that way." He laughed, and stepped back, looking down at the letter that was held clenched in Viris's hand. He snatched it away. "What is this?" he inquired flippantly.

Viris wished it had been anyone but him. If there was one man in all of the King's guards that was the exact opposite of him in every way, it was this captain. He had half a mind to protest and insist on bringing Grace to the King himself.

Instead, he set his jaw and waited for the incredible sarcasm and rudeness that this fellow was capable of. And sure enough, it came. Neither of them had love for the other, but this Captain was positively odious.

He sat by as the men came forward and pulled Grace from his side, and then the captain snatched the paper from Viris. Viris, on the other hand, was about fed up with his attitude, and snatched it back, keeping a half-friendly smile on his face. If there was one thing this man couldn't stand, it was someone that didn't react to his attitude. "This letter is the evidence with which we bring the girl as prisoner to the King. I ask that you impress upon the King that she should be given lenience, as I believe that she was not intending to consort with the outlaw that we are hunting."

With that, he handed the paper back, still maddeningly calm.

The Captain's jaw snapped shut audibly when Viris yanked the letter away. His eyes flashed hotly, and his air changed. "I shall consider what you have said." he stated, smugly, clutching the paper tighter after it was back in his finger tips. He sighed, already tired of Viris's presence, and waved his hand. "You may go, now, Captain." with this he turned on his heel, entering the castle.

As the door behind them was shut, the Captain fell back to look at Grace more thoroughly. He had suppressed his anger, though you could still see the clench in his jaw, and was now switching to concentrate are more pleasant matters. "I am Captain Jarrad Voksel. You shall address me as Captain, nothing else. I'd also not advise any witty comments or things of that nature. " Jarrad rubbed his chin. "So, you've been playing around with that outlaw?"

The days of travel were hard for Grace. It would have been awkward to be the only woman in a large group of men no matter what the circumstance, but as a prisoner... The soldiers were more than kind and they did their best to alleviate her discomfort. She appreciated it, but nothing they could do could possibly calm her heart, which never seemed to stop thumping. At times, it seemed as though its beating drowned out all other sound, ringing loud in her ears. But she clung to as much of her dignity as she possibly could, sitting still in the saddle, often with her eyes downcast towards the saddle horn. She saved her frightened and desperate tears for the merciful cover of night.
They had allowed her to keep a hold of the horse's reins herself, which rather surprised her, but the horse calmly plodded between her guards, not needing much guidance from her. It might have been a dull trip, if not for the constant fluttering of her heart and the gloomy thoughts that plagued her mind. As it was, it was practically a nightmare.

When the castle loomed ahead, Grace gazed at it as they approached. It was so big, so dark, so stern... Her image of what its dungeons might look like flashed through her mind again, but she physically shook her head to rid herself of it. At any rate, there was no denying it was a place that matched her feelings admirably.
As the captain simply marched through the gates without hesitation, she did not have much time to examine them before they were past them. One thing stuck in her mind though, They are strong. To keep some out and to keep others in.
She turned her head slowly when the men began to dismount. Her heart began thudding in her breast with suddenly sharp apprehension. But the captain put his hand out to her to help her down and she accepted it, though with a faint reluctance.
When he spoke to her, she dipped her head and smiled faintly, "You have been very kind. Thank you." Though I can't say it was a pleasure...
She started when the door burst open and a highly manicured yet still unpleasant man strode out. She eyed him with great distaste at his comments about herself, but was quiet. When, however, the new officer's men handled her so roughly, she cast them a sharp and reproachful look, then wriggled a little to emphasize her discomfort at their manhandling. Unfortunately, the movement was misinterpreted by the men and their grips tightened until she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
"Please, you're hurting me!" she managed to say quietly, without whimpering (thank goodness she kept from whimpering!).
But they ignored her.

Grace was just contemplating how very numb her arms were growing and wondering if this was the part where they threw her in the dungeon, when the new, repulsive officer suddenly loomed in the vision of her downcast eyes. She looked up with slightly narrowed gaze. Something about this man reminded her strikingly of Jack. A similar arrogance and carelessness of other people. What made this man worse, however, was that he actually had the authority to make the rest of her life miserable, or possibly even end it prematurely. At any rate, he was one to be reckoned with.
She listened to his little speech and suppressed a nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach. Witty comments! Were he anyone else, I'd try to think up a slew of them just to punish him for his insolence. But, as it is, I don't think I'll try that.
But her heart gave a mighty thud when he asked the question. Her voice, however, came out more calmly than she had even dared to hope, "I am not sure what you mean. The man who wrote that letter and the man on your posters are two entirely different people." But what she really wanted to say was, What do you think? I don't play ring-a-round-the-rosies with outlaws! Probably a good thing she didn't say that.

Jarrad chuckled, clicking his tongue. "Don't play dumb, my sweet. This letter," he said, glancing down at it, scanning the words with his eyes. "condemns you. Believe me, you won't be able to sway King Xavier with that petty excuse." he tossed a hand carelessly. "But you shall find that out for yourself." he said, leading four person procession down a corridor. Before they entered the doors at the end, which were ornately fashioned out of some pure oak and carved, to have the shapes of a dragon and an eagle in them, this Captain turned and halted his two guards and her. His dark eyes scanned her thoroughly for a moment, his scrutinizing gaze intended to make her uncomfortable and awkward. He thought for a moment how very fair she was; and briefly wondered if this would have any effect with the king, but from his past experiences he was able to tell himself, with a good amount of confidence that Xavier would show no lenience if he was set on finding out something.

Jarrad took a breath, and sighed. "I have a question to ask, before we proceed any further. After we enter these doors, you shall be very close to seeing the king. What awaits you after the king, might be most unpleasant if you don't tell me something now." he met her eyes. "Do you know where the outlaw is? Ah Ah! And before you insist these men are two separate people, please do remember, the king won't even consider that."

Grace was at first annoyed at the captain's words, but was suddenly struck dumb by his last comment. Before she had much of a chance to let that piece of information sink in, she was jerked forward by the soldiers flanking her. Their iron fingers dug into her arms and she again bit her lip to keep from crying out. Soon it won't matter because they'll squeeze them so numb my arms will feel like they don't even exist anymore! she thought bitterly.
Momentarily though, her attention was snagged by the massive carved doors at the end of the hallway. They looked ominous and the snarling dragons sent a chill down her spine. She wondered if perhaps they were an accurate portrayal of the man she was apparently about to meet. Which, by the way, how did that come about? Since when was one outlaw so important that the King needed to speak to someone who might have seen him?
But that man started talking again and she was forced to pull herself out of her reveries to look at him and listen (though she didn't have any desire to listen to that snake).
She opened to mouth to answer, was cut off, shut her mouth and tightened her lips, and listened to him add that the King would not believe her "two different men" story.
She ran her tongue over the front of her teeth thoughtfully, lips still tight, as she contemplated what he had just said. Wouldn't consider it for a moment, eh? Well, it's doubtful that he would believe her if she told him that note was all Liam had given her either. Of course, if she dropped the "two different men" story, then she would be admitting she had been lying before. But then again, was she? Liam wasn't the man portrayed on those posters, was he? A murderer? Liam was gentle, kind and had shown himself to be so not only to herself, but to other villagers too, she had heard. Yes. The "two different men" story was true. And she would speak nothing but the truth.
She looked the captain in the eye with a determined glint in her own, "I know nothing more about the whereabouts of the man who wrote that note than is on the note itself. I know absolutely nothing whatsoever and never have known anything about the man on the posters."

Jarrad's eyes flared with frustration, but his face retained it's toothy smile and his mannerism his careless, amused attitude. She really was of no concern to him, aside from being rather beautiful, what the King chose to do was his own concern, and he usually only transported the prisoners here and there about the castle, leaving the dirty work to others. "'Tis your fate, young lady, not mine." he said flippantly and grasped the handles to the carved doors in front of him.

He threw them back, the wood groaning and creaking on it's brass hinges, and strode, with purpose, into the chamber beyond; which was the small anti-room that comes before the thrown room. The inside was rather low-lighted, with only two torches placed in sturdy fittings on the walls, but was lavishly furnished, giving a taste of what was to come. Tapestries hung on pegs, depicting dragons, massive green dragons with black eyes and fire curling about them, their tails edged with razor like scales, raised up to cut anyone that came near. Polished oak end tables, were hear and there, large black vases upon them, sprouting dwarf trees rising up from the dirt within them. The floor was made of sleek black marble, with white swatches set in to give it design, and a large chandelier hung above their heads, it's light barely visible.

Across the room from them were two tall doors, even more intricately carved than the others, with two sentries clad in Vayond Armor on either side of them. Their icy stares met Jarrad's and he smiled. Motioning for his men to bring Grace forward, he approached, and said in a stern voice. "A prisoner to be question by the king. She was caught with this letter, and is suspected to have house the outlaw Liam and his companion."

One sentry glanced over the letter, than handed it back. "I shall see if the king grants an audience."

Jarrad nodded, and watched as the man slipped in through one door. He chuckled, and turned to Grace. "Well, sweet, this is it. I can assure you the king will want to see you." he sighed, mocking concern. "Too bad you had to go running around with that outlaw....you know he's the one the King is most desired to catch. That man has committed multiple offenses and treason against the crown." he touched his chin. "Too bad...."

Her lips twitched into a grim smile. "Exactly," she murmured pointedly. But when the captain jerked the doors open, her heart quivered with fear again. The fierce dragons on them swung away and were hidden from her sight, only to be replaced by more dragons and more frightening, foreboding imagery. The guards dragged her forward, again with far more force than was necessary, but as she predicted, her arms were going numb and it didn't hurt quite as bad. It still hurt, but it was feeling more like they were pinching her arms rather than crushing them.

The room was, to her eyes, oppressively heavy with finery. The atmosphere was ominously pompous and yet, at the same time, dreary. Her heart continued to sink as she caught a glimpse of herself in the polished vases, then saw the guards locking eyes with the snake-captain. She listened in silence to the captain speak to them and returned the glances sneaked her way.
She watched the man go into what she assumed to be the throne-room and vaguely wondered just how well she would be able to control her expressions when she met the king. Funny, to be meeting someone of such a high rank and not be happy about it. Ironic, actually. The person in charge of governing the people and keeping them safe was now probably going to do something terrible to her if she didn't tell him what he wanted to know. As a matter of fact, it was so ironic that she barely contained an eye roll. Good thing she did contain it, because the next instant the snake was talking to her and he probably would have been looking just in time to see it.

As he finished speaking, she grit her teeth and bit back a smart remark in the process. The innocence that had always been her best defense was failing her and the sarcasm that had always been her best weapon would only turn on her and bury itself in her own stomach, very likely in a quite literal sense. In other words, she was stripped of all protection- except her silence. So instead of the caustic, Who are you to be calling ME 'sweet'!? And what do you care about my fate!? that came to mind, she caught her tongue between her teeth and bit down hard enough to hurt. She maintained her silence, but shot the snake a glance of insulted innocence before turning to gaze at the intricate door in front of her.

Jarrad raised a brow at Grace's silence, but shrugged, turning back to the doors as he heard the handle rattle. The sentry stepped back in, his hand lingering there upon the knob. "The king says he shall see the prisoner. You may escort her in." He swung the door wide, gesturing with one hand from them to enter.

Jarrad nodded to him and walked forward, his demeanor slightly more reserved as he entered the domain of his liege. The throne room indeed told much of the King who resided within. The roof was high, much higher than any other rooms of the castle, and a majority of the space was shadowed. Over head two huge chandeliers hung, they were a dull dark gold, and their candles were not burning. Six torches lined each wall, illuminating enough of the area for all the furnishings to be seen. Upon the walls, again, hung tapestries, these also with dragons, but not just dragons. Ravens, massive glossy black feathered ravens, their eyes crimson, stared in at all who entered. A long, deep red carpet was laid on the floor, it's edges made of green lace. Upon the carpet were embroidered designs in black.

As they all walked forward, they neared the throne. It's polished gold surface almost gleamed, though there was low-light. The king who sat upon it was a man to be reckoned with. His dark eyes flashed with a hidden anticipation as Jarred brought Grace forward. He stood from his throne, his robe, falling from his shoulders, draping his seat. His longer black hair was tied back with a leather thong, and he stared down with a deep cruelty toward Grace. His face though, wore a twisted smile, a peaceful smile almost, as though he was confidant of all. With a wave of his hand, the two guards dropped Grace at his feet, and Jarrrad retreated bowing.

Xavier stepped down the few notches that led up to his throne. He wore black leather that was hardly boring, but specially designed with pale, deep, yellow stitching. His sword was buckled close to his side, ever ready. "So." he began, his voice that of a kings, with a hint of something unidentifiable. "You are the woman who has taken it upon herself to house one of the most dangerous outlaws in Vayond." He took a glance down at the letter Jarrad had handed him before he left. A chuckle, from deep in his throat, came from his lips. "Indeed. What do you have to say to this!?" he then asked, a snarl hidden within his voice.

Grace flicked her gaze towards the door as it eased open and the guard came back in. As he spoke, she closed her eyes for a brief moment and drew a deep, ragged breath. Her heart was pounding and the blood was rushing through her head, heating her up, threatening to press her into doing something stupid. She drew another breath, but before she had finished calming herself, her guards were jerking her forward again. Somehow, she was unprepared for the suddenness of the motion and she was nearly knocked off her feet. As it was, she struggled to stay upright through the throne room march and when she was suddenly shoved forward and released simultaneously, she stumbled to the floor in an undignified heap. Her arms were like heavy weights hanging from her shoulders and she was unable to gather them underneath her to raise herself from the floor. Through the gritting of her teeth, the racing of her heart and the rushing of her blood, she heard a voice that suddenly stopped her heart cold. Her breath was caught in her chest for a moment, then she slowly, tentatively, raised her head, gazing at the owner of the voice through a curtain of tumbled golden hair.
The look did not help her breathe easier. Something in his stance, his gaze, his voice, struck a cord of fear deep within her. All hopes of mercy flitted away from her like released butterflies. For a moment, as the King continued speaking, she was so breathless her head began to spin, but with a force of will she deliberately filled her lungs, then slowly released the air through her slightly open mouth. No, it was certain. She had no doubt now that things would go badly no matter what she said. She simply did not know enough to satisfy this-... This... King.
Nevertheless, she bristled at the scandalous implication in the King's first comment. The next instant she was engulfed in a wave of fear as the king's eyes locked on hers. With a quick prayer that she would project confidence instead of her real feelings, she carefully tested moving her benumbed arms to see if they were coming back to life yet. The movement brought a loud protest from her bruised muscles, which of course meant feeling was indeed returning. With this encouragement, Grace dropped her eyes deliberately from the king's gaze and looked down at the ground. She was suddenly struck at the depth of the red on the carpet. Like blood. Anyone who was injured or... or killed here could bleed without a trace being left behind, their life swallowed up by the silent floor covering. It sent a shudder through her body, but she folded her arms underneath herself and pushed against the blood- I mean, the carpet, to raise herself to a sitting position. Without looking at the king, but feeling his impatience, she used her fingers to brush aside the tendrils of hair obscuring her face, straightening the once loose curls that were now falling out to be almost nonexistent. She briefly found herself thinking of the rag rollers she left at the inn and wondering how long it would be until she was able to use them again. If ever... Again, a shudder ran through her body and she forced her mind back to the present.
Drawing a deep breath, she turned her gaze towards the king. "I run an inn in a small town. Many people I do not know come through and spend the night. I do not ask their business, they spend all the time they need and pay me when they leave. I do not pry, I do not try to remember all the faces that have come and gone. The man who wrote that letter stayed at my inn, but he was not the man on the posters, the outlaw. I do not know anything more about the man who wrote that letter than is on the sheet of paper you have in your hands and I do not know anything at all about the man on your posters." Her voice was shockingly cool and serene. She knew she must have looked quite the picture, sitting on the floor in her disheveled state, rubbing her upper arms with her benumbed and clumsy hands, trying to massage feeling back into them past the soreness in the muscles. A faint feeling of surprise lingered in the back of her mind at the silence the king had maintained throughout her speech and she braced herself for the storm she instinctively knew was coming, sooner or later.

Xavier's eye-brow raised, and he stood silent for a moment, looking down at the young woman at his feet. "Please, do not play innocent with me when guilt is evident." he tapped his chin for a moment, glancing down at her with a dark, knowing gaze that attempted to bore through her. "So you are telling me you know nothing more of the man you wrote this letter to you? I can hardly believe that. In this letter he says some pretty things about you...they are mild but it clearly speaks of some attraction to you. This must mean you spent some time with the gentleman who wrote his letter, and you would therefore remember his face." he placed his hands on his hips and stared down at her, a demanding, angry fire in his eyes. "Describe him to me. And do not play games." he took a couple of steps back and snatched a paper from a small table near his throne. He tossed down the parchment in front of her. "You claim you don't know who the man on this wanted poster is....but tell me, doesn't he look like the man who wrote the letter!?"