A Thief Until the Day Death Takes Me

Franziska shrugged, glancing over her shoulder. I guess I wanted to see how long a King would keep me there. She rolled her eyes, as she continued out of the dungeons, not at all shy that so much skin was on display. People had likely heard that it was common in the Antivan Court for the King to grow bored and undress his Queen in the public's eye.

Where is the King, anyway? They wouldn't tell me, but I suspect he isn't here, or I'd probably have been seen before him instead of tossed into a cell. He continued to chat, about being a friendly face, and she scrunched her nose.

I'm just here to ask for sanctuary. My betrothal has to mean something to the Fereldens. She held no enjoyment or appreciation for the betrothal, her own father had been heartbroken when the arrangements had been made and succeeded in being cemented. He'd wanted his children to wed for love, if at all. A love like he and his wife had.

Fran crossed her arms as she finally hit the top of the staircase, and stepped onto cobblestone that wasn't grimy and gross. Can you take me to the King? She was dismissing him; point her in the right direction and leave her alone. It didn't matter how she dressed; the King almost deserved to see her this way, he'd played a part in this grime and muck.