[indent][hr][center][h3][sub][color=c03f7b]B R Y N A N  I A N Y R E[/color][/sub][/h3][/center]
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One by one most of the crowd trickled out. Standing some feet behind and to the left of the king, Brynan watched them leave and felt her seething anger grow. It was impotent anger, directed more at herself than any of them, but that knowledge did nothing to soothe the turmoil in her heart. Clenched behind her back, her fists were white-knuckled and itching to grip the cool steel hilts of her scimitars.

Wasting another minute hidden behind the walls of the castle seemed foolish. If it was her decision alone she would already have set off in search of the prince, not tarried here with random opportunists off the streets. Looking over the faces of those that remained, she thought to herself that if even one of them had any formal training with a weapon she would fall on her back in surprise. 

At King Brand’s call to action, Brynan was the first to step forward. But for a tightness around her tired eyes, her face betrayed nothing of her feelings when she placed herself between the king and those assembled. She sank to one knee, her head lowered. 

[color=c03f7b]“You know my name, sire, and my shame. On my honour, I will return your son to you.”[/color] Briefly, she glanced up to meet the Queen’s eye. [color=c03f7b]“I swear it.”[/color] The grief in their eyes was too much to bear. She swiftly rose again and made her way to the entrance, ready to leave as quickly as possible.[/indent]