Queen Margret Burchard pressed two gleaming gold coins into the horseman's rough, calloused palm, her fingers lingering just a fraction longer than necessary, as though sealing not just a transaction, but a pact written in quiet desperation.
"Make sure you reach Meria without them knowing who you are," she said, her voice low and carrying the quiet authority of a woman who had long learned how to command without raising her tone. "And I will have two more coins waiting for you when you return."
The man bowed deeply, clutching the coins as though they were sacred relics. "Understood, your grace."
His voice held no hesitation nor curiosity. Just obedience.
Good, Margret thought. Men who asked fewer questions tended to live longer.
