M A X E N C E UNEASY LIES THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN
The steps of the commander were urgent, filled with purpose, and crowned by nothing but the weight of an angered and unsure sovereign. A burden lay upon his shoulders, one that perhaps was about to be lifted or worsened as he clopped down those steps to the dungeon. If Rostislav was a spy then he was passing a sinner on to greener pastures and potentially leaving his people to fire and wrath of Reichenbach, though honour demanded he not hold the Night Court's new Warden captive without evidence. This Warden's sudden departure form the day court was what had prompted his arrest though, and perhaps Maxence was glad the fat alcohol-reeking man no longer dwlt among them - for him, it would seem, loyalty could be challenged by nothing but sand in his eyes. With a mighty bash upon the cell door, Maxence hardly even wasted a second to glance in the captive's direction. "Go" He beckoned - or rather, demanded. ROSTISLAV IS FREE
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