The jailor stared heartlessly at the ashen pile beneath where the prisoner had been moments before. Achingly, she turned and picked up the candelabra that sat on the barrel that served as a table in the dungeon she made use of. She had chosen it especially.
For the echo, she told the queen.
At the top of the worn stone stairs, the door creaked as it opened heavily. On the other side stood the bottom half of perhaps the tallest giant in the kingdom, her blue-grey skin littered with jewels she had embedded in her skin so they could never be stolen from her.
The deep royal purple dress suited the queen well, but not so well as the sickening grin that was plastered across her face. Her seaweed green hair fell in ringlets about her shoulders while she waited for her torturer to return from the cramped space, victorious.
"You never disappoint me. There is a gift waiting for you in the kitchens, as always, and your son is in the town with the Prince." The praise was cold and malicious as the torturer bowed deeply before the regal giantess before her. "Bring the ashes of this one to my chambers tonight after dinner."
With her command stated, the queen gleefully strode off down the carpeted hallway, her guardsmen saluting her respectfully before falling in line to follow her away from the dark corridor towards the rest of the castle.
The jailor released the breath she had been holding before hobbling her way towards the kitchens through a side passage she was all too familiar with. The wall opened silently for her to pass and the dim tunnel was only lit by the dying candle in her hand as she walked the slow pace she could towards the growing sounds of excitement and the noise of the head chef.
"Make sure the full haunch of the bull is cooked completely this time! We will glaze the honey on at the last minute so it doesn't soak in as much and ruin the prince's appetite for desert. How is the cake coming along?" Celebrations in this castle were no small thing, and this night was the night the crown prince turned seventeen. He was about to select his bride in a month's time, so Chef had tripled her staff to be prepared for the month of parties, giant visitors, and diplomatic requirements.
Entire teams were dedicated to the minutia of the guests' dietary needs, some of the politicos even brought their own nutritionists to assist.
The jailor pulled the thin doorway open and limped around the room as close to the wall as she could, both trying to stay out of the way as well as trying to not be spotted. Unfortunately, her disfigured form was easily spotted by the person she was trying to avoid.
"You cannot hide from me, you know this." Chef balked at her, leaving the marmalade in the hands of a capable cook and stepping towards the older woman to embrace her. The two women shuffled towards an office set aside so she would not be stared at, and as soon as they were inside, Chef shut the door behind them and lowered her voice. "We all heard there was another one today. You know you do the right thing with that, right?"
"I know." She croaked out in response, shambling towards her chair and falling into it with a resonant sigh. Her voice was unable to be much louder than she had shouted in the chamber earlier, but the raspy whispers of her usual volume were what her friend was used to. "It's just... The screams. I don't know how much longer I can do this, Paddy. He was only fifteen..."
"But you save them. Every single one. Their screams keep the bitch queen off their scent. You should be proud. Lyr, you should be proud." The portly woman was about to say something further when a crashing from outside in the kitchen made her stand up straight, and storm out the door shouting "I told you to not stack them so high! Now look, exactly what I told you would happen!"
Lyr was left in the relative quiet of her office until a soft knock precluded a young man bringing a tray in to set on the table, bow apologetically, and remove himself. The door clicked softly behind him, probably a new footman she assumed, before she looked at what he had brought.
On the wooden tray sat a bowl of stew, a jug of cold water, some bread, and a small box barely larger than her hand on top of a letter. The letter she knew was from the king, apologising for not being at the execution and thanking her for her diligence, begging her to accept the gift offered within the box.
She didn't have to open the box to know it was a necklace or jewelry piece of some description. King Petre had very little understanding of women, and so assumed that the best way to win the affection of any woman was the same way he won his wife's.
Lyr set the box and letter aside, pulling the tray towards her to the edge of the table, pulling a note off the underside where it was stuck on with sap. This was the correspondence she waited for and looked forward to.
She had learned the cyphered code years before, but her eyesight still made her have to take her time reading the half-page of small text.
"General, the youths were received with minimal burns. They are safe. R thanks you."
As soon as she finished reading the page, she tossed the paper into the fire and put another log in the fireplace. It was the beginning of autumn, and the castle was growing colder, but the fire in her office was never allowed to go out even in the heat of summer.
She sat silently for a moment, processing what the note confirmed before pulling her meal towards her.