Lady Night had no difficulty finding the dislike in the nobleman's face and it sparked an unexpected burst of anger within her. Here was an embodiment of the reason she so jealously guarded her identity. Who was this pampered son of a king to act as judge over her choices? Claret had always done what she must in order to survive, and while there was no glory to be had in surviving, the assassin had no small amount of pride in having accomplished it. Would this pampered, powdered nobleman have done as well had their places been reversed? There were scars hidden beneath her beautiful crimson gown that would make a veteran of the Long War blanch.

"If you will wait just a moment, Lord [i]Rickard[/i]?" Claret said, keeping her voice light but letting all pretenses of gaiety melt from her pale face as she unfolded the letter. Her caramel eyes grew hard, her small mouth thin. The assassin read slowly, painfully working through the complicated language the nobles so enjoyed writing. She hated having to do this now, in front of the disdainful advisor and her frustration added to the festering anger. 

"This mission, by requiring me to bring the target back to the court, has every likelihood of jeopardizing my identity. Should this occur, I will kill him and not return," she purred in a low whisper, "Collecting wayward family members is not usually within my job description."

Leaning back and speaking normally once more, Claret added, "Do tell the King that I plan on visiting the dear Lady Reagent of the Heartlands on my way, and would gladly carry a missive to her, should he wish to send one. I will leave on the morrow."