LIAB Epilogue 20:2
Queen Jillian is outside of Ansom's jail cell in the city of Brookstone. Both are lit from behind by an unseen light source. Ansom is still shackled, he's sitting slumped on the ground and leaning against the far wall; he looks bruised but defiant.
Brookstone lacked a dungeon. But it had a gaol, and that's where they'd put 'the one' tonight. Most of the rest of the prisoners were confined en masse to their megalogwiffs, but Ansom merited full iron shackles, and his own pair of guards.
He was sitting up on the floor, leaning against the brick pillar he was chained to, favoring her with his trademark look of disapproval.
Jillian strategically hung her lantern on a peg behind her, where it would shine on the prisoner but leave her in silhouette.
"Privileged information," she said. She wouldn't have answered, even if she knew.
He squinted up at her in silence. His face was dirty, and still bruised from the day's fighting. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but she could only grip at the black iron bars.
"It shouldn't be like this," she muttered.
"On that, at least, we can agree." He scratched his head and ran a hand through his filthy hair, his chains clinking musically.
His lips parted and his brow wrinkled. He did not seem to know what to say.
"Fine, it's a stupid question," said Jillian.
"Well, it is."
"Yes! Fine!" she snapped.
They spent another few moments just listening to shrill crickets and breathing the latrine-stink of prison air.
"I am told...you're expecting?" he asked.
"All to establish a new Royal line," said Ansom. "It seems misguided."
Jillian kicked the cell door. "You wanted it, you stuffed blouse! I told you being a Queen was the last thing I ever intended to do, and it broke your disbanded heart! Now here I am. Here's your Queen Jillian, Prince!"
She threw out her arms, to present herself. Her shadow fell upon his face.
After a moment, he shook his head, grimly.
"Go to dust!" spat Her Royal Queenliness. She snatched the lantern and retreated into the night.