Bare feet rested on the wooden planks that make up the stage. Vibrations of notes flow through them through the toes of the woman above. She plucks her fingers across the harp, feeling the weight of each string as she does, looking the king directly in the eye as she plays every note correctly. He looks impressed, a goblet of wine sitting in his right hand.

His lips mutter the words of appreciation, but the harpist does not acknowledge them, she has no gratitude for him, instead she stares at his ears and imagines her blade brought down upon them, the way he’d ordered his man to bring his blade upon hers.

Her justified thoughts hidden by the beautiful melody her fingers continue to play.