She's seen those photos a hundred times herself, of the room, of Sorché, of that man. A hundred times and they all pale in comparison to the memories of that awful night. In the days that had followed, she'd felt lost and helpless, but all of her own grief had been pushed to the side in order to take care of her duties -- there had been reports to be made and she'd tried to stay strong for her other handmaidens. Her friends, the loyal bodyguards who had protected her and stayed by her side even when they'd lost one of their own. And she'd visited Sorché's family...

"Thank you." Distance is in those two words, but she means them all the same. He could very easily insist that her security become an oppressive force under which she'd barely be able to breathe, and given the circumstances she likely wouldn't have argued. No, she would have gone along with things and drowned in her own misery of it.

"The reports weren't made public," she explains, moving past talk of her own emotional state. "The incident was isolated and knowledge of it will be kept as such." There's no room left for discussion of it.