[ There is an uncomfortable stretch of silence that greets his question, but when she responds, Anne's tone remains perfectly pleasant, though detached. Much more high-handed than at their former encounter on the street, where the familiarity had bordered on intimate. She seems neither cowed nor angry about the arrogance he displayed by handling her; perhaps she doesn't remember, or perhaps she is as practiced as anyone in her time at pretending a midnight rendezvous (intended or otherwise) and sweet promises never happened. It is life or death in the time of Tudor. ]

Why, how kene of you to inquire, bounty hunter. Elizabeth is precisely who I wish to discuss. But not through this trick of the fey, which has proven to everyone an unreliable medium.

You will come to my chambers just before dawn, when the meek stars rapidly begin to fade in readiness of the imminent sun's glory.

[ A teasing lilt accompanies this command in it's poetry. There is nothing wrong with an innocent jest. ]

The sixth floor. I expect you to wear your best.