Suspiciously.

Orus stared with a slimmed gaze, not inclined to trust her suggestive dialogue. “Your choice of words is oddly unspecific, Madam. Are you truly ignorant of Lady Fairchilde's whereabouts, or do you mean to offer an inspection of a chastity other than your own?”

The woman's countenance took on a new expression; the porcelain pallor of her features seemed to indicate an intrigue, and he would think she found his response entertaining.

“That depends on which offer you would be more likely to take up, Sir Knight,” she spoke mellifluously, sitting up straighter. “If you would see your quest through so soon, I suppose you might seek reward from your charge before bringing her home. Such can be arranged, if you wish.”

Orus frowned. “Then you can take me to her?” he asked, knowing he wouldn't dare act as she suggested, yet wondering if she would make it so easy.

She stood up to make her way toward a curving staircase in the corner. “Follow,” she said, beckoning with one finger. Her face fell into something unreadable.

He silently sighed, following along behind her as she climbed the winding steps. They came to a door, and she gently opened it to reveal a dimly-lit room. Stepping inside with her, Orus saw a sprawling bed flanked by torches, upon which lied a woman fitting the description of Lady Gwyneviere herself, yet she was clad in only a thin silk sheet.

The woman in black smiled gently, gesturing toward the bed. “Is this the girl you seek?” she asked. He frowned again. “Gwyneviere!” she shouted at the girl. She seemed to stir from whatever spell she was in laying so still on the bed. She was alive, that was good, but something about her seemed to indicate that she was not well.

“You may do as you wish, Sir Knight,” The woman in black said. “I'll not interfere.” With that, she slowly raised a hand toward the back of his neck.