That tiny shred of empathy, the simple words I'm sorry, make something go twang hard and deep in her chest. Maybe its entirely feigned for the benefit of manipulation, but there's something in that sentiment that nonetheless hits Gideon hard. Not that it makes her feel any better; instead she feels dirty and fractionally ashamed. This woman is partly responsible for the eradication of her kingdom, apologising in the aftermath does nothing to change that. It makes all the King and Queen's intimations of her faithlessness ring true; that she'll take validation wherever she can get it, that she does not deserve to be the one who had lived when their perfect little daughter had died.

Priamhark and Pelleamena would never have negotiated; theirs was a dark and bleak and ancient lineage that was to be kept pure no matter the cost, even when that cost had been their slow extinction following the plague. Or their swift one, following the invasion. Perhaps the Queendom's intervention could even be considered a mercy-- but it doesn't stop Gideon from quietly hating herself for her fleeting moment of weakness, for wanting to be comforted, even if it is from one of the harbingers of her Kingdom's doom.

"Yeah, yeah. Get the fuck out of here and leave me alone," she manages, with perfectly feigned - if weary - indifference. Bites down on the desperate plea she can feel rising in the back of her throat for Lenore not to leave her like this, still bound and aching and cold and sodden in her cell. Instead, she'll close her eyes and turn her face away to the extent that she's able; pretend she's in any position to enact a dismissal.