"Grigory."

Kylo's lips pull into a thin, not particularly pleasant twist of a smile. He had very little fondness for the Queen's personal favourite before discovering Geralt down here. His growing disdain for the Borrel sycophant practically drips from the name.

"But you're right. I'm not here to pick apart the Queen's schemes, though it is... troubling. That she can continue to act with impunity, and with such a long reach."

Assuming, of course, that Geralt hadn't crossed the border into Thorne by himself. It doesn't seem to fit with what Kylo knows of the man, but it isn't as if they are close... no matter how it might feel to have Yennefer's interest in Geralt's wellbeing pressed so firmly into his thoughts. He raises a hand, curling fingers around the thick iron bars of Geralt's cell as if testing them for strength.

And if the Witcher has the eyes to see the flash of metal pressed in his palm, he might have a better idea of what, exactly, Kylo is here to do.