Her shy reply and her retreat from him, followed by the approach of another, frankly does him in for whatever little amount of spine he had mustered for asking her to dance. Such a strong reaction and retreat over a simple compliment, he dared not even tempt himself into asking for a dance after that. Besides. There seemed to be plenty more worthy wolves eager for her attention. He was not his father, nor his half-brother, nor his grandfather. Whatever most wolves boasted about for lineage, he knew what he was and was not. He was not a king, only a useful member or a protective guard. She had, at least, seen worth in him that far.
But a guard is not a friend, nor a lover, and he could hardly imagine the latter ever coming if he could barely manage a compliment without coming to a tucked-tail retreat.
He is ashamed, looking after her where she sat talking with a familiar brute - wondering why Constantine never mentioned that his brother had similar designs (that look he had given her was so much more stunned than any normal interest might have inspire) on their Goddess. It might have saved him the singed heart he now shook to rid himself the sensation of--
Before being nearly toppled by the scent of River and Sea, making him stiffen before the voice and the lick and the lopsided set of ears. “It has been too long, sister. I hope the seaside pack has treated you kindly. You look as if it has, and quite well too...” His smile is distant, distracted perhaps, but gentle and almost as softened as it had been when he had looked on Zelda. His eyes glance over, a nugget of jealousy for the others projected comfort in Zelda’s company spent before he can snap back to the present greeting with his sister. He returns the lick to her cheek.
“I hope tonight has at least been fun so far, Samia?”