If the energy between her and the mighty King Solomon had been stretched taut before, now is another story. As she comes dancing down the coast to greet him, the sound of the clipped syllables of her name on his lips threatens to yank the short thread between them so that she comes catapulting into his embrace. Her eyes flick over the arch of his crest, this time with more composure now that she isn’t granted the anonymity of the shadows, and she laughs internally at how they both posture and preen for each other. They’re like peacocks, the two of them, each making concentrated efforts to show off their beautiful plumage in the interest of garnering the other’s affection. Solomon teases her, and this time she laughs outwardly in response to his mirthful accusations, but in that moment, she - perhaps foolhardily, given how he has surprised her once before - feels as if she can read the eagerness in him like an open book. Courtship, for her, isn’t like the complicated politics of royalty, where everybody keeps their cards so close to their chests so as not to betray their motivations. Çiçek approaches matters of love and affection openly and honestly, only choosing to use it for her advantage in response to others’ attempts to use it as leverage against herself. This dance has been done since the beginning of life on earth, and will continue long after they’re gone. Solomon knows the steps, and so does she.

They exchange breaths, Çiçek “accidentally” bumping her pink muzzle against his own. The golden mare’s carefully-calm demeanor breaks as he mentions her obvious inclination towards the slim Akhal-Teke, and she laughs again. “You underestimate me, sir,” she quips. “My generous heart is more than big enough to fit both of you quite comfortably, with room to spare.” Her eyes glimmer merrily again, though something deeper now lurks within their depths, and in their last moments alone, she takes another step forward, making the distance between them that much smaller and yet somehow straining that invisible tether between them to its limit.

Solomon’s emerald eyes shift to glance at something behind her, and the spell breaks. Faolain’s soft touch on her flank pulls her back into her body, grounding her, and Çiçek leans into her slim figure. She swishes the shining threads of her tail in an attempt to clear the fog from her mind, and smacks the bone of it sidelong onto the flesh of Faolain’s hindquarters, sending a small shower of pink petals drifting over her dark croup. The spot where the palomino’s muzzle has grazed Solomon’s, as well as the place on her flank where Faolain’s warm breath has just skimmed, burns with the memory of their touches, and she drapes her long neck over the narrow point of the ‘Teke’s withers. She looks at Solomon with Faolain between them as he talks. She is half-listening to the chatter of the herd leaders, mainly trying to stave off the tide of emotion that crashes inside of her, threatening to pull her under.

Truth be told, Çiçek hasn’t heard a word about Björn outside of their recent conversations. She can sense it is not a very happy subject, and Çiçek is a creature powerfully inclined towards joy and sunshine, and so she has not pressed the issue further. She doesn’t really understand the history of the former King of the Ridge; his return doesn’t mean much to her, yet, and it hasn’t interfered with anything she’s been involved in. The golden girl’s smile returns easily as Solomon’s tone shifts back into a lighter register, warm in the face of his flattery, but she keeps quiet for the more political parts of their discussion, yielding the floor to Faolain.

There will be time for games later. She’ll make time, if she has to. For now, Çiçek is content to bask in the warmth of Faolain’s flesh and of Solomon’s loaded glances, and to offer comfort in the form of playful distraction when the time is right.