Common

For a moment, Rehoboam was convinced that she was going to make this easy. That she would capitulate to his pushing without a fight, and allow him to cement his place in the Lagoon by fulfilling Tyr's orders. The bubble of hope pops as her sleek dark ears pin beneath the alabaster tangle of her mane, giving him an immediate indication of her thoughts. Instead of making him shy away, the prospect of a struggle brought a smile to his lips.

Fighting came easily to him. Not only because Rehoboam had been raised among a bustling group of brothers that worked out their frustrations through rounds of combat, but also because her readiness to fight back signaled her strength. And it would take a strong woman to endure the Lagoon and come out the other side unchanged, which (despite all indications to the opposite) was what he hoped for this lone mare. Rehoboam didn't necessarily want a Shenzi of his own to care for, but he was damn sure he didn't want to bring a Nadja to the Lagoon either.

She makes no sound at his approach, but she doesn't need to. The sudden thwump of her haunches as they slammed into his midsection were enough indication of her unhappiness. Rehoboam grunted at the impact, his own ebony-rimmed ears pinning beneath the multicolored strands of his mane as he shifted away from her, not wanting to invite a strike of her massive hooves. Rehoboam might be a little foolhardy, but he wasn't stupid. Where he was lean and agile, she was solid and powerful. He could beat her with a little strategy and skill, but in a head-to-head fight with her, he would lose if he wasn't careful.

Still wordless, the pretty mare rose onto her hind legs, prompting Rehoboam to match her. He may have the advantage in experience, but there was no denying that she was much larger than he was. Upright, he was no match against her in a shoving contest. Already he was mentally rifling through all of the tips he had learned from sparring against Gavriel, who was built similarly to this mare. Despite his preparation, she doesn't move to attack him, and he mirrors her again as they land back on the ground. He does his best to hide his confusion behind a cocky smirk, and then shuffles another step closer as she begins to speak.

"I can be," he says confidently with a chuckle, drawing another step closer so that he can exchange a soft breath with her. Fall may have passed them by already, but not so long ago that his mind doesn't easily recall the itch to curl himself against every female he came across. Unbidden, the thought of curling against her rises in his mind and his smirk broadens. "But what fun would that be?"

Rehoboam is not skilled in the art of seduction, nor well versed in the weapons of flirtation that his sire wields with ease. He is, however, still his father's son, and he is eager for this pretty girl to like him, even if his first approach says anything but. "Do you really want to have one of those boring-ass stories?" He asks with an amused sneer, stretching out to brush his muzzle against her shoulder in a silent come hither as he turns and begins to direct them toward the Lagoon. "I've heard enough renditions of mummy met daddy, fell in love and then came baby to be tired of the same old same old."

This was… not entirely true. Granted, it was the story behind most of the Cove's mares, but Rehoboam didn't have anything against it particularly. It just didn't work well if you weren't particularly interested in all the wooing that came after.

Tossing his head, he arched his neck to favor the monochrome mare with a cheeky grin. "Instead, you get to tell everyone you were kidnapped by a King's son because you were so ravishingly beautiful," he emphasizes the words, the tone leaving it unclear if he was praising or mocking her, "that he couldn't bear to leave you alone."

It was the first time that Rehoboam had ever used his father's position for his own advantage, but in this sort of self-mocking and playful way, it didn't feel too terribly pompous. What good was a kingship if no one ever got use out of it anyway?

Skipping a few steps ahead, he spun so that he could offer her a mock half-bow. "Rehoboam, son of Solomon, King of Tinuvel, at your service." Whirling back, he settled back into step with her (doing his best to hide the fact that every step she took was nearly one and a half of his own), and pressed the length of his body against hers. "And what about you, have I found myself any kind of princess? Or is this a Cinderella tale?"