She is not happy to see him. Her anger is justified, and Ender knows it, but he refuses to acknowledge it; in his mind, it only makes them even considering the fury she’s caused him in the last few months.

Despite Frida’s ears flattening against her neck, Ender can just about see the steam coming out of them. This only eggs him on, and like a fool, he grins with childish delight. Seeing her so angry is like a drug to him; he can’t help himself. “Ooh,” he croons. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.” He turns away from her to neaten himself up a bit from the climb, giving his full attention to his own coat and mane as though he hadn’t just effectively asked her to rip him to pieces.

When she croons back at him, however, Ender snaps back to look at her with hypocritical shock. Sweetheart, pfft. How condescending. He sneers, jerking his chin up so that he can look down at her along his dun-marked muzzle. “Oh, I’m not confused,” he says reassuringly, giving up on his brief act of having been here longer than her. It had been a very obvious lie, and though it was fun in the beginning, he is far too lazy to take on the actual burden of proof. “You may technically hold the claim, but we both know who’s really in charge.” He steps toward her, tilting his head down again to fix her with his best smoldering gaze. “Paradise will be mine eventually. Oh, but don’t worry — you can stay. As my Queen, even, if you want.” He grins smugly, as though he’s just presented her with an offer she cannot refuse, despite knowing full well it’s just another nail in his coffin.

guilt consumes us slow