Fríða rode the high of her victory all the way back to Paradise. Adrenaline sizzled along every nerve of her bruised body and for some long, blissful hours she was able to forget. About Ender, about her mother and father, about the loss of her childhood home. About her responsibilities - and failures - as a queen.

Each season had been loss after loss but finally, finally, her persistence had paid off. And quite handsomely, she thought, unable to help but admire her newest treasure the whole way home. She'd intended to try for the roan again when she'd returned to the Lagoon, until her attention was caught by the loudly-patterned stallion she now shepherded towards Paradise. Fríða, fickle as could be, had decided the moment she saw his icy blue eyes and intriguingly curved ears, that she just had to have him. And with luck, his presence here would do more than sate her desire for pretty things: it would illicit some response from Ender, who had been worryingly distant lately. Damn him for making her want his attention so much.

Fríða pulled herself from the cerulean sea, water pulling around her hooves and carving dark rivulets into the warm white sand. She swiveled her head around to peer at the Lagoon stallion from beneath pale lashes. It was unsurprising to find he looked displeased to be here. She couldn't blame him - she'd be equally as pissed if someone yanked her from her cozy little corner of the world and dumped her somewhere else. But surely Paradise was better than that dump of a Lagoon - he'd come to love it here in no time, she was convinced.

He was quick to inquire about her intentions, and Fríða offered him a snake-like smile. "I'm a simple woman. I see something pretty and I want it," was her reply, her tone implying that it was explanation enough and she wouldn't elaborate further. Sky-blue eyes flicked over his face, watching the petal-pink edges of his nostrils flare wide as he breathed her in. Fríða mirrored the action, breathing in the musk that clung to his coat. He smelled like moss and plants and petrichor - it reminded her, quite vividly, of how the Forest smelled after a summer storm. Nostalgia began to bloom warm and deep inside her chest. But any fuzzy feelings were quickly tampered out as the stranger began to circle her and spoke again, lips twisting like the words were distasteful on his tongue.

My typical services are of no use to you. Your flower's already been plucked. What a keen observation, Fríða thought dryly, ivory tail flicking idly against her haunches. She was not so naive as to be unaware of what he was speaking of. Pale lips curved into a pleased smirk as he offered to - as he so eloquently put it - paper over Ender's handiwork. That would definitely piss her king off. Fríða tucked the possibility away for another time.

"I think you'll find I don't often ask nicely for anything, darling," she crooned, "I just take what I want." Or tried to, at least, but those were semantics she was unwilling to get into.

"You think the only reason I brought you here was to pluck flowers?" He was undeniably handsome, and had she not already given herself to Ender this season she might have considered, quite seriously, letting him into her bed. But it was too late to ponder on could-have-beens. "Maybe I just think you're nice to look at and wanted to make you a permanent decoration in my home. The flowers will look so nice in your hair." The smirk on her lips turns impish, her eyes trained on him as he circled round and round like a wolf to its prey.

Fríða stepped forward in the hopes of intercepting his circular path, uncaring if he ended up colliding with her. "Tell me your name."